Selected quad for the lemma: soul_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A18734
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The firste parte of Churchyardes chippes contayning twelue seuerall labours. Deuised and published, only by Thomas Churchyard Gentilman.
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Churchyard, Thomas, 1520?-1604.
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1575
(1575)
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STC 5232; ESTC S104983
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109,539
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236
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the clue of worldly cares should threed of life vntwiende Dispiesd the night abbord the day and hated houre of birth Thought skorne of foode cleane forsoke the pleasures of the earth Would faine haue loft both speach breath â–ª and loekt when hartes would burst Beleeude they were in mothers wombe or els in cradell curst Though drousie dreede did death desire and griefe sought quick dispatch There was no parting from the place till daye dischargde the watch Wee cannot paye our borrowde breath before th appointed howre The ende of strife nor staye of state standes not in peoples powre The Gods that guides the heauens hie to secrete doth beholde The fine and fleeting feeble course of earth and massie molde The hart may heaue the breast may bloe the body sighe and swelt The face by open sines may show of priuie pashons felt But all these stormes haue litle force to ridde mans wretched dayes As by these parties plaine I proue throw torment sondrie wayes Well those from whom the Gods restraine the skope and vse of will Must bende the backe and vowe the ioynts to beare the burthen still And yet no toile nor griefe so great â–ª but finds at length some eas There followes after swelling flouds a quiet calmie Seas By meane of suite and labours long and gracious Prince in deede A sweeter soile these prisnars found that better bloud did breede But kept a part as Fortune shapt and so in silent shade As place and time did licence graunt a fresh complaint they made Of croked chaunce and straung exstremes that sondred faithfull harts Whose sugred loue was euer mixt with baell and bitter smarts And neuer after like to meete nor set ne eye nor vewe The one apon the other Lord a matte mitch to rewe Long in the broile of this conflict and battell of the minde They paste their time with bare beliefe of better hap behinde And wearing oute with waylings longe their weary life God wot And finding hauen choked vp where passage should be got At ancker vnder watch and warde in tossed barke they laye From whens there was no quiet means nor hope to scape awaye The Lady now for laste farewell betoke her selfe to teares And of dispaire in persed brest a double porshon beares Her hollow cheeks and daesled eyes declaerde her death was neere And bade her keepers to prepare both shrowding sheete and Beere For nature did denie her life her hart was tainted soe That cankred thought should comeful sone and make an ende of woe Her coulour changde her cheerefull lookes and countnaunce wanted spreet To sallow ashes turnde the hue of beauties blossoms sweete And dreery dulnes had bespred the wearishe body throw Ech vitall vaine did flat refuse to do their dutie now The bloud forsoke the wonted course and backward gan retyre And laft the lims as cold and swarfe as coells that wasts with fyre The moisture taken from the tree the leaues drops downe apace When sap dries vp and faills the roote the branches loes their grace Some bowes you see do flourish fayre and groes a goodly height And some by frost and cold ayre nipt and so are blasted streight As eury fruite and floure in field do yeld to sodaine claps So all that breathes with liuing soule are subiect to mishaps How should this dame desire to liue that hourely wore away Who would not shedde some teares to see this tender twig decay What stony hart could suffer more and bere with eeuen hand The weary weight of worldly woes and whiske of whipping wand And when she saw her houre aproch and death his dutie craue And she amid her chiefest prime must go to greedy graue She toke of worlde a noble leaue and calling for a frende Who liueth yet and can report how she did make her ende She saide with loude and comely voice O world I thee forsake I haue bin here a pilgrime longe and now my leaue I take Of all thy Pompe and pleasures vaine that makes my sences blinde Whose glorie doth beginne with paine and ends with griefe of minde In dongon deepe of deinty thoughts thou holdest eurye wight And feeds their foolish fancies still with toyes and trifles light Thy prisnar was I borne to be and Adams children all Like captius here condemde to die must suffer for his fall But nowe the chains and lothsome lincks that lay on shoulders weake And all the bands and cloggs of care in sheuers small shall breake And I from cage shall mount to skies more swift than bird with winge And flicker like a simple doue where shining Angels singe I bringe a badge and liurye both that my good maister CHRIST Did leane for such as beares his Crosse through foggs of worldly miest Yea shaking of â–ª this sinfull soile me thincke in Cloudes I see Amonge the perfite chosen Lambs a place preparde for mee Here is no home nor harbring house but cabbens built on sande That eurye pirrie puffeth downe or still on props doth stand Our Fathers spreetes posses in peace the countrie that wee craue We are but strangers far from hoem that nothing certayn haue Tâ—ese wear her words and many moe which follows as she spoek I dâ—d â—â—o she by bryttell lyfe O Lord thy wrath prouoke For which I now repent me soer and trusting to receaue Fâ—â—e pardon for my former fautes â—ar sowll shall body leaue My â—aynt and feble vessayll frayll so fears thy Iustice great That hyt appealls from curs of law vnto thy mercy Seat. I am but worms meat wel I wot all Fleash is nought but gras To Earth and ashes out of hand must all my pleasures pas I want the force thou hast the myght to stryue with Death and Hell Thou art the Rock the corner Stoen the Fountayne and the Well From whom the Springs of lyfe must â— and vnto whom again The thyrsty soulls and hongry Harts for help do trodg a mayn Who hath byn washed in thy Blood is whiter than the Snoe O let the streams and floed of grace with fauour on me floe In Booke of lyfe let wryt good Lord my name among the rest That ordaynd wear ear world was made to sleepe in Abrams brest Blot out the bleamish of my brow that at the latter day May strike the conâ—hens with dispayre and cloked crimes bewray Gâ—ue boldnes to the bashfull sprite that fears from hens to flitte Mâ—ke hope and fayth now ferm to see great God in glory sitte With closed hand than brest she knockt so gaue a sighe and stayd And then conceiud some inward ioy with cherefull face she sayd Do mourne no more O trembling soule that knowes not wher to staye Come from the kaytiffe carrayue corps and cabben made of claye And looke vpon the Lamb of God whose death thy randsome payd That blessed babe the virgins Sonne that borne was of a mayd Come silly byrd out of the den where naught but darknesse is And looke on
I haue spoke and sped in matters small By helpe of him that hath my Verses all But farre God wot I am from that I seeke And misse the marke that many men do hit Wherfore salâ— tears do trickle downe the cheeke And hart doth feele full many a wofull fit And so aside in sollem sorrow sit As one in deede that is forsaken cleane Wher most he doth deserue and best doth meane No matter now though ech man march tread On him that hates the life he beares about Yet such as shall these heauy Verses read Shall finde I blame my fortune out of dout But sens on hope no better hap will sprout I yeild to death and vpward lift the minde Where lothsome life shall present comfort finde Sens hope can haue no hony from the Hiue And paines can plucke no pleasure for his toile It is but vaine for weery life to striue And streatch out time with torment and tormoile Get what we can death triumphes oer the spoile Than note this well though we win neer so mitch When death tacks al we leaue a mizer ritch To liue and lacke is doble death in deede A presente death exceeds a lingring woe Sens no good hap in youth did helpe my neede In age why should I striue for Fortune soe Old years are come and haests me hens to goe The tâ—me draws on I hate the life I haue When hart shall breake my griefe shall ende in graue Should I seeke life that finds no place of rest Ne sotle nor seate to shroude me from the ayre When cramping colde be clipps my carefull brest And dollor driues my hart in deepe dispayre For such foule dayes darke death is wondrous fayre As good to make the skrawlling worms a feast As pleas y world wher mischiefe maks her neast Hie time it is to haest my carkas hens Youth stoole awaye and felt no kinde of ioye And age he laft in trauell euer sens The wanton dayes that made me nice and coye Wear but a dreame a shadoe and a toye Sith slaurye heer I finde and nothing els My hoem is thear wher soule in freedome dwels In warrs and woe my yeers aer waested clean What should I see if lordly lief I led I loek in glas and finde my cheeks so lean That eury owre I do but wishe mee ded Now back bends downe forwards faulls the hed And hollow eyes in wrinckled brow doth shrowd As though two stars wear creping vnder clowd The lipps waxe cold and loeks both pael thin The teeth fawlls out as nutts forsoek the shaell The baer bald head but shoes whear hear hath bin The liuely ioynts waxe weery stiffe and staell The reddy tongue now folters in his taell The wearishe face and tawny collour shoes The corraeg quaills as strength decayes and goes The sweete delites are dround in dulled minde The gladsome sports to groning sighes are bent The frisking lims so farre from frame I finde That I â–ª forthincke the time that youth hath spent But when I way that all these things wear lent And I must pay the earth her dutie throw I shrincke no whit to yeld these pleasures now Had I possest the giftes of Fortune heer A house a wyfe and children therewithall And had in store to make my frendes good cheer Sutch commoÌ„ things as neighbours haue at call In such dispayre perchaunce I would not fall But want of this and other lackes a skore Bids me seeke death and wishe to liue no more Yet for to beare a peece of all my woes And to impart the priuie pangs I felt From countrie soile a sober wife I choes In mine owne house with whom I seldom dwelt When thousandes slepte I waekt I swet I swelt To compas that I neuer could attaine And still from hoem abroed I brack my braine The thatcher hath a cottage poore you see The sheppard knoes where he shal sleepe at night The daily drudge from cares can quiet bee Thâ—s Fortune sends some rest to eurye wight So borne I was to house and lande by right But in a bagg to Court I brought the same From Shrews brye towne a seate of auncient fame What thinkes my frindes that thear behind I laft What fault finds she that gaue me lief and suck O courting fien thou art to cold a craft The Carter haeth at hoem much better luck Well well I saye a due all worldly muck Ne howse nor land we bear away I knoe I naked cam and naked hence must goe The greatest kyng must pas the self saem way Our daye of byrth and buriall are alike Their ioye their pompe their wealth and rich araye Shall soen consuem like snow that lies in dieck No bucklar serues when sodayn death doth striek As soen may coem a poer mans soule to blys As may the rich or greatest Lord that is Well ear my breath my body doe forsaek My spreet I doe bequeath to God aboue My bookes my skrowls and songs that I did maek I leaue with frindes that freely did me loue To flyring foes whoe 's mallice did me moue I wyshe in haest amendment of their wayes And to the Court and courtiars happy dayes My fortuen straunge to straungers doe I leaue That strangly can retain such straung mishap To such as still in world did me disseaue I wyshe they may bewaer of such lyk trap To sclaundrous tongues that kyld me with their clap I wyshe moer rest than they haue gyuen me And bles thoes shreaws that corst and crabbed be To such as yet did neuer pleasuer man I giue those ryems that nyps the gawlled back To such as would do good and if they can I wyshe good luck long lief and voyd of lack To currysh karls a whyp and collyars sack And to the proud that stands vpon their braus A waynskot face and twenty crabtree staues To surly syers that scorns the meaner sort A nightcap foord with Foyns I them bequeath To such as skowll at others good report And sets much stoer by their owne paynted sheath In sien of luck I giue a willowe wreath To such as aer vnnaemd and merits mutch The stoen I leaue that tries the gold by tutch To gentill race with good conditions ioynd I wyshe moer ioy than man imagin maye And sens for pooer I haue no money coynd God graunt them all a mery mariage daye To such as doth delyte in honest playe I wyshe the gold that I haue lost thearby And all the wealth I want befoer I dye Now frends shack hands I must be gon my boyes Our myrth taeks end our triumph all is don Our tykling talk our sports and myrry toyes Do flyed away lyke shadow of the Son Another coms when I my race haue ron Shall passe the tyme with you in better plyt And finde good cause of greater things to wryt FINIS A DISCOVRSE HOVV vertue seames to sleape and Iustice is euer awaken WHen vertue layd her down to slepe and would