A godly medytacyon of the christen sowle, concerninge a loue towardes God and hys ChristeMarguerite, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of Navarre
Religion
A godly medytacyon of the christen sowle, concerninge a loue towardes God and hys Christe
Marguerite, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of Navarre
Devotional literature; Meditations -- Early works to 1800
I went neuer yet to the preachynge, but for maner only. All my dedes were
playne hypocresye, for my mynde was in other places. I was anoyed whan I
hearde speake of the, for I was more wyllynge to go at my pleasure. Now
breuely to conclude, All that thu dedyst forbyd me, I fulfylled & all
that thu cōmaūdedyst me to do, I ded eschewe. And thys was the cause (my
God) I ded not loue the. But yet lorde, for all thys that I ded hate the
and forsake the, ranne awaye from the, & betrayed the, shulde I geue thy
place to an other? Or hast thu suffered that I shulde be mocked, eyther
yet beatē or kylled? Hast thu put me in darke pryson, or bannyshed me for
euer, settynge nought by me? Hast thu taken awaye thy gyftes agayne from
me, and precyouse iewels, to ponnysh me for my vnfaythfull frutes? Haue
I lost my ioynter whych thu promysedyst me, through my offēce agaynst
the? Am I accused by the afore the eternall father, for a naughty woman?
Yea, hast thu forbyd me thy presēce (as I deserued) & that I shulde neuer
apere in thy howse?
[Sidenote: Luce. 15.]
[Sidenote: Psal. 4.]
[Sidenote: Math. 11.]
O most true husbāde, & pure perfyght frynde, the most louynge yet amonge
all good louers. Alas thu hast done otherwyse. For thu soughtest for me
dylygenly, whan I was goynge into the most depe place of helle, where all
the euyls are done. Whan I was fardest from the both in harte and mynde,
& clerlye out of the true waye. Than dedyst thu louynglye call me backe,
saynge, My dere doughter harken, and se, and bowe thy hearynge towardes
me. Forget that straunge nacyon to whom thu dedyst ronne awaye and also
the house of thyne olde father, where thu hast dwelled so longe. Than
shall the kynge full of all faythfulnesse, desyre thy bewtie. But whan
thu sawest that thy swete & gracyouse callynge, ded not profyte me, than
begannyst thu to crye lowder. Come vnto me all yow whych are wearyly
loaden with laboure, for I am he that shall plenteously refreshe yow and
feade yow with my breade of lyfe. Alas vnto all these swete wordes wolde
I not harken.
[Sidenote: Esa. 5.]
[Sidenote: Canti. 6.]
[Sidenote: Hiere. 3.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account