_Sing this Song._ _Am I not in blessed case, Treasure and Pleasure to possess? I would not wish no better place, If I may still have wealthiness: And to enjoy in perfect peace My lady, lady. My pleasant pleasure shall increase, My dear lady._ _Helen may not compared be, Nor Cressida that was so bright; These cannot stain the shine of thee, Nor yet Minerva of great might. Thou passest Venus far away, Lady, lady, Love thee, I will both night and day, My dear lady._ _My mouse, my nobs, and coney sweet, My hope and joy, my whole delight; Dame Nature may fall at thy feet, And may yield to thee her crown of right. I will thy body now embrace, Lady, lady; And kiss thy sweet and pleasant face, My dear lady._ _Enter_ GOD'S VISITATION. VISIT. I am God's minister, called Visitation, Which divers and many ways you may understand; Sometime I bring sickness; sometime perturbation; Sometime trouble and misery throughout the land; Sometime I signify God's wrath to be at hand; Sometime a forerunner of destruction imminent, But an executor of pain I am at this present. Thou insipient fool, that hast followed thy lust, Disdaining the doctrine declared by Sapience, In Treasure and Pleasure hath been thy trust, Which thou thoughtest should remain ever in thy presence: Thou never rememb'red'st Thales his sentence, Who willeth men in all things to keep a measure, Especially in love to uncertainty of treasure; Even now I am come from visiting the Just, Because God beginneth first with his elect; But he is so associated and comforted with Trust, That no kind of impatience his soul can infect. Contentation in such sort his race doth direct, That he is contented with God's operation, Comfortably embracing me his Visitation; But now I am come to vex thee with pain, Which makest Treasure thy castle and rock: Thou shall know that both she and Pleasure is vain, And that the Almighty thou canst not mock. Anguish and grief into thee I do cast, With pain in thy members continually. Now thou hast pain, thy pleasure cannot last, But I will expel him incontinently. LUST. O Cock's heart! what a pestilence is this! Depart from me, I say, hence, God's Visitation! Help, help, Lady Treasure, thou goddess of bliss! At thy hands let me have some consolation. TREAS. I will remain with you, be out of doubt. INC. Will ye be packing, you ill-favoured lout? VISIT. Presently, indeed from him thou shalt not go, And why? because God's will hath not determined so; But in time thou, Treasure, shalt be turned to rust. And as for Pleasure he shall now attend on the Just. LUST. Gog's wounds! these pangs increase evermore.