p.
| |
|
La Corona 1 Deigne at my hand this Crowne of prayer and praise Weand in my lowe deuout Melancholye Thou which of good hast, yet art treasurie All changing vnchangd, Ancient of daies But doe not with a vile crowne of fraile ba[ie]s Reward my Muses white synceritie But what thy thorny crowne gaind, that giue mee A crowne of glorie, which doth flower alwaies The ends crowne our workes, but thou crownst our ends For at our end, beginns our endles rest This first last end, now zealously possest With a strong sober thirst my soule attends; Tis tyme that hart and voice bee lifted high Saluation to all that will is nigh 2 Saluation vnto all that will is nigh That all which alwaies is all, everie where Which cannot sinne, and yet all sinns mvst beare Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but dye Lo, faythfull virgin, yeilds himselfe to lye In prison in thy wombe, and though hee there Can take no sinne, nor thou giue, yet hee will weare (Taken from thence) flesh, which deaths force may trie Eare by this spheares tyme was created, thou Wast in his minde who is thy sonne and brother Whome thou coceaust conceaud, yea thou art now Thy makers Maker, and thy fathers Mother Thou hast light in darke, and shutst in littell roo[missing] Immensitye, cloystered in thy deer wombe. |
 |