Harke!

 

Twas the trump of death that blewe

My hower is come false world adewe

That I to death untymely goe.

Thy pleasures have betrayed me soe

For Death's the punishment of sinn

And of all creatures I have bene

The most ungratefull wicked one

That ere the heavens did shine vpon.

 

Harke!

I have sinnd against Earth & heaven

Early by date late in the even

All manner sinnes all manner wayes

I have committed in my daies

Hell and hell fire is my due

O but deare Christe I humbly sue

Thy blood may wash my red sowle white

Mercy not Judgment is thy delight.

 

Harke!

at which mercy gate I knocke

Let sobbes & sighes the same unlocke

Prostrate I fall & begg for grace

O doe not turne away thy face

my cryinge sinnes beate at thy Throane

Once bowe the heavens looke downe upon

A wretch more overthrowne then greefe

That beggs for mercy not for life.

 

Finis

~ Sir William Strachie ~