The First Penitential Psalm (Psalm 6)

Love to gyve law unto his subject hertes
Stode in the lyes of Barsabe the bryght,
And in a look anone hymsellff convertes
Cruelly plesant byfore Kyng David syght;
First dasd his lyes, and forder forth he stertes
With venemd breth, as sofftly as he myght,
Towcht his sensis, and over ronns his bonis
With creping fyre, spasplid for the nonis.
And when he saw that kendlid was the flame
The moyst poyson in his hert he launcyd,
So that the sowle did tremble with the same
And in this brawle as he stode and trauncyd
Yelding unto the figure and the frame
That those fayre lyes had in his presense glauncid
The forme that love had printyd in his brest
He honorth it as thing off thinges best.
So that forgott the wisdome and fore cast,
(Wych wo to Remes when that thes kynges do lakk)
Forgettyng eke Goddes maiestie as fast.
Ye, and his own : forthwith he doth to mak
Urye to go in to the feld in hast;
Urye, I say, that was his Idolles mak;
Under pretence off certen victorye,
For enmy's swordes a redy pray to dye.
Wherby he may enjoy her out of dowt
Whom more then God or hymsellff he myndyth ;
And after he had browght this thing abowt.
And off that lust posest hym sellff, he fyndyth
That hath, and doeth reverse, and clene torn owt
Kynges from kyndomes, and cytes undermyndyth ;
He blyndyd thinkes this trayne so blynd & closse
To blynd all thing that nowght may it disclosse.
But Nathan hath spyd owt this trecherye,
With rufull chere and settes afore his face
The gret offence, outrage, and Iniurye
That he hath done to God as in this case,
By murder for to clok Adulterye.
He showth hym ek from hevyn the thretes, alas,
So sternly sore this prophet, this Nathan,
That all amasid this agid wooful man,
Lyke hym that metes with horrour and with fere,
The hete doth strayt forsake the lymms cold :
The colour eke drowpith down form his chere ;
So doth he fele his fyer maynyfold
His hete, his lust, and plesur, all in fere
Consume and wast : and strayt his crown of gold,
His purpull pall his sceptre he lettes fall,
And to the ground he throwth hymsellff with all.
The pompous pryd of state and dygnite
Forthwith rabates repentant humblenes ;
Thynner vyle cloth then clothyth poverte
Doth skantly hyde and clad his nakednes ;
His fayre hore berd of reverent gravite,
With ruffled here knowyng his wykednes ;
More lyke was he the sellff same repentance,
Then statly pry nee off woroldly governance.
His harpe he taketh in hand to be his guyde,
Wherwith he offerth his plaintes, his sowle to save,
That from his hert distilles on evry syde ;
With drawyng hym in to a dark cave
Within the grownd, wherin he myght hym hyde,
Fleing the lyght as in pryson or grave ;
In wych as sone as David enterd had,
The dark horrour did mak his fawte a drad.
But he without prolonging, or delay
Of that, that myght his Lord his God apese,
Fallyth on his knees, and with his harp I say,
Afore his brest, frawtyd with disese.
Off stormy syghes, his chere colourd lyk clay,
Dressyd upryght, sekyng to conterpese
His song with syghes, and towching of the strynges.
With tendre hert lo thus to God he synges :

Lord sins in my mowth thy myghty name
Sufferyth it sellff , my Lord to name and call :
Here hath my hert hope taken by the same,

That the repentanc wych I have and shall
May at thi hand seke marcy as the thing,
Only comfort of wrechid synners all,

Wherby I dare with humble bymonyng,
By thy goodnes of the this thing require :
Chastyse me not for my deserving

According to thy just conceyvid Ire.
Lord, I dred, and that I did not dred
I me repent, and evermore desyre

The, The, to dred. I open here and spred
My fawte to thee, but Thou for thi goodnes
Mesure it not in largenes nor in bred

Punish it not as askyth the grettnes
Off thi furour provokt by my offence
Tempre O Lord the harme of my excesse

With mendyng will that I for recompense
Prepare agayne ; and rather pite me.
For I ame weke and clene without defence ;

More is the nede I have of remede,
For off the hole the Lech takyth no cure ;
The shepe that strayth the sheperd sekes to se ;

I Lord ame stray 'd, I, sek without recure,
Fele all my lyms, that have rebelld for fere,
Shake in dispayre, onles thou me assure;

My flesh is trobled, my hert doth fere the spere ;
The dred of deth, of deth that ever lastes,
Threteth of ryght, and draweth nere and nere.

Moche more, my sowle is trobled by the blastes
Of theise assaultes, that come as thick as hayle.
Of worldlye vanytie, that temptation castes

Agaynst the weke bulwarke of the flesshe frayle,
Wherin the soule in great perplexite
Feleth the senses, with them that assayle,

Conspyre, corrupt by use and vanyte;
Wherby the wretch doeth to the shadowe resorte
Of hope in The, in this extremite.

But thou O Lord, how long after this sorte
Fforberest thou to see my myserye ;
Suffer me yet, in hope of some comfort,

Ffere, and not fele, that thou forgettest me.
Return O Lord, O Lord, I thee besech,
Unto thyn olde wonted benignite ;

Reduce, revyve, my sowle ; be thow the Lech,
And reconcyle the great hatred and stryff
That it hath tan agaynst the flesshe ; the wretch

That stirred hath thie wrath by fylthye lyff ;
See how my sowle doeth frete it to the bones,
Inwarde remorse so sharpith it like a knyff.

That but thow help the caitiffe, that bemones
His gret offence, it turneth anon to dust.
Here hath thy mercy matter for the nones;

PS. omits weke.
For if thy ryghtuous hand that is so just
Suffer no synne, or stryke with dampnacion,

Thyn infinyte mercy want, — nedes it must,
Subjecte matter for his operacion;
For that in deth theris no memorye

Among the dampneyd; nor yet no mencion
Of thy gret name, grownde of all glory.
Then if I dye and goo wher as I fere

To thinck theron, how shall thy gret mercy
Sownde in my mowth unto the worldes ere ;
For ther is none that can the lawde and love

For that thow wilt no love among them there.
Suffer mye cryes thy mercy for to move
That wonted is a hundred yeres offence

In momente of repentance to remove.
How ofte have I calde up with diligence
This slowthfull Flesshe, longe afore the day,

For to confesse his fault and negligence.
That to The done, for ought that I cowld say
Hath still returnd to shroude itself from cold;

Wherbye it sufferth no we for suche delay,
By nyghtlye playntes, in stede of pleasures olde,
I washe my bed with teres contynuall,

To dull my sight, that it be never bolde
To stirr my hert agayne to suche a fall.
Thus drye I up among my foes in woo

That with my fall do rise and grow with all
And me by sett even now, where I am so,
With secrett trapps to troble my penance.

Som do present to my weping lyes lo
The chere, the manere beaulte, and countenance
Off her whose lok alas did mak me blynd ;

Sum othr offer to my remembrans
Those plesant wordes now bitter to my mynd;
And sum show me the powre of my armor,

Triumph, and conquest; and to my hed assind
Dowble Diademe : sum show the favor
Of peple frayle, palais, pompe, & riches;

To these Marmaydes and theyre baytes of error
I stopp myn eris, with help of thy goodnes;
And for I fele it comith alone of The,

That to my hert thes foes have non acces
I dare them bid ; " Avoyd ! Wreches and fle !
The Lord hath hard the voyce off my complaynt ;

Your engins take no more effect in me.
The Lord hath herd I say and sen me faynt
Under your hand, and piteth my distres;

He shall do mak my sensis, by constraint,
Obbey the rule that reson shall express,
Wher the deceyte of yower glosing baite

Made them usurp a powre in all exces,
Shamid be they all that so ly in whaite '
To compas me, by missing of theire pray;

Shame and rebuke redound to suche decayte.
(Sodayne confusion is stroke withowt delay
Shall so defface theire craffty sugestion,

That they to hurt my helth no more assay
Sins I O Lord remayne in thy protection.