Like as the theefe in prison cast,
With wofull wayling mones,
When hope of pardon cleane is past,
And sighes with dolefull grones:
So I a slaue to sinne,
With sobs and many a teare,
As one without thine ayde forlorne,
Before thy throne appeare.
O Lorde, in rage of wanton youth
My follies did abounde,
And eke, since that I knewe thy trueth,
My life hath beene vnsound.
Alas I doe confesse,
I see the perfect way,
Yet frayltie of my feeble fleshe,
Doth make me run astray.
Aye me, when that some good desire,
Woulde moue me to doe wel,
Affections fond make mee retire,
And cause me to rebell.
I wake, yet am asleepe,
I see, yet still am blinde,
In ill I runne with hedlong race,
In good I come behinde.
Loe thus in life I daily die,
And dying shall not liue,
Unlesse thy mercy speedily,
Some succour to me geue.
I die O Lorde, I die,
If thou doe mee forsake,
I shall be likened vnto those,
That fall into the lake.
When that one prop, or onely stay,
Holdes vp some house or wall:
If that the prop be tane away,
needes must the building fall.
O Lorde, thou art the prop,
to which I cleaue and leane:
If thou forsake, or cast mee of,
I still shall liue in paine.
Although my hard and stony hart
Be apt to runne astray:
Yet let thy goodnesse mee conuert,
So shall I not decay:
Sweete God doe rue my plaints,
And sheelde mee from annoy:
The my poore soule this life once past
Shall rest with thee in ioy.