Petrarchs seuen penitentiall psalmes paraphrastically translated: with other philosophicall poems, and a hymne to Christ vpon the crosse. Written by George Chapman
Petrarca, Francesco, 1304-1374., Chapman, George, 1559?-1634.
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PSALME II. Inuocabo quem offendi.
1.
I Will inuoke whom I inflam'd;
Nor will approch, his fierie throne in feare;
I will recall, nor be asham'd
Whom I cast off, and pierce againe his eare.
Hope, quite euen lost, I will restore,
And dare againe to looke on heauen;
The more I fall, inuoke the more;
Prayre once will speed, where •are is euer giuen.
2.
In heauen my deare Redeemer dwels,
His eare yet let downe to our lowest sounds;
His hand can reach the deepest hels;
His hand holds balmes for all our oldest wounds.
I, in my selfe, do often die;
But in him, I as oft reuiue;
My health shines euer in his eye;
That heales in hell, and keepes euen death aliue.
Page 73.
Feare all, that would put feare on me;
My sinne most great is, but much more his grace:
Though ill for worse still alterd be:
And I in me, my eagrest foe embrace:
Yet Truth in this hath euer stood,
The blackest spots my sinnes let fall,
One drop of his most precious blood;
Can cleanse and turne, to purest luorie all.
4.
Strike, Lord, and breake the rockes that grow
In these red seas of thy offence in me:
And cleansing fountaines thence shall flow,
Though of the hardest Adamant they be.
As cleare as siluer, seas shall rore,
Descending to that noysome sinke,
Where euery houre hels horride Bore
Lies plung'd, and drownd, & doth his vomits drinke.
5.
Race, Lord, my sinnes inueterate skarres,
And take thy new-built Mansion vp in me:
Though powre failes, see my wils sharpe warres,
And let me please euen while I anger thee.
Let the remembrance of my sinne,
Page 8With sighs all night ascend thine eare:
And when the morning light breakes in,
Let health be seene, and all my skies be cleare.
6.
Thus though I temper ioyes with cares.
Yet keepe thy mercies constant, as my crimes:
Ile cherish, with my faith, my prayres,
And looke still sighing vp for better times.
My selfe I euermore will feare,
But thee, my rest, my hope, still keepe:
Thy darkest clouds, thy lightnings cleare,
Thy thunders rocke me, that breake others sleepe.
7.
My purgatorie O Lord make
My bridall chamber, wedded to thy will:
And let my couch still witnesse take,
In teares still steep't, that I adore thee still.
My body Ile make pay thee paines,
Hell iawes shall neuer need to ope.
Though all loues faile, thine euer raign••,
Thou art my refuge, last, and onely hope.
All glorie to the Father, &c.
