A Ballad.
O Mercifull and O merciable,
King of Kinges, and father of pitee,
Whose might and mercy is incomperable,
O Prince eterne, O mighty Lord say we,
To whom mercy is giuen of property,
On thy seruaunt that lieth in prison bound,
Haue thou mercy or that his hert be wound.
And y• thou wilt graunt to him thy prisoner,
Free liberty, and lose him out of pain,
All his desires and all his heauy chere,
To all gladnesse they were restored again,
Thy high vengeance, why shold thou not re∣frain
And shew mercy, sith he is penitent,
Now helpe him lord, & let him not be shent.
But sith it is so, there is a trespasse done,
Vnto Mercy let yeeld the trespassour,
It is her office to redresse it sone,
For trespasse to mercy is a mirrour,
And like as the swete, hath the price by ••our,
* So by trespasse, mercy hath all her might,
Without trespasse, mercy hath lacke of light.
* What shold Phisike do but if sikenes were,
What nedeth salue, but if there were sore,
What nedeth drink, wher thirst hath no power
What should mercy do, but trespas go afore,
But trespas be, mercy woll be little store,
Without trespas neuer execucion,
May mercy haue ne chiefe perfection.
The cause at this time of my writing,
And touching mercy to whom I make mone,
Is for feare lest my soueraigne and sweting,
I meane her that louerlier is none,
With me is displeased for causes more then one,
What causes they be y• knoweth God & she,
But so do not I alas it forthinketh me.
What see she in me, what defaut or offence,
What haue I do that she on me disdain,
How might I doe come to her presence,
To tell my complaint whereof I were fain,
I drede to looke, to speake, or to complain,
To her that hath my herte euery deale,
So help me God I wold al thing wer weale.
For in this case came I neuer or now,
* In loues daunce so farre to hold the trace,
For with mine ease, scape I ne mow
Out of this daunger except her good grace,
For though my countenaunce be mery in her face,
As semeth to her by word or by chere,
Yet her good grace sitteth mine hert ful nere.
And if y• my soueraine haue any meruaile,
Why I to her now and afore haue wrote,
She may well thinke it is no great trauaile
To him that is in loue brought so hote:
It is a simple tree yt falleth with one stroke,
That mean I, though y• my souerain toforn,
Me hath denied, yet grace may come to morn.
But maistres for the good will that I haue you ought,
And euermore shal as long as my life dureth,
Pity your seruant & keep him in your thouʒt
And giue him som comfort or medicin, & cureth
His feruent ague, that encreaseth y• renueth,
So greuous ben his pains & his sighs sore,
That without your mercy, his dayes be all forlore.
Go little bill, go forth and hie thee fast,
And recommand me, & excuse me as thou can,
For very feeblenesse thus am I at the last,
My pen is woren, my hew is pale and wan,
My iyen been sonken, disfigured like no man,
Till death his dart, that causeth for to smart,
My corps haue consumed, then farwel sweet hart.
O doughter of Phebus in vertuous appa∣rence,
My loue elect in my remembrance,
My careful hert distreined cause of absence,
Till ye my Emprise me release my greuance,
Vpon you is set my life & mine attendance,
Without recure I wis vntill
Ye graunt true herte to haue his will.
Thus my dere sweting in a traunce I do lie,
And shal til sum drops of pity from you spring,
I meane your mercy that lieth my hert me,
That me may rejoyce, & cause me for to sing
These terms of loue, lo I haue won the ring,
My goodly mastres. Thus of his good grace
God grant her blis in heauen to haue a place.
Explicit.