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
W: Strachie.
