Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
La lamentation d'Irlande (Author: unknown)

poem 2

{MS page 11r}

IRLANDS LAMENTATION

  1. My sense benummd, my spirits dead, I swimme in seas of griefe;
    My tears are made my dayly bread, affliction is my life.
    My heart doth groane, my thoughts bemoan poor Irlands ruefull state;
    Noe earthly joy doth shee injoy: such is her cursed fate.
  2. Her pomp and state reducd' to naught, her chieftains all exild';
    The ruins of her churches mourne polluted and defild'.
    Since Israel a thrall befell unto her cruell foes,
    Could any see such misery? Noe tongue can tell our woes.
  3. Our pastours fled, the flock disusd', and none to feed but Thou.
    The wolves devoure and slaughter all. Come, come! redeeme us now.
    Containe, o God, thy smarting rod, or else wee all decaye.
    Come, cure with speed our wounds that bleed; they wrath, o Lord, allay.

    4. p.159

  4. Our Vestalls stand amazd to see their cloysters all defacd'
    And lechery usurping roome, where chastity was placd'.
    Noe sacrifice or edifice unspotted doth appeere.
    Our monuments and ornaments destroyed, and what is deere.
  5. Our aged folke, our women, maydes, our youths are captives made,
    Our wealth consumd, our orphans starve and wither in the blade.
    Our lands are wast, and none doe tast the fruit thereof with joy.
    Plague, famine, warre gave us a scarre and all that could annoy.
  6. And yett, o Lord, they bow is bent; they arrowes pierce our heart.
    From top to toe noe place is sound, each limme hath felt a smart.
    The rich, the poore, the lord, the boore, the weake, the stout, the strong,
    The church, the state, and all of late, doe beare their crosse along.
  7. The sea alone doth favour us, as feeleing some increase
    By our sad teares that drop to her; our sighes with wind made peace.
    The heavens seeme not to redeeme our woes, denyeing aide;
    The rockes and denns, the woods and fennes to shade us are affrayd'.
  8. Our quire is mute, our organs dumbe, our notes both shrill and sharpe;
    Our instruments noe consort keepe, for sorrow tunes our harpe.
    Untill againe our men from Spaine unto soyle returne,
    In endlesse griefe without reliefe wee'il never cease to mourne.
  9. Thy sinnes, poore Irland, wrought thy woe; affliction is they cure,
    The fire whereof consumd' thy drosse, I hope, and made thee pure
    Repent, repent! God will relent and save thee in the end
    And deale with thee in piety, thy faults if thou amend.

    10. p.160

  10. These were thy hideous, monstrous sinnes: oppression, rapine, stealth;
    Thy pride exceeded farre thy strength; thy score surpassd' thy wealth.
    Thy treacherous heart increasd' thy smart, unto thee selfe untrue.
    Unjustice crept, thy widdowes wept and orphans weake did rue.
  11. Noe law could yett unite our hearts; obedient none was found;
    All power contemnd', noe orders kept; confusion walkd' the round.
    Thy riotous life, contention, strife intestine broyles and jarres,
    Hath made thy state unfortunate: thus ended Irlands warres.
  12. Repent, repent! Returne, returne againe unto thy God!
    Lament with teares thy sinfull dayes, and Hee will spare the rod.
    O Lord of hoastes, accept our votes! From dust thy people rayse!
    And wee will tell like Israel thy wonders, sing the prayse.
  13. Awake, awake, yee Irish saints! O patrons, now arrise!
    Lett faythlesse know your power with God, give ears unto our cryes!
    Such as deny and doe defye your favours, beare the sway;
    And wee that pray to you each day, are banishd' all away.
  14. Recall, o Lord, our pastours backe; give us true charity;
    Confirme us in they heavenly grace; give hope, o Deity;
    If Thou forgive, then wee shall live; if dead? Thou wilt revive.
    If God for us and man gainst us, all our affayres shall thrive!—
    15. finis.