A Prayer Of A Penytente Poem by Nicholas Bacon

If the iuste mann seaven tymes eache daye
Ohe Lorde dothe fall, what shall I saye?
Of all iniuste moste sinfull manne
My falles my fautes whoe nvmber canne?
And therewith Lorde soe greate they be
That to dispayer they woulde force me.

But that of grace thou haste me taughte
Mercye is more then all my naughte,
Aud that thou wilte with readye care
Here aye all suche as in thye feare
Doe call for helpe and mercye crye
With harte contryte repentantelye.

ffaythe geven to this thus taughte by grace
Dothe breede good hope in dispayers place,
Styll sturringe me mercye to crave
Where for thaskeinge I maye it have,
As by thye worde thou doeste me teache
Where aske and have thy Sonne dothe preache.

Agayne ohe Lorde whoe canne compare
Thye free geven giftes and those not rare,
Provokeinge love eache daye and tyme,
With their rewardes of synne and cryme,
But with moyste eye and hevye harte
Muste nedes repente his sinfull parte?

Repentaunce thus grounded of love
And hope of faythe dothe me nowe move
On knees to fall and mercye crye:
Mercye ohe Lorde mercye mercye:
ffrom iustice Lorde I doe appeale
To thye mercye myne onelye weale.

My Lorde my god my Savyour dere,
My hope my truste and all my chere,
fforgett forgive all my offence,
And graunte by grace me assistance
Thye benefittes soe to remember
That love for love I maye thee render.

Graunte soe to call thy lawe to mynde
And threates for synne that there I fynde,
That thereby feare maye dwell in mee
Provokeinge aye all synne to flee,
And that this feare ioyned with love
Oute of my harte never remove.

This love for love and feare of threate
Graunte gracyous lorde to growe soe greate,
That thoughe I slyde I doe not falle,
And if I doe mercye to calle,
And not to dwelle in filthye synne,
Nor yet to have delighte therein.

Graunte that as frayle I shall committe
Strayte waye throwe grace I repente it,
And as I daylye doe offende,
Soe graunte I maye daylye amende,
And stoutelye stande with harte and mynde
Agaynste the flesshe the worlde the fende.

Graunte that noe daye doe scape me free
But with handes vppe and on my knee
I geve thee thankes and mercye crye
With harte and mynde vnfaynedlye,
Voweinge eache daye amendemente stylle,
Prayeinge for grace it to fullfylle.

Graunte that my thoughtes my wordes and deedes
Maye growe all oute of graces seedes,
And soe passe my lyfe and dayes,
I sarveinge thee, walkeinge thy wayes:
And thus to thee I me betake:
Keepe me O Lorde for thy Sonnes sake.