The Complaint of a Sinner.
To the tune of the bonny broome.
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CHrist is my love he loved me,
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when I was wretch forlorne
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True God from all eternitie,
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true man of Virgin borne:
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He pierc'd the Heavens, he came to earth,
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for me his blood to spill:
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Yet through my sinnes I have him lost,
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woe worth my froward will:
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The bonny Broome, the well favour'd Broom
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the broome bloomes faire on hill:
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Him have I lost that loved me best,
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my love against his will.
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My crooked wayes, my words prophane,
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My thoughts to evill inclinde,
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Hath made this Love to lightly me,
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and shew himselfe unkinde.
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Thus doe I spend my dayes in care,
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my nights in mourning still:
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For loosing him that lov'd me best,
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[?] [?]wite my froward will.
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[The bonny Bro]ome, etc.
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Sweet Christ my love, I must confesse,
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the cause of all my paine.
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Hath beene my owne disloyall heart,
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that would not true remaine:
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But sought for pleasure here below,
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that soule and body kill:
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And brake my promise made to thee,
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alas my froward will.
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The bonny broome, etc.
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Long have I dwelt in Kedars tents,
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and long in Meshech bidden:
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And from thy presence full of icy,
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my feet have long time slidden,
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Yet on my barren heart O Lord,
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some drops of grace distill:
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That I may finde thy love againe,
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and change my froward will.
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The bonny broome, etc.
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Oh, let me sorrow for my sinne,
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and hate my ruthfull race,
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Oh let my silly soule enjoy,
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the favour of thy face:
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Till thou forget thine unkindnesse,
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and I my mourning still,
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And with a free reformed heart,
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renounce my froward will.
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The bonny broome, etc.
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[?]t piece of money lost,
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[?]t childe forlorne:
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[?] ndring sheepe O Lord,
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[?]o be torne.
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[?] Lord and finde me out,
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[?] fold untill,
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[?] [a]ngels may rejoyce,
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[?] will
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[The bonny broo]me, etc.
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[?]h the bloody streames,
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[?]ounds so wide
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[?] [t]hy darling deare,
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[?] it me guide
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[?] [b]lisfull Broome,
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[?] hill,
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[?] d for aie,
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[?] [forward] will.
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[The bonny Broome, th]e well favour'd Broom
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[the broome bloome]s faire on hill,
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[?] [l]ife amend,
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[?] thy will.
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