The wofull lamentation of Edward Smith , a poore penitent prisoner
in the Jayle of Bedford, which he wrote a short time before his
death. To the tune of, Dainty come thou to me.
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I Am a Prisoner poore,
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Opprest with misery:
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O Lord doe thou restore
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that faith which wants in me.
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In woe I waile and weepe,
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In griping griefe I cry,
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In dungeon darke and deepe,
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In fetters fast I lye,
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Sighing I sit and moane,
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My foule offences all,
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My loathsome life is knowne,
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which makes me live in thrall.
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Ned Smith I am, the wight
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In prison that remaines,
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Tormented day and night,
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with bands and iron chaines.
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My joyes are turn'd to nought,
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My hopes are worne away,
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My wickednesse hath wrought
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my downe-fall and decay.
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Those gifts that God gave me,
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My wants for to supply,
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Abused much I have,
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To please my fantasie,
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My [n]ame I did denie,
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In B[ap]ti[s]me given me,
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That Sacrament whereby
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Regenerate I should be.
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No wit nor strength may serve
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The Law to satisfie:
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For death I doe deserve,
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In right and equity.
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For I offended have
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Nobles of high degree,
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What favour can I crave
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For life or liberty?
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But hope of life is past,
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My acts so hainous be:
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And liberty is lost,
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Till death doe set me free.
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All men both old and young
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Which are at liberty,
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And heare my dolefull song,
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Example take by me.
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Be true, and trust in God,
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Fly theft, and vice eschew,
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Lest Gods most heavy rod
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Correct your deeds untrue.
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Would I had ne'er bin borne
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To doe such wicked deeds,
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Which makes me live in scorne
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And shame that sore exceeds.
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But that which passed is,
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I cannot now recall:
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My sinnes and my amisse,
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O Lord forgive them all.
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Woe worth ill company,
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Fie on that filthy crue:
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Accurst the day may be
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That ever I them knew.
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If life and death were set
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Before me for to chose,
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Though I might pardon get,
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My life first would I lose,
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Then runne that wicked race,
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And doe as I have done,
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Sweet Jesus give me grace,
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That life so lewd to shun.
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Fare well my loving wife,
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Who sought to turne my minde,
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And make me mend my life,
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Thy words full true I finde.
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Farewell my children all,
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My tender Babes adue:
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Let this your Fathers fall,
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Be warning good for you.
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Deare wife, and Infants three,
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Serve God, remember this,
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That you true subjects be,
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Though I have done amisse.
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Farewell my Musick sweet,
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And Cittron silver sound,
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Mourning for me is meet,
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My sinnes doe so abound.
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O Lord, on bended knees,
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And hands lift up on hie,
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Cast on me gracious eyes,
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With grace my wants supply.
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Lay not unto my charge,
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The things that I have done,
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Though I have runne at large,
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And plaid the unthrift sonne.
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Yet now I doe repent,
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And humbly come to thee,
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My sinnes I doe lament,
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Sweet Jesus comfort me.
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O Lord I doe lament,
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And onely joy in thee,
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To praise thee day and night,
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For thou redeemedst me.
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Lord save our royall King
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Whose prisoner poore am I,
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Prolong his dayes on earth,
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With fame and victory.
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Against his Majesty,
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I have offended sore,
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Committing Felony,
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And now I die therefore,
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A dolefull death, God knowes,
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Which once I did defie:
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Thus must I end my woes
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Which I take patiently.
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By thee O Saviour sweet,
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In heaven I hope to rest,
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In joy where I shall meet,
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Those soules whom thou hast blest,
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Where we shall sing thy praise,
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O God, with voyces high,
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When I shall end my dayes,
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And live eternally.
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