Huberts Ghost.
Or, an excellent Spiritual Dialogue between him and Death a little before his
departure, very comfortable for all Christians to hear or read, a Ditty well
known in the North. The Tune is, Basses Carrier.
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Hubert. WHat Serpent is this
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That at me doth hiss
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And about my bed thus hath been?
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whose Beauty is gone.
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all but bare skin and bone,
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Such Anatomy seldome was seen;
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tell me what thou art,
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e're hence thou depart,
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Thy power, thy vigour and force,
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Death. Death is my name,
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from Eden I came,
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And I purpose to make the a corse
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Hub. If thou be death,
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There's no joy in my breath
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Thou art welcome unto my dear,
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I see no such thing,
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that thou canst have a sting,
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To affright any creature here;
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For nature doth show,
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That my life I do owe,
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Which once apprehended must be;
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'Tis a bubble and a blast,
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Which long time cannot last,
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Then thy Dart is no danger to me.
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Death. Yet man for thy sin,
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Thou hast lived long in,
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Thy flesh will be fearful to dye;
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Knowing that so soon,
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To account thou shalt come,
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For all thy offences so high.
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Then call in thy friends,
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For thy time it now ends,
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Thy will in plain writing indorce,
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Nay tremble not so,
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From the World thou must go.
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For I will quickly make thee a corse
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Hub. Grim Hag of hell,
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Thy errand soon tell,
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As seemeth thee best to do:
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Thou art fearful to fools,
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That start at thy tools,
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Being loath from this World to go
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But come ne'r so soon,
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At night, morning, or noon,
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Long time I have waited for thee:
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And when I shall hear
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Thee hum in mine ear,
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Thy dart is no danger to me.
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Death. HEzekiah with tears,
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a term of fifteen years
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And no longer from me was he fenc'd,
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By my Master divine,
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Yet at the end of time,
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His suit was unto me commenc'd.
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But now thou must hence,
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there can be no pretence,
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Thou must leave earthly pleasures perforce
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Then tremble not so,
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From the World thou must go,
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For I come to make thee a corse.
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Hub. This life not one minute,
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Seek I to live in it,
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My time is quite spent and gone:
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In hast I have spent,
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My Span that was lent,
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For reprieve I petition to none,
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If my merciful God,
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Will with-hold his sharp Rod,
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And not my offences now see,
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Then welcome sweet death,
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Sith thou comest for my breath,
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For thy dart is no danger to me.
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Death. Alas filthy Wreth,
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What sighs should'st thou fetch?
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what groans form a penitent heart?
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If thou well examine,
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What office I am in
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And how soon with me thou must part,
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If thou here do neglect,
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On thy sins to reflect,
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Afterwards thou shalt find no re-morse
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Then while time doth last,
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Think upon thy life past,
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For I come to make the a corse.
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Hub. O death thou sayest right,
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Man is a sad plight,
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That makes not his reckoning here
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For after thy dart,
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Hath once pierc'd the heart,
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There in vain will Peccavi appear;
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Therefore I resolv'd,
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E're my life dissolv'd,
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If that I fo much favour'd may be,
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My conscience to scan,
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Like a penitent man,
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Then sweet death thou art welcome to me.
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Death In thy youthful time,
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When thou wast in thy prime,
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Thou reject'st my Mistriss sweet grace
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And now at the last,
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When thy darts almost past,
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Thou dost think of thy desolate case:
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as his mercy is much,
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So his judgment is such,
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That unless thou adjoyn all thy force,
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To unfeigned penitence,
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For thy former offence,
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To thy woe I shall make thee a corse.
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Hub. Away frightful Ghost,
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a terrour to most,
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Why seek'st thou my mind to dismay
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I hope what is done,
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That the true Virgins Son,
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with his blood hath clean washed away
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He will at my lives loss
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Nayl my sin to his cross,
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That no more they remembred shall be
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And by his wounds five,
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my sick soul shall revive,
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Then death thou art welcome to me.
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Death. O Man then prepare,
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Thy self with great care,
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Thou hast no long time here to stay,
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Thy Glass now doth stand,
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At the last corn of Sand,
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And therefore it's high time to pray,
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My message is done,
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And I needs must be gone,
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Against me 'tis in vain to use force,
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Here I waiting stand,
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With my dart in my hand,
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I am ready to make thee a corse.
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Hub. Then farewel frail earth,
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For in my second birth,
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All hopes of my heart doth abide,
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In him is my trust
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Who from the earth and dust,
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On the cross suffer'd pains till he dy'd
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Welcome death my good friend,
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Thou art welcome to make an end
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Of my trouble, and set my Soul free
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Thy office perform,
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For my life I will arm,
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That thy dart shall no hurt bring to me
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