The Confession and repentance of George Saunders Gentleman, late of Shugh in the
County of Hereford, who unnaturally killed his Uncle, and accused his owne Fa-
ther for the murther: but by Gods providence being discovred, hee died for
the same. Where he writ this song with his owne hand, the first of January. 1616.
To the tune of Fortune my foe.
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His Repentance in Prison.
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MOngst Lyons fell in Daniels den am I,
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In lowest prison cast with Jeremy:
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Fed with Elias by the Ravens fell:
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And plac'd with Jonas in the maw of Hell.
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Naked with Esau, fearfull doe I walke,
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Dumbe with old Zachary silent doe I talke:
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Afflictions bread with Micha is my food,
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And with the Prophets drinke I sorrowes flood.
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As poore as Job, even now so poore am I,
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Despis'd with Lazarus in great misery:
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Banisht with David, from thy native land,
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Cast up with Jonas, on the Ninivites sand.
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M[a]de blind with Tobit, by the Swallowes dung,
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A[n]d with poore Joseph, cast in prison strong,
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I weepe with Mary, which had lost her master,
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And runne with Peter, who should run the faster.
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I sinned have, for sinne God curst the ground,
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I sinned have, for sinne the world was drownd:
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I sinned have, sinne Sodome set on fire,
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Also for sinne did AEgypt feele Gods ire.
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I sinned have, for sinne did Adam dye,
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I sinned have, sinne caused Davids cry:
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I sinned have, and for sinne Satan fell,
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From a bright Angell to a devill in hell.
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Shall David weepe for sinne, and shall not I?
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Shall Mary weepe, and shall my eyes be dry?
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Shall Esau weepe, and shall not I weepe more?
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Did Peter weepe? such teares let me have store.
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Did Mary weepe for losse of Master deare?
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Did Martha weepe with sorrow toucht full neare?
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Spring eyes with teares, to wash his sacred feet,
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That for my sinnes did shed his bloud most sweet.
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Larke-like I flye unto the living Spring,
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Desiring pardon of my heavenly King:
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Past worldly hope, now like the theefe on tree,
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I onely fixe my faith and hope on thee.
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Looke backe to me as thou didst unto Peter,
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Speake to my soule, as to the theefe, more sweeter:
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Oh spie me out with Zacheus in the tree,
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And with good Bartholmew call me Lord to thee.
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Oh let me now with holy Abram spye
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A saving Ramme that Isaac may not dye:
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O let my soule live for to sound thy praise,
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That I may shew thy mercy in my dayes.
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Make me a Sparrow in thy house O King,
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That Swallow-like I may there sit and sing:
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O let me in thy Temple keepe a doore,
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That I may praise thy name forevermore.
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