EBBA 36278
Society of Antiquaries of London - Broadsides
Ballad XSLT Template
A newe balade made by Nicholas Bal
thorp which suffered in Calys the .xv. Daie of marche. M.D.L.
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WHen raging death with extreme paine
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Most cruelly assaulies my herte
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And when my fleshe although in vaine
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Doth feare the felinge of that smarte
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For when the swerde wil stop mi brethe
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Then am I at the poynt of death
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I call to minde the goodnes greate
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The father promised to us al
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Howe that his sonne for us shuld sweat
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Water and bloud and drinke the gal
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And shuld lose the life he hathe
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To pacifie his fathers wrathe
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And how we shuld by his sonnes death
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Knowe the fathers mind and wil
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And to preserve us stil in faith
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His commaundementes to fulfil
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So that before where we were slaine
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By his bloud we might live againe
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And where in thousand yeres ther were
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Before the comming of this childe
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Mani a man that came farre
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For lacke of knoweledge was begild
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As Pharaoes people whiche did rebel
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Againste Moses deserving hel
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But when the child had shed his bloud
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He made us free wher we were bande
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He after was to us so good
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To put us in the promised lande
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and broughe us from the lake so depe
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Wher he him selfe of us take kepe
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Then saide I streight unto my fleshe
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the vile carkas why doest thou fret
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that of this earthe art made so neshe
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And naught thou art but wormes meat
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In the have I no delyght
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For al is vexed in sprite
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Thou haste me caused to offende
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In folowing muche thi fleshely wil
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But God willing now I shal amend
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In token whereof I do the kil
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Because thou woldest not have him forgeve
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thi shameful fauts while thou might live
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Thou didest thiselfe so muche esteme
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thou madest thi spirite the to obeye
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But thi rewarde is as I deme
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Streight from the spirit now to decaie
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and from the world thou shalt now turne
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And be a subjecte to the worme
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As for my spirite I trust he shal
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Amonge the auncient fathers slepe
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Readie when the Lord doth cal
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His heavenlie deitie for to kepe
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This is the chiefe grounde of my faithe
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And ther upon I take my death
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What availeth anie princely power
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Yf God agreeth not them tyl
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For if the Lorde doth apointe the houre
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thei can not worke against his wil
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So that for me he doth prevente
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For to agre I do consente
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Beare record now ye Christian al
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that seethe the ende of this mi life
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For helpe to none of you I cal
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But unto God for mercie rife
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But this to you I calle and crye
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Witnes a christian do I die
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Forgeve me al in this worlde wide
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and praie for me whiles I do live
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For do mans sake tarieth the tide
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Therfore I do you al forgeve
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In the Lordes handes I do commend
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My spirite and here I make an ende
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Finis.
quod Nicholas Balthorpe
Imprinted at london in Foster
lane by Jhon Waley.
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