The Penitent sonnes teares for his murdered mother / by Nathaniel Tyndale, sicke both in soule and body, a prisoner now in Newgate. The much-afflicted mothers teares for her drowned daughter / [by?] Anne Musket, the wofull mother for her lost daughter 1624 Approx. 7 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A14129 STC 24435.5 ESTC S3851 33151080 ocm 33151080 28911 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A14129) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 28911) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1885:68) The Penitent sonnes teares for his murdered mother / by Nathaniel Tyndale, sicke both in soule and body, a prisoner now in Newgate. The much-afflicted mothers teares for her drowned daughter / [by?] Anne Musket, the wofull mother for her lost daughter Tyndale, Nathaniel. Musket, Anne. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. For Iohn Trundle, Printed at London : [1624] In verse. Date of publication from STC (2nd ed.). Printed in two columns, surrounded by black border containing mourning figures. Attribution of composition to the condemned persons is questionable. Reproduction of original in: Society of Antiquaries. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. 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Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor. The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines. Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Tyndale, Nathaniel. Musket, Anne. Murder -- England. Broadsides -- London (England) -- 17th century. 2007-08 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-08 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-09 Elspeth Healey Sampled and proofread 2007-09 Elspeth Healey Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion Lord , be mercifull . O God , forgiue him . Forsak● mee not , O Lord. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 O Lord 〈…〉 ▪ Lord , be mercifull The penitent Sonnes Teares , for his murdered Mother . HE that has taught ten thousand tongues to speake That horrid sinne , that his sad heart doth breake , Now scarce can speake himselfe ; for Woe denyes A begging Voyce , and giues me begging Eyes . Me thinkes the Shaddow of this reall thing That wretched Mee into this World did bring , Stands poynting now , ( my guilty Soule to shake ) To th' bloudy wound , this bloudy hand did make , That wound 's a Mouth ; her dead dry bloud , a Tongue , That sayes , ' mongst all , the most-forsaken throng , That haue their liues branded with bloud and shame , J stand the formost ; haue the foulest name . Mee thinkes , I heare her tell mee , those pale Hands Haue gently lapt mee in my swathing bands ; Haue dandled mee ; and , when I learn'd to goe , Haue propt mee , weake , till I too-strong did grow . Me thinkes I see Her poynt vpon her brest , And tell me , there , I haue bin vs'd to feast ; Thence oft haue fetcht my liuing ; from her bloud , By Heau'n conuerted to my wholesome food . And last , me thinkes , Shee poynts vpon that place , Where all my parts had their due forme and grace , With these sad words ; Behold th' vnhappy wombe , Which I could wish , Heauen once had made thy Tombe . A heauy wish ; yet such a wish indeed , As I my selfe now , ( with a Heart doth bleed ) Could sadly breathe ; ' cause that vntimely birth Brought not a Man , but Monster to the Earth . From that deepe Dungeon , where , in bands I lye , And from a depth , more deepe , I call and cry : The depth of anguish ; which thy sight most pure ; Can onely looke on ; and thy mercies , cure . O cure my soule ; 't is that great worke , I know , For which ( so High ) thou didst descend so low : Then , great Phisician , Helpe mee ; Heale my wound ; Great Shepheard , Seeke mee ; Let my Soule be found . That heauenly inuitation , made to those , Whose many sinnes load them with many woes , Is made to mee : For onely sinne doth griue mee , And not my death ; Then ( blessed Lord ) relieue mee . Lord , let my teares be , to my leprous sinne As Iordan was , to Naamans leprous skinne ; And wash it cleane : But , ô ! so great a good Ne'r came by Water , 't is a worke of Bloud . A worke of Bloud : the bloud of that pure Lambe , That to purge sinne , and saue poore sinners came ; That precious Bloud : O Lord , that Bloud of thine , Apply to mee , to purge this bloud of mine . So , as of GOD I begge , I begge of Men , Their zealous prayers t' assist mee : And agen , To quit that Goodnesse , this Reward I 'le giue , I 'le pray , my Death may teach all them to Liue. FINIS . By Nathaniel Tyndale , sicke both in soule and body : a prisoner now in New-gate . The much-afflicted Mothers Teares , for her drowned Daughter . COme , tender Mothers , see a Mothers feares ; Sinnes Palsie , shake mee ; and my Floud of teares : Come heare my sighs , and penitentiall prayers ; Deaths shade's my Mansion ; my Companion , Cares . O! how much worse than any sauage Beare , She-Wolfe , or Tygresse , must I now appeare ? Since they , their young , with such respect doe cherish ; And mine , by Mee , doth thus vntimely perish . For , wretched J , ( when fruitlesse cares tooke place ; And cloudy passion , hid the light of gr ce ) More fell than these are , my poore Childe forgot , And child-bed pangs , ( the Mothers painefull lot ) Forgot thou wert my Flesh ; Forgot how oft I kist thee ; blest thee ; and , to slumbers soft , Within these armes haue lull'd thee : And againe , How oft my pitties haue bemon'd thy paine . Forgot how oft vpon my tender brest Thou hast bin fed ; how often taine thy rest ; Forgot a Mothers nine yeeres cares and cost ; All which , with thee , are in thy murder , lost . All these forgot . When wee our GOD forget , Then Satan comes , and in our Eye doth set His poysoned baites ; which , ' cause I not withstood , Mine Eye drops Water ; But , my Heart drops Blood. For Death ( alas ) I care not : Could I summe As many liues , as I haue houres to come ; I 'de spend them all ; And , with a smiling Face , Meet all those Deaths , to giue thy sweet life , place . But wishes ( deare CLEMENTIA ) are but vaine ; I drown'd thee ( little Angell ; ) And againe Should drowne thy Body , ( wer 't before my feares , ) In this New Riuer , of mine owne warme Teares . These Teares , that euer from mine Eyes shall flow ; This lauish Floud of penitentiall woe ; This Wine of Angels , so the Fathers call Those drops Repentance lets so freely fall . With Paul , with Peter ▪ Dauid ; and that sonne , The maze of Ryot , and hot lust did runne ; And with the Woman , washt her Sauiours feet , Let my poore Soule that balme of mercy meet . Thou ' cam'st not ( Lord ) the iust and pure to call , But impure sinners ; Nor do'st ioy their fall , But their conuersion : And , when Grace doth bring One soule to thee , all the blest Angels sing . I know , 't is late ( O Lord ) yet know thy power ; Know that's as much , in mans departing houre , As in a rathe beginning ; for my griefe Has learnt the Lesson of that penitent Thiefe . Like his , let mine , thy Mercies-Seat ascend , And purchase there , ' gainst this sad life shall end : That life , to death , shall neuer more giue way ; So , while I weepe , helpe my poore Soule to pray . FINIS . Anne Musket , the wofull MOTHER ▪ for her lost Daughter . Printed at London for Iohn Trundle .