COme Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick, While thou dost ever, ever stay: Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick, My spirit gaspeth night and day. O show thy self to me, Or take me up to thee! How canst thou stay, considering the pace The bloud did make, which thou didst waste ? When I behold it trickling down thy face, I never saw thing make such haste, O show thy self to me, Or take me up to thee! When man was lost, thy pitie lookt about To see what help in th' earth or skie: But there was none; at least no help without: The help did in thy bosome lie. O show thy, &c. There lay thy sonne: and must he leave that nest, That hive of sweetnesse, to remove Thraldome from those, who would not at a feast Leave one poore apple for thy love ? O show thy, &c. He did, he came: O my Redeemer deare, After all this canst thou be strange ?1 So many yeares baptiz'd, and not appeare ? As if thy love could fail or change. O show thy, &c. Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay ?2 My God, what is this world to me, This world of wo ? hence all ye clouds, away, Away; I must get up and see. O show thy, &c. What is this weary world; this meat and drink, That chains us by the teeth so fast? What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink Into a blacknesse and distaste ? O show thy, &c. With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day I blasted all the joyes about me: And scouling on them as they pin'd away, Now come again, said I, and flout me. O show thy self to me, Or take me up to thee! Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush3 and brake, Which way so-e're I look, I see. Some may dream merrily, but when they wake, They dresse themselves and come to thee. O show thy, &c. We talk of harvests;4 there are no such things, But when we leave our corn and hay: There is no fruitfull yeare, but that which brings The last and lov'd, though dreadfull day. O show thy, &c. Oh loose this frame, this knot of man untie! That my free soul may use her wing, Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie, As an intangled, hamperd thing. O show thy, &c. What have I left, that I should stay and grone ? The most of me to heavn is fled: My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and gone, And for their old acquaintance plead. O show thy, &c. Come dearest Lord, passe not this holy season,5 My flesh and bones and joynts do pray: And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason The word is, Stay, sayes ever, Come. O show thy, &c.
1 strange - foreign, unfamiliar; standoffish; emotionally
"cold." As modern people would say, "Don't be a stranger." [Return]
Editor's note: The first stanza and the stanza at the top of each page prints out the full refrain. All other stanzas on the page shorten the last 2 lines to "O show thy, &c." to save type and space. This convention happens to emphasise the presence of the purposely misplaced rhyme. (Italics are in the 1633 edition.)
Music: Thomas Campion (1567-1620), "When Thou Must Home,"
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