A Parodie

         Souls joy, when thou art gone,

                          And I alone,

                          Which cannot be,

Because thou dost abide with me,

         And I depend on thee;

         Yet when thou dost suppresse

                          The cheerfulnesse

                          Of thy abode,

And in my powers not stirre abroad,

         But leave me to my load:

         O what a damp and shade

                          Doth me invade!

                          No stormie night

Can so afflict or so affright,

         As thy eclipsed light.

         Ah Lord! do not withdraw,

                          Lest want of aw

                          Make Sinne appeare;

And when thou dost but shine lesse cleare,

         Say, that thou art not here.

         And then what life I have,

                          While Sinne doth rave,

                          And falsly boast,

That I must seek, but thou art lost;

         Thou and alone thou know’st.

         O what a deadly cold

                          Doth me infold:

                          I half beleeve,

That Sinne sayes true: but while I grieve,

         Thou com’st and dost relieve.