Classic Poem

Plasmos in time wringing him selfe out of all the troubles and mischiefes that his enimies had wrapt him in, and seing his estate for his troubles so sufficient as, with good government, he might live in indifferent good credite: on the contrarie part, seing some of his enimies through their lewdnesse starke beggers, and other some of them to dye soudenly and miserably, as well to give God thankes for his deliverie, as for the overthrowe of his enimies, made this sonet following.
To thee (O Lord!) with hart and voice I sing,
Whose mercy great, from dole to sweete delight,
From mone to myrth, my troubled spirite did bring;
Yea more, thy yre hath foyld my foes in sight:
They live in want that flourisht late in wealth,
They grone with griefe, yea, lack bothe help and helth.

Their conscience guilt doth gall them through their gaine,
And yet they waste more faster then they winne:
Thus sweete prov'd sowre, their pleasure turnd to paine,
Yea, living dyde to thinke upon their sinne.
Their shadowes feard, so souden was their fall,
But more their death when destenie did them call.

Their mone amasd a thousand wretches moe,
Who sight and shrynkt through motions of deceit;
To heare report this thundring threat to throwe,
Foule fall the fraude to breede our bale! a baite,
A bitter sweete, that rots ere it be ripe,
A living care, to soule a deadly stripe.

But how with hap the pikes of harme I past,
Of murdrous mates, of myndes on mischiefe set,
Whose snares for me them selves did fetter fast,
Whose baites for me them measht in beggers net,
Inforst men say, of God, loe here the might!
Which heales the harmd, and lames the lewd in sight.

But I whose scare thy heavenly helpe did cleare,
Will daily sing with mynd, with hart, and voyce,
To thee (O Lord!) be honour, laude, and feare,
Which foyldst my foes and madst me to rejoyce.
Laude for thy grace, and honour to thy name,
Feare cause thy wrath doth put the lewde to shame.