O deathe, through thy dede I trust to haue suche honour, as vpon my knees with cryenge and wepynge I do dayly desyre. Therfor come quyckely, and make an ende of my sorowes. O happy doughters, ryght holy sowles ioyned to the cytie hierusalem, open your eyes and with pytie loke vpon my desolacyon. I beseche yow that in my name ye do shewe vnto me bestbeloue, my God, frynde & kynge, how at euerye houre of the daye, I do languysh for hys loue. O swete deathe, through suche loue come vnto me, and with loue brynge me vnto my lorde God. O deathe where is thy stynge and darte? Alas they are bannyshed from myne eyes, for rygour is changed into swetnesse seynge that my frynde ded suffre deathe vpon the crosse for my sake. Hys deathe doth so incourage my harte, that thu wert wonders gentyll to me, if I myght folowe hym.
Ioā[unclear]. 9.
Apoca. 20.
Psal. 11.
O deathe, I beseche the come to put the frynde with hys loue. Now syth that deathe is so plesaunt a lyfe, that she pleasith me more than feareth me, than ought I to feare nothynge but the ryght iudgement of God. All my synnes with hys iust balaūce shall be wayed & shewed opēly. Thys that I haue done, also my thought and worde shall be better knowne, than if they were written in a rolle. And we maye not thynke that charyte wolde offēde iustyce & truthe. For whoso euer doth lyue vnfaythfully, shall be ponnyshed in euerlastynge payne. God is iust and hys iudgemēt is ryghteouse. All that he doth is perfyght in all thynges. Alas what am I consyderynge my ryghtousnesse, I wretched and poore creature?
Esa. 64.
Hebre. 18[unclear].
Luce. 18[unclear].
Ioan. 6[unclear].
I knowe that all the workes of iust mē are so full of imperfectyon, that afore God they are more fylthye than myer or any other vylenesse. What wyll it be than cōcernynge the synnes whych I do cōmyt, wherof I feale the burden importable? I can saye nothynge els but that I haue wonne by them dampnacyon. Is thys the ende? Shall dyspayre than be the conforte of my greate ignoraūce? Alas my God no. For the inuysyble faythe causeth me to beleue, that all thynges whych are impossyble to men, are possyble vnto the. So that thu do conuerte my worke, whych is nothynge, into some good worke of thyne in me, whych is specyally faythe. Than my lorde, who shall condempne me, & what iudge wyll dāpne me, syth that he whych is geuen me for a iudge, is my spouse, my father, and refuge? Alas what father? Suche as doth neuer condempne hys chyelde, but alwayes doth excuse and defende hym.