The burning Babe

As I in hoarie Winters night stoode shivering in the snow,

Surpris'd I was with sodaine heat which made my hart to glow ;

And lifting up a fearefull eye, to view what fire was neare,

A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the ayre appeare ;

Who, scorched with excessive heate, such floods of teares did shed,

As though his floods should quench his flames, which with his teares were fed:

Alas (quoth he) but newly borne, in fierie heates I frie,

Yet none approach to warme their harts or feele my fire, but I;

My faultlesse breast the furnace is, the fewell wounding thornes:

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoake, the ashes, shame and scornes ;

The fewell Justice layeth on, and Mercie blows the coales,

 The metall in this furnace wrought, are mens defiled soules:

For which, as now on fire I am to worke them to their good,

So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood.

With this he vanisht out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away,

And straight I callede unto minde that it was Christmasse day.

 

 ROBERT SOUTHWELL [1592]

publicado por Carlos Botelho às 00:49 | comentar | partilhar