ANNE ASKEWEc. 1520-1546 (martyred)
c. 1520-1546 (martyred)
Lyke as the armed knyghtAppoynted to the fielde,With thys world wyll I fyght,And fayth shall be my shielde.Faythe is that weapon strongeWhych wyll not fayle at nede;My foes therfor amongeTherwith wyll I procede.As it is had in strengtheAnd force of Christes waye,It wyll prevayle at lengthe,Though all the devyls saye naye.Faythe in the fathers oldeObtayned ryghtwysnesse,Whych make me verye boldeTo feare no worldes dystresse.I now rejoyce in hart,And hope byd me do so,For Christ wyll take my part,And ease me of my wo.Thu sayst, Lorde, whoso knocke,To them wylt thou attende;Undo therfor the locke,And thy stronge power sende.More enmyes now I haveThan heeres upon my heed;Lete them not me deprave,But fyght thu in my steed.On the my care I cast,For all their cruell spyght,I sett not by their hast,For thu art my delyght.I am not she that lystMy anker to lete fall,For everye dryslynge myst,My shyppe substancyall.Not oft use I to wryghtIn prose nor yet in ryme,Yet wyll I shewe one syghtThat I sawe in my tyme.I saw a ryall troneWhere Justyce shuld have sytt,But in her stede was oneOf modye cruell wytt.Absorpt was ryghtwysnesseAs of the ragynge floude;Sathan in hys excesseSucre up the gyltelesse bloude.Then thought I, Jesus, Lorde,Whan thee shalt judge us all,Harde is it to recordeOn these men what wyll fall.Yet, Lorde, I the desyre,For that they do to me:Lete them not taste the hyreOf their inyquyte.
Lyke as the armed knyghtAppoynted to the fielde,With thys world wyll I fyght,And fayth shall be my shielde.Faythe is that weapon strongeWhych wyll not fayle at nede;My foes therfor amongeTherwith wyll I procede.As it is had in strengtheAnd force of Christes waye,It wyll prevayle at lengthe,Though all the devyls saye naye.Faythe in the fathers oldeObtayned ryghtwysnesse,Whych make me verye boldeTo feare no worldes dystresse.I now rejoyce in hart,And hope byd me do so,For Christ wyll take my part,And ease me of my wo.Thu sayst, Lorde, whoso knocke,To them wylt thou attende;Undo therfor the locke,And thy stronge power sende.More enmyes now I haveThan heeres upon my heed;Lete them not me deprave,But fyght thu in my steed.On the my care I cast,For all their cruell spyght,I sett not by their hast,For thu art my delyght.I am not she that lystMy anker to lete fall,For everye dryslynge myst,My shyppe substancyall.Not oft use I to wryghtIn prose nor yet in ryme,Yet wyll I shewe one syghtThat I sawe in my tyme.I saw a ryall troneWhere Justyce shuld have sytt,But in her stede was oneOf modye cruell wytt.Absorpt was ryghtwysnesseAs of the ragynge floude;Sathan in hys excesseSucre up the gyltelesse bloude.Then thought I, Jesus, Lorde,Whan thee shalt judge us all,Harde is it to recordeOn these men what wyll fall.Yet, Lorde, I the desyre,For that they do to me:Lete them not taste the hyreOf their inyquyte.
Lyke as the armed knyghtAppoynted to the fielde,With thys world wyll I fyght,And fayth shall be my shielde.
Lyke as the armed knyght
Appoynted to the fielde,
With thys world wyll I fyght,
And fayth shall be my shielde.
Faythe is that weapon strongeWhych wyll not fayle at nede;My foes therfor amongeTherwith wyll I procede.
Faythe is that weapon stronge
Whych wyll not fayle at nede;
My foes therfor amonge
Therwith wyll I procede.
As it is had in strengtheAnd force of Christes waye,It wyll prevayle at lengthe,Though all the devyls saye naye.
As it is had in strengthe
And force of Christes waye,
It wyll prevayle at lengthe,
Though all the devyls saye naye.
Faythe in the fathers oldeObtayned ryghtwysnesse,Whych make me verye boldeTo feare no worldes dystresse.
Faythe in the fathers olde
Obtayned ryghtwysnesse,
Whych make me verye bolde
To feare no worldes dystresse.
I now rejoyce in hart,And hope byd me do so,For Christ wyll take my part,And ease me of my wo.
I now rejoyce in hart,
And hope byd me do so,
For Christ wyll take my part,
And ease me of my wo.
Thu sayst, Lorde, whoso knocke,To them wylt thou attende;Undo therfor the locke,And thy stronge power sende.
Thu sayst, Lorde, whoso knocke,
To them wylt thou attende;
Undo therfor the locke,
And thy stronge power sende.
More enmyes now I haveThan heeres upon my heed;Lete them not me deprave,But fyght thu in my steed.
More enmyes now I have
Than heeres upon my heed;
Lete them not me deprave,
But fyght thu in my steed.
On the my care I cast,For all their cruell spyght,I sett not by their hast,For thu art my delyght.
On the my care I cast,
For all their cruell spyght,
I sett not by their hast,
For thu art my delyght.
I am not she that lystMy anker to lete fall,For everye dryslynge myst,My shyppe substancyall.
I am not she that lyst
My anker to lete fall,
For everye dryslynge myst,
My shyppe substancyall.
Not oft use I to wryghtIn prose nor yet in ryme,Yet wyll I shewe one syghtThat I sawe in my tyme.
Not oft use I to wryght
In prose nor yet in ryme,
Yet wyll I shewe one syght
That I sawe in my tyme.
I saw a ryall troneWhere Justyce shuld have sytt,But in her stede was oneOf modye cruell wytt.
I saw a ryall trone
Where Justyce shuld have sytt,
But in her stede was one
Of modye cruell wytt.
Absorpt was ryghtwysnesseAs of the ragynge floude;Sathan in hys excesseSucre up the gyltelesse bloude.
Absorpt was ryghtwysnesse
As of the ragynge floude;
Sathan in hys excesse
Sucre up the gyltelesse bloude.
Then thought I, Jesus, Lorde,Whan thee shalt judge us all,Harde is it to recordeOn these men what wyll fall.
Then thought I, Jesus, Lorde,
Whan thee shalt judge us all,
Harde is it to recorde
On these men what wyll fall.
Yet, Lorde, I the desyre,For that they do to me:Lete them not taste the hyreOf their inyquyte.
Yet, Lorde, I the desyre,
For that they do to me:
Lete them not taste the hyre
Of their inyquyte.