A07163:76
The sick mans salve Wherein the faithful christians may learn both how to behave…The sycke mans salue VVherin the faithfull christians may learne both how to behaue…
The sick mans salve Wherein the faithful christians may learn both how to behave them selves patiently and thankfully, in the time of sickness, and also virtuously to dispose their temporal goods, and finally to prepare them selves gladly and godly to die. Made and newly recognised by Master Tho. Becon. 1561.The sycke mans salue VVherin the faithfull christians may learne both how to behaue them selues paciently and thankefully, in the tyme of sickenes, and also vertuously to dispose their temporall goodes, and finally to prepare them selues gladly and godly to die. Made and newly recognised by Maister Tho. Becon. 1561.
London: printed by John Day, 1561London: printed by Iohn Day, 1561
Title page typeset from the transcription.
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
Theoph. I pray you go sir, we will follow you.
Theoph. I pray you go sir, we will folow you.
Epa. the sick man.1 Oh, cursed be the day, wherein I was borne, unhappy be the day, wherein my mother brought me forth. Cursed be the man that brought my father the tidings to make him glad, saying: Thou hast gotten a son. Let it happen unto that man, as to the Cities which the Lord turned up side down. Let him hear crying in the morning,2 and at none day lamentable howling. Why sluest thou not me as soon as I came out of my mothers womb? O ⟨p. 11⟩that my mother had ben my grave her self, that the birth might not have come out but remained still in her, Wherefore came I forth out of my mothers womb? to have experience of labour and sorrow? Ah how sick am I, my strength is gone, my sight faileth me, my tongue flottereth in my mouth, my hands tremble and shake for pain, I can not hold up my head for weakness. If I attempt either to stand or to goo, my legs fall down under me. No part of my body doth her right office, my memory is paste. My senses fail me. What so ever I taste, is unpleasant unto me. What other thing am I, than a dead corps, breathing? For my skin upon me is turned to black,3 and my bones are dried up with heat. Yea miserably am I tormented, and altogether weary of my life. What can be pleasant ⟨p. 12⟩unto me but present death? Ah woe worth the time that ever I was borne, O that some hill might fall down and overwhelm me, that I might shortly be rid out of this pain.
Epa. the sicke man.