Sunday Sonnet.

We are approaching the end of Anne Locke’s sonnet sequence. Why did I bother? Well, it is good, the first use of the Shakespearean Sonnet form in Englisht (predating the Bard) and it is an example of how we should react to our own wrongdoing. Today’s paraphrase is The sacrifices of God are xa broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

No particular issues with the text today.

I yeld my self, I offer vp my ghoste,
My slayne delightes, my dyeng hart to thee.
To God a trobled sprite is pleasing hoste.
My trobled sprite doth drede like him to be,
In whome tastlesse languor with lingring paine
Hath febled so the starued appetite,
That foode to late is offred all in vaine,
To holde in fainting corps the fleing sprite.
My pining soule for famine of thy grace
So feares alas the faintnesse of my faithe.
I offre vp my trobled sprite: alas,
My trobled sprite refuse not in thy wrathe.
Such offring likes thee, ne wilt thou despise
The broken humbled hart in angry wise.