 Holy Sonnet No. 1 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay. Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste. I run to death, and death meets me as fast, and all my pleasures are like yesterday. I dare not move my dim eyes any way, despair behind, and death before doth cast such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste by sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh. Only thou art above, and when towards thee by thy leave I can look I rise again, but our old, subtle foe so tempteth me, that not one hour myself I can sustain. Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, and thou, like Adomanto, draw mine iron heart. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 2 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. As due by many titles I resign myself to thee, O God, first I was made by thee and for thee, and when I was decayed thy blood bought that the which before was thine. I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, thy sheep, thine image, and till I betrayed myself a temple of thy spirit divine. Why doth the devil then usurp on me? Why doth he steal, nay ravish that thy right? Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, or I shall soon despair, when I do see that thou lovest mankind well, yet will not choose me. And Satan hates me, yet is loath to lose me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 3 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. O might those sighs and tears return again into my breast and eyes which I have spent, that I might in this holy discontent mourn with some fruit as I have mourned in vain. In mine idolatry, what showers of rain mine eyes did waste, what griefs my heart did rent, that sufferance was my sin. Now I repent, cos I did suffer, I must suffer pain. The hydropic drunkard and night-scouting thief, the itchy lecture and self-tickling proud have remembrance of past joys for relief of coming ills. To poor me is allowed no ease, for long yet vehement grief hath been the effect and cause, the punishment and sin. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 4 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. O my black soul, now art thou summoned by sickness, deaths herald and champion. Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled. Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read, wisheth himself delivered from prison, but damned and hailed to execution, wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack. But who shall give thee that grace to begin? O make thyself with holy morning black, and red with blushing, as thou art with sin. Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, that being red, it dies red souls to white. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 5 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. I am a little world made cunningly of elements and an angelic sprite, but black sin hath betrayed to endless night my world's both parts, and oh, both parts must die. You which beyond that heaven which was most high have found new spheres, and of new lands can write, poor new seas in mine eyes, so that I might drown my world with my weeping earnestly. Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more. But oh, it must be burnt, alas the fire of lost and envy have burnt it here too for, and made it fouler. Let their flames retire, and burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 6 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. This is my play's last scene. Here heavens appoint my pilgrimage's last mile, and my race, idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, my span's last inch, my minute's latest point, and gluttonous death will instantly unjoint my body and my soul, and I shall sleep a space. But my air-waking part shall see that face whose fear already shakes my every joint. Then, as my soul to heaven, her first seat takes flight, and earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, so fall my sins, that all may have their right, to wear their bread, and would press me to hell. Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil, for thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 7 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise from death, you numberless infinities of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, all whom the flood did, and fire shall o'er throw, all whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, despair, law, chance hath slain, and you whose eyes shall behold God, and never taste death woe. But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space, for if above all these my sins abound, it is late to ask abundance of thy grace when we are there. Here, on this lowly ground, teach me how to repent, for that's as good as if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 8 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. If faithful souls be alike glorified as angels, then my father's soul doth see, and adds this even to full felicity, that valiantly I hell's wide mouth or stride. But if our minds to these souls be described by circumstances, and by signs that be apparent in us, not immediately, how shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, and vile blasphemous conjurers to call on Jesus' name, and pharisaical dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, opensive soul to God, for he knows best thy true grief, for he put it in my breast. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 9 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. If poisonous minerals, and if that tree whose fruit threw death on Elsie mortal us, if lecherous goats, if serpents envious cannot be damned, alas, why should I be? Why should intent or reason, born in me, make sins Elsie equal, in me more heinous? And mercy being easy and glorious to God, in his stern wroth, why threatens he? But who am I that dare dispute with thee, O God? O of thine only worthy blood and my tears, make a heavenly lethian flood, and drown in it my sin's black memory, that thou remember them some claim as debt? I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 10 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Death, be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be, much pleasure, then from thee much more must low, and soonest our best men with thee do go. Rest of their bones and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, and dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, and poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, and better than thy stroke. Why swellst thou, then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more. Death, thou shalt die. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 11 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Fate in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side. Buffet, and scoff, and scourge, and crucify me. For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he who could do no iniquity hath died. But by my death cannot be satisfied my sins, which pass the Jews in piety. They killed once an inglorious man, but I crucify him daily, being now glorified. Oh, let me, then, his strange love still admire. Kings, pardon, but he bore our punishment. And Jacob came clothed in vile, harsh attire, but to supplant, and with gainful intent. God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, so that he might be weak enough to suffer woe. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 12 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Why are we, by all creatures, waited on? Why do the prodigal elements supply life and food to me, being more pure than I, simple and further from corruption? Why brooks'd thou ignorant horse, subjection? Why dost thou, bull, and bore so sealily, disemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? Here I am, woe is me, and worse than you. You have not sinned, nor need be timorous. But wander at a greater wonder, for to us, created nature, doth these things subdue, but their creator, whom sin nor nature tied, for us, his creatures and his foes hath died. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 13 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. What if this present were the world's last night? Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell, the picture of Christ crucified, and tell whether that countenance can theer spite? Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light, blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell, which prayed forgiveness for his foes fierce spite? No, no, but as in my idolatry I said to all my profane mistresses, that beauty of pity, foulness, only is a sign of rigor, so I say to thee, to wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned. This beautyous form assures a piteous mind. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 14 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Watter my heart, three-personed God, for you as yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend, that I may rise and stand, or throw me, and bend your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurped town, to another dew, labour to admit you, but old to no end. Reason, your vice-roy in me, me should defend, but is captived, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved feign, but am betrothed unto your enemy. Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, shall never be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 15 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest my soul, this wholesome meditation, how God the Spirit, by angels waited on in heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast. The Father, having begot a son most blessed, and still be getting, for he near be gone, hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, co-air to his glory, and sabbath endless rest. And as a robbed man, which by search doth find his stolen stuff sold, must lose, or buy it again. The Son of Glory came down, and was slain, as whom he'd made, and Satan stolen, to unbind. It was much that man was made like God before, but that God should be made like man, much more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 16 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Father, part of his double interest unto thy kingdom, thy Son gives to me. His jointure in the knotty trinity he keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blessed, was from the world's beginning slain, and he hath made two wills which with the legacy of his and thy kingdom do thy sons invest. Yet such are thy laws that men argue yet whether a man those statutes can fulfil. None doth, but all healing grace and spirit revive again what law and letter kill. Thy laws abridgment, and thy last command, is all but love. Oh, let this last will stand. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 17 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt to nature, and to hers, and my good is dead, and her soul early into heaven ravished, wholly in heavenly things my mind is set. Here, the admiring her, my mind did wet to seek thee, God, so streams do show the head. But though I have found thee, and thou my thirst has fed, a holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet. But why should I beg more love, when as thou dost woo my soul, for hers offering all thine, and dost not only fear lest I allow my love to saints and angels, things divine, but in thy tender jealousy dost doubt lest the world, flesh, yea, devil, put thee out. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 18 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. Show me, dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear. What is it she which on the other shore goes richly painted, or which Robb Dantor laments and mourns in Germany and here? Sleep she a thousand, then peeps up one year? Is she self-truth and hers, now new, now out-war? Doth she, and did she, and shall she ever more, on one, on seven, or on no hill appear? Dwell she with us, or like adventuring nights first travel we to seek, and then make love. Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights, and let mine amorous soul court thy mild dove, who is most true and pleasing to thee then, when she is embraced and open to most men. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Holy Sonnet No. 19 by John Dunn, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. O, to vex me, contrary's meeting one, in constancy unnaturally hath begot a constant habit, that when I would not I change in vows and in devotion, as humorous is my contrition, as my profane love, and as soon forgot, as riddlingly distempered, cold, and hot, as praying, as mute, as infinite, as none. I durse not view heaven yesterday, and today, in prayers and flattering speeches, I court God. Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod. So my devout fits come and go away, like a fantastic ague, save that here, those are my best days when I shake with fear.