%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Come ye Blessed, &c. Goe ye Cursed, &c. / OR, / A Diall of Direction to Doomes-day: denoting by the Seauen deadly Sins, seauen dangerous steps descendant / to destruction; and by their contrary opposite vertues, the Seauenfold ladder ascending to euerlasting Felicitie. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1635-1635 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/24/2018 36322

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S3040 MElt throbbing Soule into a flood of teares, / And humbly hang thy vowes at Heauens eares; Society of Antiquaries of London - Broadsides Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 112 Come ye Blessed, &c. Goe ye Cursed, &c. / OR, / A Diall of Direction to Doomes-day: denoting by the Seauen deadly Sins, seauen dangerous steps descendant / to destruction; and by their contrary opposite vertues, the Seauenfold ladder ascending to euerlasting Felicitie. Come ye Blessed, etc. Go ye Cursed, etc. OR, A Dial of Direction to Doomsday: denoting by the Seven deadly Sins, seven dangerous steps descendant to destruction; and by their contrary opposite virtues, the Seven-fold ladder ascending to everlasting Felicity. 1635-1635 William Wilson Francis Groue

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction / health alcohol Americas animals / nature Bible / biblical figures buildings / architecture catastrophe children class clothing / appearance country / nation crime death economics / commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays / seasons infidelity labor / craft law London love maritime marriage military / war monstrosity mythology / Classical news nobility / court politics / government procreation punishment race / ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex / sexuality supernatural / magic travel trickery / deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth / age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 10/24/2018 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America religious concepts vice virtue Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 10/24/2018 10:54:46 AM XBallad Messner, Milena Created XML Version of Ballad 10/24/2018 10:54:46 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/24/2018 10:54:46 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/24/2018 10:54:46 AM Transcriptionist Two Raychawdhuri, Anita Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/24/2018 10:54:46 AM Transcriptionist One Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/30/2017 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 8/22/2018 Checker Minh Hua Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/13/2017 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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Humilitie. MElt throbbing Soule into a flood of teares, And humbly hang thy vowes at Heavens eares; Thy God will heare, without an angry frowne, And raise thee up, as he hath cast thee downe. Rip up thy breast with sighes, breake heart in twaine, Hee'le make amends, and salve it up againe. True, true indeed; for he that Heaven will win, Must be both new without, and new within. Love. LOve is the life of Vertue, and the fire Which kindles motion in a good desire; Shee is the Queene, whom here portrayd you see, Dandling her pretty Infants on her knee: Now what relation they have to the Mother, The same wee have compar'd with one another: If thus wee love, at length the God above, Will guide our feete into the place of Love. Patience. WHy should I seeke revenge, I'le rather die, Then have my handes distaind with crueltie; Rather then burnish in mine owne defence, Let me bee blam'd for sheepish innocence: In hope thus meane I to continue still, And wish their good, that shall desire my ill; For well I know, Forgive, and bee Forgiven, Is one sure path, will leade us unto Heaven. Labour. THe portion Adam left his sonnes was sweate, And through their Labour to procure their meate; Fye then on those, that foolishly repine, To see us worke, before we seeke to dine: Wee stand not idle, like a lumpe of lead, But plow, and sow, and so we get our bread. For true it is, when God shall see it best, Wee shall be brought unto the place of rest. Liberalitie. COme, come, you hungry soules, take what you lack Foode for your belly, rayment for your backe, Refresh yourselves with that which God hath sent us, For what wee have, we must confesse is lent us: To bee employd on you, and take't as free, As ever at the first it came to mee. And doe so still, though the world ne're regard thee, There's one above that sees, and will reward thee. Temperance. IT is a noble thing, and worthy man, To slacke his power of doing what he can; This is true Temperance, to see and tast Gods creatures, never spending them in wast; This is the Balsame for the Soule and brayne, To reade, and drinke, and then to reade againe. No man can finde the way to Heaven reeling, It's straight, and low, and onely got by kneeling. Chastitie. ONe spotlesse couple with your tender young, Fayre like the stock, from whence at first they sprong; Hie to the Temple, great Jehovahs place, There you may looke upon him face to face; There you may reade, and heare, and pray, and sing, And warble out the prayses of your King. For he that beares unto this Church a love, Shall bee a member of the Church above.
Pride. FAire, bright-celestiall Angel-like Face Adding a luster to the looking-glasse; Would Venus were alive, that I might prove How farre I went beyond the Queene of Love; My Peacock-painted lockes affirme the same, Brighter then hers to whom Leander swame. But stay, lockes shead, and Peacocks loose their feather, Your Beauty, and your Glasse, may breake together. Envie. O How my soule's tormented when I see, Honours attend on others, and flye mee! I could ee'ne teare away my snakie twine, For anger that those fortunes were not mine; Well so bee it, thrive on; I must and will Spit my contagious envie at you still. Hell's hard at hand, peace; for a time thou'lt see, Thousands shall pitty, but none envie thee. Wrath. CAn flesh and blood endure it? surely no, I'le make you rue your faults or e're you go; Your lift-up hands, and teares can doe no good, Nought shall appease my fury, but your blood: I'le carve yee up yee Scoundrels joynt by joynt, And tosse your limbes upon my daggers poynt. Yet bee advis'd, and learne this lesson well, The blood of man will be reveng'd in hell. Sloath. RAther then worke wee'le starve; now we are borne We must be kept, though we be kept in scorne; Let thinges goe how they will, what neede we care? Sleeping, and feeding in the open ayre: It is a blisse, what neede our wishes clime Farther than onely to the present tyme? Yet there's a world behind, and worth the thinking, Which will not be obtain'd by Sloath and drinking. Covetousnesse. COme let us hugge sweete soule, yee heapes of wonder, Wee'le rather fry in hell, than part asunder: O glorious mettall! fayre beyond the Sunne! That setts, but thou reflect'st when day is done; Long mayst thou fire my coffers, and bee bright, To keepe thy master from eternall night. But let me tell you this; Bills, Bondes, and Leases, Will ner'e assure you of the place where peace is. Drunkennesse. SIt close good fellowes, tumble downe the liquor, It makes the witt, and understanding quicker, 'Tis the directest physicke for the braine, To sit, and drinke, and pisse it out againe: Fill me a boule of Nectar, I'le beginne A health to him, that will this honour winne. And drinke thy fill, a time will come e're long, Thou shalt not have a drop to coole thy tongue. Lecherie. QUickly let's snatch the pleasures of the bed, Embrace, and kisse, and cull a mayden-head; A fire runnes through my vaines, like AEtna hot, Yet what it meetes I'm sure it scorches not, Trye first and trust; two is a number, one Must live, and lye, and die, and all alone. Why so? t'is better goe to Heaven single, Then with the hellish multitude to mingle.
Printed at London for William Wilson, and are to be sould by Francis Grove, over against the Sarazens-head without Newgate.