%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Mistres / Turners Repentance, / Who, about the poysoning of that Ho: / Knight Sir THOMAS OVERBVRY, VVas executed / the fourteenth day of Nouember, last. Brewer, Thomas University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1615-1615 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/24/2018 36327

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S91206 TO stay the venome of Ill speaking breath / Kills men aliue, & makes them liue in death 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: 144 Mistres / Turners Repentance, / Who, about the poysoning of that Ho: / Knight Sir THOMAS OVERBVRY, VVas executed / the fourteenth day of Nouember, last. Mistress Turner's Repentance, Who, about the poisoning of that Honorable Knight Sir THOMAS OVERBURY, Was executed the fourteenth day of November, last. Brewer, Thomas 1615-1615 Henry Gosson, and Iohn White

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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 death punishment religious concepts Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 10/24/2018 11:09:36 AM XBallad Messner, Milena Created XML Version of Ballad 10/24/2018 11:09:36 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/24/2018 11:09:36 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/24/2018 11:09:36 AM Transcriptionist Two Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/24/2018 11:09:36 AM Transcriptionist One Raychawdhuri, Anita 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
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Mistres</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Turners Repentance,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Who, about the poysoning of that Ho:</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Knight Sir THOMAS OVERBURY, Was executed</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">the fourteenth day of November, last.</hi></seg>
TO stay the venome of Ill speaking breath Kills men alive, & makes them live in death By his il-sounding Language; this poore scrowle, My Christian love, to a Repentant soule Sends to the view of all; that all may see, That did not see her, all the signes that bee Soule-saving greifes bewrayers: how her hands, (While she with heavy suspiration standes) To Heaven are raised: how her eyes are bent The way of Angells; fixt, as then she meant, (With Egle-sight) that Glory to behold Eye never saw; Eare heard, nor Tongue hath told. How humbly-lowe, in her devotions prayer She bends her knee, escaped from the snare, Of Hells temptation. Heare her likewise speake: While her Repentant sorrow strives to breake Her very heartstrings; when her tongue bewrayes The many mischeifes, of those many dayes She had bin slav'd to Sathan. Heere said shee, Are many come, a wretched thing to see, Take her deserved Death: may my sad end Teach every bad beholder, how to mend All ill (in cogitation) 'fore it growes To that foule act, our frailty overthrowes. Dehorting still from those beloved sinnes, Are bosome Traytors; baites: by which Hell winnes Increase to his blacke Kingdome. But in cheife, From those, whose sad remembrance, were her greife In that last houre of life: lust, gawdy pride, And wanton painted pleasures, whose strong Tide, Had borne her so from goodnesse. And in summe, (For sinne, with her, to this account did come) All, all is vaine; and this vaine World can showe Nothing that's good, but what from Heaven doth flowe. Then, lifting up her fingers to her eye, And feeling those faire Fountaines to be drye, From which had runne so large a flood of teares: Alas (said she) heere little Grace appeares. And some (I feare me) that beholde this face, Will judge this want of teares, my want of Grace. But good, good People doe not, my heart's sore, And I have wept so much, I can no more. With that, fresh teares upon the suddaine fall, Extorting water, from the eyes of all That stood to see, and heare her: from the deepe Of greife, she weepes, to thinke she could not weepe. And through those teares, from her suspitious thought, (Knowing, men knew she had much mischeife wrought) She thus breaks out: When Death hath clos'd mine eyes And that my Body, colde, and sencelesse lyes, My spotted Soule, will be imagin'd straight, To sinke to Hell, under my sinnes sad weight. But, Heaven hath seal'd, to my afflicted brest My sinnes forgivenesse, and my soule possest With full assurance, of that endlesse Good Is purchasd onely by my Saviours blood. I know (said she) that She that with her teares, Washt Jesus feete, and wip't them with her heires, Was, like myselfe a Sinner; yet her sinne, Did Mercy wipe (as it had never bin) From foorth the booke of Justice: this I know, And know that God, that did that mercy show Hath showen the like to me, for in my heart, I feele Heav'ns pleasure, dreadlesse of Hells smart. Then wistly looking, on that fatall place, Where Life must leave her, and pale Death imbrace Her key-cold Body, as that Death to dye Did more then Deaths grim visage, fright her eye;
From such conceit (disturbant to her minde) That * man, (in Death, the way of Life to finde,) Did then direct her; with Religious care, Doth thus recall her: You must now forbeare To place a thought, on Earth, or earthly things; And onely that, Coelestiall comfort brings Fixe heart and eye on: Now, should you transcend The troublous view, of this reproachfull end; Regarding no disgraces. On a Tree Dyed our Redeemer; hee that dyed for thee, And all Repentant Sinners. For the way, It makes no matter (greatly) how we pay This debt of Life, so Heaven assurance give, That then we dye, a better life to live. Fire, Water, Torture, any way: 'tis well To goe to Heav'n, ev'n by the Gates of Hell. From these sweete wordes, her weakenesse did receive Such Heavenly comfort, she prepares to leave The Bodyes burthen (and her Soule release, From that sad Prison, to EternallPeace) With cheerfull freenesse. No man knowes the brest; But this, her Language, to the Life exprest, In this blest manner: Let not any heere, That notes me pale, and quaking, thinke 'tis feare To see my Deaths-man: Or to meete with Death That now attends me, for the minutes breath Is yet within me. No, 'tis no such thing, This little paine, nere-ending pleasures bring And therefore I embrace it. This pale cheeke, Sighes, palsy-quaking, faintnes and the like, Are the effects of Griefe; a hearty woe, That makes me heart-lesse: to the best I knowe. As if she thus had said: These Embleames are, Of Peters sorrow; not of Caynes dispaire. To that, shee adds this comfort; Lord my God So dearely welcome to me, is this Rod, That (stead of harsh repining) I give praise, And humble thankes, that through so many dayes Of Soule-poluting mischeife,'twas thy will, I live to taste it. In the prime of Ill, Had sodaine sicknesse, or some other crosse, (When drosse was Gold, and golden vertue Drosse) Bereav'd me life, 'I had then most wretched bin, And unrepented, perisht in my sinne. Then, with a Mothers tender love, and care, She calls to minde her Children; and her Prayer Directs to Heav'n; desiring thence descend Those Holy blessings, might their Soules defend 'Gainst Hels suggestions; that, (as she had done) They never might, in graceless courses runne. And (now) to make her penitence, more cleare, That Image-worship, that her breast once bare A heart Devoteto; shee in death denide, And Rome, and Romes fowle Heresie defide. Praies, Heav'ns best blessings, on our Royall King Might still be shewr'd; and a continuall Spring, Of Peace, Content, and happy dayes remaine, With him, with his, and all his right maintaine. Thus she, in life, was so extreamly nought As if one Act, or sound Religious thought Remain'd not in her; in her end appear'd A blest Repentant; as if Heav'n had clear'd Her spotted Soule, and, in his secret will, Then made All Good, that was Before all Ill. What God will doe, he can: with this I rest: becomes a Christian, speake, and hope the best. *Doct:
FINIS. T.B. Printed at London, for Henry Gosson, and John White. 1615.