SALVE DEUS REX JUDAEORUM.  
Containing, 

1 The Passion of Christ.  
2 eves Apology in defence of Women.  
3 The Tears of the Daughters of jerusalem.  
4 The Salutation and Sorrow of the Virgin Marie.    
With divers other things not unfit to be read.  
Written by Mistress Aemilia Lanyer, Wife to Captain Alfonso Lanyer Servant to the King's Majesty.  
AT LONDON Printed by Valentine Simmes for Richard Bonian, and are to be sold at his Shop in Paul's Churchyard. Anno 1611.   

❧ To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty.  

REnowned Empress, and great Britain's Queen,  
Most gracious Mother of succeeding Kings;  
Vouchsafe to view that which is seldom seen,  
A Woman's writing of divinest things:  
Read it fair Queen, though it defective be,  
Your Excellence can grace both It and Me.   

For you have rifled Nature of her store,  
And all the Goddesses have dispossessed  
Of those rich gifts which they enjoyed before,  
But now great Queen, in you they all do rest▪  
If now they strived for the golden Ball,  
Paris would give it you before them all.   

From juno you have State and Dignities,  
From warlike Pallas, Wisdom, Fortitude;  
And from fair Venus all her Excellencies,  
With their best parts your Highness is endued:  
How much are we to honour those that springs  
From such rare beauty, in the blood of Kings?   

The Muses do attend upon your Throne,  
With all the Artists at your beck and call;  
The Sylvan Gods, and satires every one,  
Before your fair triumphant Chariot fall:  
And shining Cynthia with her nymphs attend  
To honour you, whose Honour hath no end.   

From your bright sphere of greatness where you sit,  
Reflecting light to all those glorious stars  
That wait upon your Throne; To virtue yet  
Vouchsafe that splendour which my meanness bars:  
Be like fair Phoebe, who doth love to grace  
The darkest night with her most beauteous face.   

Apollo's beams do comfort every creature,  
And shines upon the meanest things that be;  
Since in Estate and Virtue none is greater,  
I humbly wish that yours may light on me:  
That so these rude unpolished lines of mine,  
Graced by you, may seem the more divine.   

Look in this Mirror of a worthy Mind,  
Where some of your fair Virtues will appear;  
Though all it is impossible to find,  
Unless my Glass were crystal, or more clear:  
Which is dim steel, yet full of spotless truth,  
And for one look from your fair eyes it su'th.   

Here may your sacred Majesty behold  
That mighty Monarch both of heaven and earth,  
He that all Nations of the world controlled,  
Yet took our flesh in base and meanest birth:  
Whose days were spent in poverty and sorrow,  
And yet all Kings their wealth of him do borrow.   

For he is Crown and Crowner of all Kings,  
The hopeful haven of the meaner sort,  
It's he that all our joyful tidings brings  
Of happy reign within his royal Court:  
It's he that in extremity can give  
Comfort to them that have no time to live.   

And since my wealth within his Region stands,  
And that his Cross my chiefest comfort is,  
Yea in his kingdom only rests my lands,  
Of honour there I hope I shall not miss:  
Though I on earth do live unfortunate,  
Yet there I may attain a better state.   

In the mean time, accept most gracious Queen  
This holy work, Virtne presents to you,  
In poor apparel, shaming to be seen,  
Or once t'appear in your judicial view:  
But that fair Virtue, though in mean attire,  
All Princes of the world do most desire.   

And sith all royal virtues are in you,  
The Natural, the Moral, and Divine,  
I hope how plain soever, being true,  
You will accept even of the meanest line  
Fair Virtue yields; by whose rare gifts you are  
So highly graced, t'exceed the fairest fair.   

Behold, great Queen, fair eves Apology,  
Which I have writ in honour of your sex,  
And do refer unto your Majesty,  
To judge if it agree not with the Text:  
And if it do, why are poor Women blamed,  
Or by more faulty Men so much defamed?   

And this great Lady I have here attired,  
In all her richest ornaments of Honour,  
That you fair Queen, of all the world admired,  
May take the more delight to look upon her:  
For she must entertain you to this Feast,  
To which your Highness is the welcomest guest.   

For here I have prepared my Paschal Lamb,  
The figure of that living Sacrifice;  
Who dying, all th' Infernal powers o'ercame,  
That we with him t'Eternitie might rise:  
This precious Passeover feed upon, O Queen,  
Let your fair Virtues in my Glass be seen.   

And she that is the pattern of all Beauty,  
The very model of your Majesty,  
Whose rarest parts enforceth Love and Duty,  
The perfect pattern of all Piety:  
O let my Book by her fair eyes be blest,  
In whose pure thoughts all Innocency rests.   

Then shall I think my Glass a glorious Sky,  
When two such glittering Suns at once appear;  
The one  with Sovereign Majesty,  
Both shining brighter than the clearest clear:  
And both reflecting comfort to my spirits,  
To find their grace so much above my merits   

Whose untuned voice the doleful notes doth sing  
Of sad Affliction in an humble strain;  
Much like unto a Bird that wants a wing,  
And cannot fly, but warbles forth her pain:  
Or he that barred from the Sun's bright light,  
Wanting days comfort, doth commend the night.   

So I that live closed up in sorrows Cell,  
Since great Eliza's favour blest my youth;  
And in the confines of all cares do dwell,  
Whose grieved eyes no pleasure ever view'th:  
But in Christ's sufferings, such sweet taste they have,  
As makes me praise pale Sorrow and the Grave.   

And this great Lady whom I love and honour,  
And from my very tender years have known,  
This holy habit still to take upon her,  
Still to remain the same, and still her own:  
And what our fortunes do enforce us to,  
She of Devotion and mere Zeal doth do.   

Which makes me think our heavy burden light,  
When such a one as she will help to bear it:  
Treading the paths that make our way go right,  
What garment is so fair but she may wear it;  
Especially for her that entertains  
A Glorious Queen, in whom all worth remains.   

Whose power may raise my sad dejected Muse,  
From this low Mansion of a troubled mind;  
Whose princely favour may such grace infuse,  
That I may spread Her Virtues in like kind:  
But in this trial of my slender skill,  
I wanted knowledge to perform my will.   

For even as they that do behold the Stars,  
Not with the eye of Learning, but of Sight,  
To find their motions, want of knowledge bars  
Although they see them in their brightest light:  
So, though I see the glory of her State,  
It's she that must instruct and elevate.   

My weak distempered brain and feeble spirits,  
Which all unlearned have adventured, this  
To write of Christ, and of his sacred merits,  
Desiring that this Book Her hands may kiss:  
And though I be unworthy of that grace,  
Yet let her blessed thoughts this book embrace.   

And pardon me (fair Queen) though I presume,  
To do that which so many better can;  
Not that I Learning to myself assume,  
Or that I would compare with any man:  
But as they are Scholars, and by Art do write,  
So Nature yields my Soul a sad delight.   

And since all Arts at first from Nature came,  
That goodly Creature, Mother of Perfection,  
Whom Ioues almighty hand at first did frame,  
Taking both her and hers in his protection:  
Why should not She now grace my barren Muse,  
And in a Woman all defects excuse.   

So peerless Princess humbly I desire,  
That your great wisdom would vouchsafe t'omit  
All faults; and pardon if my spirits retire,  
Leaving to aim at what they cannot hit:  
To write your worth, which no pen can express,  
Were but t'ecclipse your Fame, and make it less.    

To the Lady ELIZABETH'S Grace.  

MOst gracious Lady, fair ELIZABETH,  
Whose Name and Virtues puts us still in mind,  
Of her, of whom we are deprived by death;  
The Phoenix of her age, whose worth did bind  
All worthy minds so long as they have breath,  
In links of Admiration, love and zeal,  
To that dear Mother of our Commonweal.   

Even you fair Princess next our famous Queen,  
I do invite unto this wholesome feast,  
Whose goodly wisdom, though your years be green,  
By such good works may daily be increased,  
Though your fair eyes far better Books have seen;  
Yet being the first fruits of a woman's wit,  
Vouchsafe you favour in accepting it.    

To all virtuous Ladies in general.  

EAch blessed Lady that in Virtue spends  
Your precious time to beautify your souls;  
Come wait on her whom winged Fame attends  
And in her hand the Book where she inroules  
Those high deserts that Majesty commends:  
Let this fair Queen not unattended Bee,  
When in my Glass she deigns herself to see.   

Put on your wedding garments every one,  
The Bridegroom stays to entertain you all;  
Let Virtue be your guide, for she alone  
Can lead you right that you can never fall;  
And make no stay for fear he should be gone:  
But fill your Lamps with oil of burning zeal,  
That to your Faith he may his Truth reveal.   

Let all your robes be purple scarlet white, 
The robes that Christ wore before his death.   
Those perfect colours purest Virtue wore,  
Come decked with Lilies that did so delight  
To be preferred in Beauty, far before  
Wise Solomon in all his glory dight:  
Whose royal robes did no such pleasure yield,  
As did the beauteous Lily of the field.   

Adorn your temples with fair Daphne's crown,  
The never changing Laurel, always geene;  
Let constant hope all worldly pleasures drown, 
●n token of Constancy.   
In wise Minerva's paths be always scene;  
Or with bright Cynthia, though fair Venus' frown:  
With Aesop cross the posts of every door,  
Where Sin would riot, making Virtue poor.   

And let the Muses your companions be,  
Those sacred sisters that on Pallas wait;  
Whose Virtues with the purest minds agree,  
Whose godly labours do avoid the bait  
Of worldly pleasures, living always free  
From sword, from violence, and from ill report,  
To these nine Worthies all fair minds resort.   

Anoint your hair with Aaron's precious oil,  
And bring your palms of victory in your hands,  
To overcome all thoughts that would defile  
The earthly circuit of your souls fair lands;  
Let no dim shadows your clear eyes beguile:  
Sweet odours, myrrh, gum, aloes, frankincense,  
Present that King who died for your offence.   

Behold, bright Titan's shining chariot stays,  
All decked with flowers of the freshest hue,  
Attended on by Age, Hours, Nights, and Days,  
Which altars not your beauty, but gives you  
Much more, and crowns you with eternal praise:  
This golden chariot wherein you must ride,  
Let simple Doves, and subtle serpent's guide.   

Come swifter than the motion of the Sun,  
To be transfigured with our loving Lord,  
Lest Glory end what Grace in you begun,  
Of heavenly riches make your greatest hoard,  
In Christ all honour, wealth, and beauty's won:  
By whose perfections you appear more fair  
Than Phoebus, if he seven times brighter were.   

God's holy Angels will direct your Doves,  
And bring your Serpents to the fields of rest,  
Where he doth stay that purchased all your loves  
In bloody torments, when he died oppressed,  
There shall you find him in those pleasant groves  
Of sweet Elysium, by the Well of Life,  
Whose crystal springs do purge from worldly strife   

Thus may you fly from dull and sensual earth,  
Whereof at first your bodies form were,  
That new regen'rate in a second birth,  
Your blessed souls may live without all fear,  
Being immortal, subject to no death:  
But in the eye of heaven so highly placed,  
That others by your virtues may be graced.   

Where worthy Ladies I will leave you all,  
Desiring you to grace this little Book;  
Yet some of you me thinks I hear to call  
Me by my name, and bid me better look,  
Lest unawares I in an error fall:  
In general terms, to place you with the rest,  
Whom Fame commends to be the very best.   

'tis true, I must confess (O noble Fame)  
There are a number honoured by thee,  
Of which, some few thou didst recite by name,  
And willed my Muse they should remembered be;  
Wishing some would their glorious Trophies frame:  
Which if I should presume to undertake,  
My tired Hand for very fear would quake.   

Only by name I will bid some of those,  
That in true honours seat have long been placed,  
Yea even such as thou 〈◊〉 chief chose,  
By whom my Muse may be the better graced;  
Therefore, unwilling longer time to lose,  
I will invite some Ladies that I know,  
But chief those as thou hast graced so.    

❧ To the Lady Arabella.  

GReat learned Lady, whom I long have known,  
And yet not known so much as I desired:  
Rare Phoenix, whose fair feathers are your own,  
With which you fly, and are so much admired:  
True honour whom true Fame hath so attired,  
In glittering raiment shining much more bright,  
Than silver Stars in the most frosty night.   

Come like the morning Sun new out of bed,  
And cast your eyes upon this little Book,  
Although you be so well accompanied  
With Pallas, and the Muses, spare one look  
Upon this humbled King, who all forsook,  
That in his dying arms he might embrace  
Your beauteous Soul, and fill it with his grace.    

¶ To the Lady Susan, Countess Dowager of Kent, and daughter to the Duchess of Suffolk.  

COme you that were the Mistress of my youth,  
The noble guide of my ungoverned days;  
Come you that have delighted in God's truth,  
Help now your handmaid to sound forth his praise:  
You that are pleased in his pure excellency,  
Vouchsafe to grace this holy feast, and me.   

And as your rare Perfections show'd the Glass  
Wherein I saw each wrinkle of a fault;  
You the suns virtue, I that fair green grass,  
That flourished fresh by your clear virtues taught:  
For you possessed those gifts that grace the mind,  
Restraining youth whom Error oft doth blind.   

In you these noble Virtues did I note,  
First, love and fear of God, of Prince, of Laws,  
Rare Patience with a mind so far remote  
From worldly pleasures, free from giving cause  
Of least suspect to the most envious eye,  
That in fair Virtues Storehouse sought to prie.   

Whose Faith did undertake in Infancy,  
All dangerous travels by devouring Seas  
To fly to Christ from vain Idolatry,  
Not seeking there this worthless world to please,  
By your most famous Mother so directed,  
That noble Duchess, who lived unsubiected.   

From Rome's ridiculous prior and tyranny,  
That mighty Monarches kept in awful fear;  
Leaving here her lands, her state, dignity;  
Nay more, vouchsafed disgnised weeds to wear:  
When with Christ jesus she did mean to go,  
From sweet delights to taste part of his woe.   

Come you that ever since hath followed her,  
In these sweet paths of fair Humility;  
Contemning Pride pure Virtue to prefer,  
Not yielding to base Imbecility,  
Nor to those weak enticements of the world,  
That have so many thousand Souls insnarld.   

Receive your Love whom you have sought so far,  
Which here presents himself within your view;  
Behold this bright and all directing Star,  
Light of your Soul that doth all grace renew:  
And in his humble paths since you do tread,  
Take this fair Bridegroom in your souls pure bed,   

And since no former gain hath made me write,  
Nor my desertless service could have won,  
Only your noble Virtues do incite  
My Pen, they are the ground I writ upon;  
Nor any future profit is expected,  
Then how can these poor lines go unrespected?    

¶ The Author's Dream to the Lady Marie, the Countess Dowager of Pembroke.  

ME thought I passed through th' Edalyan Groves,  
And asked the Graces, if they could direct,  
Me to a Lady whom Minerva chose,  
To live with her in height of all respect.   

Yet looking back into my thoughts again,  
The eye of Reason did behold her there  
Fast tied unto them in a golden Chain,  
They stood, but she was set in honours chair.   

And nine fair Virgins sat upon the ground,  
With Harps and Vials in their lily hands;  
Whose harmony had all my senses drowned,  
But that before mine eyes an object stands,   

Whose Beauty shined like Titons clearest rays,  
She blew a brazen Trumpet, which did sound  
Through all the world that worthy Lady's praise,  
And by Eternal Fame I saw her crowned.   

Yet studying, if I were awake, or no,  
God Morphy came and took me by the hand, 
The God of Dreams.   
And wiled me not from Slumbers bower to go,  
Till I the sum of all did understand.   

When presently the Welkin that before  
Looked bright and clear, me thought, was overcast,  
And dusky clouds, with boisterous winds great store,  
Foretold of violent storms which could not last.   

And gazing up into the troubled sky,  
Me thought a Chariot did from thence descend,  
Where one did sit  with Majesty,  
Drawn by four fiery Dragons, which did bend   

Their course where this most noble Lady sat,  
Whom all these virgins with due reverence  
Did entertain, according to that state  
Which did belong unto her Excellence.   

When bright Bellona, 
Goddess of War and Wisdom.  so they did her call,  
Whom these fair Nymphs so humbly did receive,  
Amanly maid which was both fair and tall,  
Her borrowed charet by a spring did leave.   

With spear, and shield, and currat on her breast,  
And on her head a helmet wondrous bright,  
With myrtle, bays, and olive branches dressed,  
Wherein me thought I took no small delight.   

To see how all the Graces sought grace here,  
And in what meek, yet princely sort she came;  
How this most noble Lady did embrace her,  
And all humours unto hers did frame.   

Now fair Dictina by the break of Day, 
The Moon.   
With all her Damsels round about her came,  
Ranging the woods to hunt, yet made a stay,  
When hearkening to the pleasing sound of Fame;   

Her ivory bow and silver shafts she gave  
Unto the fairest nymph of all her train;  
And wondering who it was that in so grave,  
Yet gallant fashion did her beauty stain:   

She decked herself with all the borrowed light  
That Phoebus would afford from his fair face,  
And made her Virgins to appear so bright,  
That all the hills and vales received grace.   

Then pressing where this beauteous troop did stand,  
They all received her most willingly,  
And unto her the Lady gave her hand,  
That she should keep with them continually.   

Aurora rising from her rosy bed, 
The Morning.   
First blushed, then wept, to see fair Phoebe graced,  
And unto Lady May these words she said,  
Come, let us go, we will not be outfaced.   

I will unto Apollo's wagoner,  
A bid him bring his Master presently,  
That his bright beams may all her Beauty mar,  
Gracing us with the lustre of his eye.   

Come, come, sweet May, and fill their laps with flowers,  
And I will give a greater light than she:  
So all these Ladied favours shall be ours,  
None shall be more esteemed than we shall be.   

Thus did Aurora dim fair Phoebus' light,  
And was received in bright Cynthia's place,  
While Flora all with fragrant flowers dight,  
Pressed to show the beauty of her face.   

Though these, me thought, were very pleasing sights,  
Yet now these Worthies did agree to go,  
Unto a place full of all rare delights,  
A place that yet Minerva did not know.   

That sacred Spring where Artand Nature strived  
Which should remain as Sovereign of the place;  
Whose ancient quarrel being new reviv'd,  
Added fresh Beauty, gave far greater Grace.   

To which as umpiers now these Ladies go,  
judging with pleasure their delightful case;  
Whose ravished senses made them quickly know,  
'Twould be offensive either to displace.   

And therefore willed they should for ever dwell,  
In perfect unity by this matchless Spring:  
Since 'twas impossible either should excel,  
Or her fair fellow in subjection bring.   

But here in equal sovereignty to live,  
Equal in state, equal in dignity,  
That unto others they might comfort give,  
Rejoicing all with their sweet unity.   

And now me thought I long to hear her name,  
Whom wise Minerva honoured so much,  
She whom I saw was crowned by noble Fame,  
Whom Envy sought to sting, yet could not touch.   

Me thought the meager elf did seek buy ways  
To come unto her, but it would not be;  
Her venom purified by virtues rays,  
She pined and starved like an Anatomy:   

While beauteous Pallas with this Lady fair,  
Attended by these Nymphs of noble fame,  
Beheld those woods, those groves, those bowers rare,  
By which Pergusa, for so hight the name   

Of that fair spring, his dwelling place & ground;  
And through those fields with sundry flowers clad,  
Ofseu'rall colours, to adorn the ground,  
And please the senses even of the most sad:   

He trayld along the woods in wanton wise,  
With sweet delight to entertain them all;  
Inviting them to sit and to devise  
On holy hymns; at last to mind they call   

Those rare sweet songs which Israel's King did frame  
Unto the Father of Eternity; 
The Psalms written newly by the Countess Dowager of Pembroke.   
Before his holy wisdom took the name  
Of great Messiah, Lord of unity.   

Those holy Sonnets they did all agree,  
With this most lovely Lady here to sing;  
That by her noble breasts sweet harmony,  
Their music might in ears of Angel's ring.   

While saints like Swans about this silver brook  
Should Hallalu-iah sing continually,  
Writing her praises in th'eternal book.  
Of endless honour, true fame's memory.   

Thus I in sleep the heauenli'st music hard,  
That ever earthly ears did entertain;  
And durst not wake, for fear to be debarred  
Of what my senses sought still to retain.   

Yet sleeping, prayed dull Slumber to unfold  
Her noble name, who was of all admired;  
When presently in drowsy terms he told  
Not only that, but more than I desired.   

This nymph, quoth he, great Pembroke hight by name,  
Sister to valiant Sidney, whose clear light  
Gives light to all that tread true paths of Fame,  
Who in the globe of heaven doth shine so bright;   

That being dead, his fame doth him survive,  
Still living in the hearts of worthy men;  
Pale Death is dead, but he remains alive,  
Whose dying wounds restored him life again.   

And this fair earthly goddess which you see,  
Bellona and her virgins do attend;  
In virtuous studies of Divinity,  
Her precious time continually doth spend.   

So that a Sister well she may be deemed,  
To him that lived and died so nobly;  
And far before him is to be esteemed  
For virtue, wisdom, learning, dignity.   

Whose beauteous soul hath gained a double life,  
Both here on earth, and in the heavens above,  
Till dissolution end all worldly strife:  
Her blessed spirit remains, of holy love,   

Directing all by her immortal light,  
In this huge sea of sorrows, griefs, and fears;  
With contemplation of God's powerful might,  
She sils the eyes, the hearts, the tongues, the ears   

Of after-coming ages, which shall read  
Her love, her zeal, her faith, and piety;  
The fair impression of whose worthy deed,  
Seals her pure soul unto the Deity.   

That both in Hean'n and Earth it may remain,  
Crowned with her Maker's glory and his love;  
And this did Father Slumber tell with pain,  
Whose dullness scarce could suffer him to move.   

When I awaking left him and his bower,  
Much grieved that I could no longer stay;  
Senseless was sleep, not to admit me power,  
As I had spent the night to spend the day:   

Then had God Morphie show'd the end of all,  
And what my heart desired, mine eyes had seen;  
For as I waked me thought I heard one call  
For that bright Chariot lent by Ioues fair Queen.   

But thou, base cunning thief, that robs our spirits  
Of half that span of life which years doth give; 
To Sleep.   
And yet no praise unto thyself it merits,  
To make a seeming death in those that live.   

Yea wickedly thou dost consent to death,  
Within thy restful bed to rob our souls;  
In Slumbers bower thou stealest away our breath,  
Yet none there is that thy base stealths controls.   

If poor and sickly creatures would embrace thee,  
Or they to whom thou giv'st a taste of pleasure,  
Thou fliest as if Actaeon's hounds did chase thee,  
Or that to stay with them thou hadst no leisure.   

But though thou hast deprived me of delight,  
By stealing from me ere I was aware;  
I know I shall enjoy the self same sight,  
Thou hast no power my waking spirits to bar.   

For to this Lady now I will repair,  
Presenting her the fruits of idle hours;  
Though many Books she writes that are more rare,  
Yet there is honey in the meanest flowers:   

Which is both wholesome, and delights the taste:  
Though sugar be more finer, higher prized,  
Yet is the painful Bee no whit disgraced,  
Nor her fair wax, or honey more despized.   

And though that learned damsel and the rest,  
Have in a higher style her Trophy framed;  
Yet these unlearned lines being my best,  
Of her great wisdom can no whit be blamed.   

And therefore, first I here present my Dream,  
And next, invite her Honour to my feast;  
For my clear reason sees her by that stream,  
Where her rare virtues daily are increased.   

So craving pardon for this bold attempt,  
I here present my mirror to her view,  
Whose noble virtues cannot be exempt,  
My Glass being steel, declares them to be true.   

And Madam, if you will vouchsafe that grace,  
To grace those flowers that springs from virtues ground;  
Though your fair mind on worthier works is placed,  
On works that are more deep, and more profound;   

Yet is it no disparagement to you,  
To see your Saviour in a shepherds weed,  
Unworthily presented in your view,  
Whose worthiness will grace each line you read.   

Receive him here by my unworthy hand,  
And read his paths of fair humility;  
Who though our sins in number pass the sand,  
They all are purged by his Divinity.    

¶ To the Lady Lucy, Countess of Bedford.  

ME thinks I see fair Virtue ready stand,  
T'unlock the closet of your lovely breast,  
Holding the key of Knowledge in her hand,  
Key of that cabin where yourself doth rest,  
To let him in, by whom her youth was blest:  
The true-love of your soul, your heart's delight,  
Fairer than all the world in your clear sight.   

He that descended from celestial glory,  
To taste of our infirmities and sorrows,  
Whose heavenly wisdom read the earthly story  
Offraile Humanity, which his godhead borrows?  
Lo here he comes all stuck with pale deaths arrows:  
In whose most precious wounds your soul may read  
Salvation, while he (dying Lord) doth bleed.   

You whose clear judgement far exceeds my skill,  
Vonchsafe to entertain this dying lover,  
The Ocean of true grace, whose streams do fill  
All those with joy, that can his love recover;  
About this blessed Ark bright Angels hover:  
Where your fair soul may sure and safely rest,  
When he is sweetly seated in your breast.   

There may your thoughts as servants to your heart,  
Give true attendance on this lovely guest,  
While he doth to that blessed bower impart  
Flowers of fresh comforts, deck that bed of rest,  
With such rich beauties as may make it blest:  
And you in whom all rarity is found,  
May be with his eternal glory crowned.    

To the Lady Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland.  
* ⁎ *  
RIght Honoutable and Excellent Lady, I may say with Saint Peter, Silver nor gold have I none, but such as I have, that give I you: for having neither rich pearls of India, nor fine gold of Arabia, nor diamonds of inestimable value; neither those rich treasures, aromatical Gums, incense, and sweet odours, which were presented by those Kingly Philosophers to the babe jesus, I present unto you even our Lord jesus himself, whose infinite value is not to be comprehended within the weak imagination or wit of man: and as Saint Peter gave health to the body, so I deliver you the health of the soul; which is this most precious pearl of all perfection, this rich diamond of devotion, this perfect gold growing in the veins of that excellent earth of the most blessed Paradise, wherein our second Adam had his restless habitation. The sweet incense, balsums, odours, and gums that flows from that beautiful tree of Life, sprung from the root of jessie, which is so superexcellent, that it giveth grace to the meanest & most unworthy hand that will undertake to write thereof; neither can it receive any blemish thereby: for as a right diamond can lose no whit of his beauty by the black foil underneath it, neither by being placed in the dark, but retains his natural beauty and brightness shining in greater perfection than before; so this most precious diamond, for beauty and riches exceeding all the most precious diamonds and rich jewels of the world, can receive no blemish, nor impeachment, by my unworthy hand writing; but will with the Sun retain his own brightness and most glorious lustre, though never so many blind eyes look upon him. Therefore good Madam, to the most perfect eyes of your understanding, I deliver the inestinable treasure of all elected souls, to be perused at convenient times; as also, the mirror of your most worthy mind, which may remain in the world many years longer than your Honour, or myself can live, to be a light unto those that come after, desiring to tread in the narrow path of virtue, that leads the way to heaven. In which way, I pray God send your Honour long to continue, that your light may so shine before men, that they may glorify your father which is in Heaven: and that I and many others may follow you in the same track. So wishing you in this world all increase of health and honour, and in the world to come life everlasting, I rest.   

¶ To the Lady Katherine Countess of Suffolk.  

ALthough great Lady, it may seem right strange,  
That I a stranger should presume thus far,  
To write to you; yet as the times do change,  
So are we subject to that fatal star,  
Under the which we were produced to breath,  
That star that guides us even until our death.   

And guided me to frame this work of grace,  
Not of itself, but by celestial powers,  
To which, both that and we must needs give place,  
Since what we have, we cannot count it ours:  
For health, wealth, honour, sickness, death & all,  
Is in God's power, which makes us rise and fall.   

And since his power hath given me power to write,  
A subject sit for you to look upon,  
Wherein your soul may take no small delight,  
When her bright eyes beholds that holy one:  
By whose great wisdom, love, and special grace,  
She was created to behold his face.   

Vouchsafe sweet Lady, to accept these lines,  
Writ by a hand that doth desire to do  
All services to you whose worth combines  
The worthiest minds to love and honour you:  
Whose beauty, wisdom, children, high estate,  
Do all concur to make you fortunate.   

But chief your most honourable Lord,  
Whose noble virtues Fame can ne'er forget:  
His hand being always ready to afford  
Help to the weak, to the unfortunate:  
All which begets more honour and respect,  
Than Croessus wealth, or Caesar's stern aspect.   

And rightly showeth that he is descended  
Of honourable howard's ancient house;  
Whose noble deeds by former times commended,  
Do now remain in your most loyal Spouse,  
On whom God powers all blessings from above,  
Wealth, honour, children and a worthy Love;   

Which is more dear to him than all the rest,  
You being the loving Hind and pleasant Roe,  
Wife of his youth, in whom his soul is blest,  
Fountain from whence his chief delights do flow.  
Fair tree from which the fruit of Honour springs,  
Hear I present to you the King of kings:   

Desiring you to take a perfect view,  
Of those great torments Patience did endure;  
And reap those Comforts that belongs to you,  
Which his most painful death did then assure:  
Writing the Covenant with his precious blood,  
That your fair soul might bathe her in that flood.   

And let your noble daughters likewise read  
This little Book that I present to you;  
On heavenly food let them vouchsafe to feed;  
Hear they may see a Lover much more true  
Than ever was since first the world began,  
This poor rich King that died both God and man.   

Yea, let those Ladies which do represent  
All beauty, wisdom, zeal, and love,  
Receive this jewel from jehova sent,  
This spotless Lamb, this perfect patiented Dove:  
Of whom fair Gabriel, God's bright Mercury,  
Brought down a message from the Deity.   

Here may they see him in a flood of tears,  
Crowned with thorns, and bathing in his blood;  
Here may they see his fears exceed all fears,  
When Heaven in justice flat against him stood:  
And loathsome death with grim and ghastly look,  
Presented him that black infernal book,   

Wherein the sins of all the world were writ,  
In deep Characters of due punishment;  
And nought but dying breath could cancel it:  
Shame, death, and hell must make the atonement:  
Showing their evidence, seizing wrongful Right,  
Placing heavens Beauty in death's darkest night.   

Yet through the sable Clouds of Shame & Death,  
His beauty shows more clearer than before;  
Death lost his strength when he did lose his breath:  
As fire suppressed doth shine and flame the more,  
So in Death's ashy pale discoloured face,  
Fresh beauty shined, yielding far greater grace.   

No Dove, no Swan, nor Iu'rie could compare  
With this fair corpse, when 'twas by death embraced;  
No rose, nor no vermilion half so fair  
As was that precious blood that iuterlaced  
His body, which bright Angels did attend,  
Waiting on him that must to Heaven ascend.   

In whom is all that Ladies can desire;  
If Beauty, who hath been more fair than he?  
If Wisdom, doth not all the world admire  
The depth of his, that cannot searched be?  
If wealth, if honour, fame, or Kingdom's store,  
Who ever lived that was possessed of more?   

If zeal, if grace, if love, if piety,  
If constancy, if faith, if fair obedience,  
If valour, patience, or sobriety;  
If chaste behaviour, meekness, continence,  
If justice, mercy, bounty, charity,  
Who can compare with his Divinity?   

Whose virtues more than thoughts can apprehend,  
I leave to their more clear imagination,  
That will vouchsafe their borrowed time to spend  
In meditating, and in contemplation  
Of his rare parts, true honours fair prospect,  
The perfect line that goodness doth direct.   

And unto you I wish those sweet desires,  
That from your perfect thoughts do daily spring,  
Increasing still pure, bright, and holy fires,  
Which sparks of precious grace, by faith do spring:  
Mounting your soul unto eternal rest,  
There to live happily among the best.    

❧ To the Lady ANNE, Countess of Dorcet.  
* ⁎ *  

TO you I dedicate this work of Grace,  
This frame of Glory which I have erected,  
For your fair mind I hold the fittest place,  
Where virtue should be fettled & protected;  
If highest thoughts true honour do embrace,  
And holy Wisdom is of them respected:  
Then in this Mirror let your fair eyes look,  
To view your virtues in this blessed Book.   

Blessed by our saviours merits, not my skill,  
Which I acknowledge to be very small;  
Yet if the least part of his blessed Will  
I have performed, I count I have done all:  
One spark of grace sufficient is to fill  
Our Lamps with oil, ready when he doth call  
To enter with the Bridegroom to the feast,  
Where he that is the greatest may be least.   

Greatness is no sure frame to build upon,  
No worldly treasure can assure that place;  
God makes both even, the Cottage with the Throne,  
All worldly honours there are counted base;  
Those he holds dear, and reckoneth as his own,  
Whose virtuous deeds by his especially grace  
Have gained his love, his kingdom, and his crown,  
Whom in the book of Life he hath set down.   

Titles of honour which the world bestows,  
To none but to the virtuous doth belong;  
As beauteous bowers where true worth should repose,  
And where his dwellings should be built most strong:  
But when they are bestowed upon her foes,  
Poor virtues friends endure the greatest wrong:  
For they must suffer all indignity,  
Until in heaven they better graced be.   

What difference was there when the world began,  
Was it not Virtue that distinguished all?  
All sprang but from one woman and one man,  
Then how doth Gentry come to rise and fall?  
Or who is he that very rightly can  
Distinguish of his birth, or tell at all,  
In what mean state his Ancestors have been,  
Before some one of worth did honour win?   

Whose successors, although they bear his name,  
Possessing not the riches of his ●inde,  
How do we know they spring out of the same  
True stock of honour, being not of that ki●d?  
It is fair virtue gets immortal fame,  
'tis that doth all love and duty bind:  
If he that much enjoys, doth little good,  
We may suppose he comes not of that blood.   

Nor is he fit for honour, or command,  
If base affections overrules his mind;  
Or that self-will doth carry such a hand,  
As worldly pleasures have the power to blind  
So as he cannot see, nor understand  
How to discharge that place to him affigned:  
Gods Stewards must for all the poor provide,  
If in God's house they purpose to abide.   

To you, as to God's Steward I do write,  
In whom the seeds of virtue have been sown,  
By your most worthy mother, in whose right,  
All her fair parts you challenge as your own;  
If you, sweet Lady, will appear as bright  
As ever creature did that time hath known,  
Then wear this Diadem I present to thee,  
Which I have framed for her Eternity.   

You are the Heir apparent of this Crown  
Of goodness, bounty, grace, love, piety,  
By birth it's yours, then keep it as your own,  
Defend it from all base indignity;  
The right your Mother hath to it, is known  
Best unto you, who reaped such fruit thereby:  
This Monument of her fair worth retain  
In your pure mind, and keep it from all stain.   

And as your Ancestors at first possessed  
Their honours, for their honourable deeds,  
Let their fair virtues never be transgressed,  
Bind up the broken, stop the wounds that bleeds,  
Secure the poor, comfort the comfortless,  
Cherish fair plants, suppress unwholesome weeds;  
Although base pelf do chance to come in place,  
Yet let true worth receive your greatest grace.   

So shall you show from whence you are descended,  
And leave to all posterities your fame,  
So will your virtues always be commended,  
And every one will reverence your name;  
So this poor work of mine shallbe defended  
From any scandal that the world can frame:  
And you a glorious Actor will appear  
Lovely to all, but unto God most dear.   

I know right well these are but needless lines,  
To you, that are so perfect in your part,  
Whose birth and education both combines;  
Nay more than both, a pure and godly heart,  
So well instructed to such fair designs,  
By your dear Mother, that there needs no art:  
Your ripe discretion in your tender years,  
By all your actions to the world appears.   

I do but set a candle in the sun,  
And add one drop of water to the sea,  
Virtue and Beauty both together run,  
When you were borne, within your breast to stay;  
Their quarrel ceased, which long before begun,  
They live in peace, and all do them obey:  
In you fair Madam, are they richly placed,  
Where all their worth by Eternity is graced.   

You goddesse-like unto the world appear,  
Enriched with more than fortune can bestow,  
Goodness and Grace, which you do hold more dear  
Than worldly wealth, which melts away like snow;  
Your pleasure is the word of God to hear,  
That his most holy precepts you may know:  
Your greatest honour, fair and virtuous deeds,  
Which from the love and fear of God proceeds.   

Therefore to you (good Madam) I present  
His lovely love, more worth than purest gold,  
Who for your sake his precious blood hath spent,  
His death and passion here you may behold,  
And view this Lamb, that to the world was sent,  
Whom your fair soul may in her arms enfold:  
Loving his love, that did endure such pain,  
That you in heaven a worthy place might gain.   

For well you know, this world is but a Stage  
Where all do play their parts, and must be gone;  
Here's no respect of persons, youth, nor age,  
Death seizeth all, he never spareth one,  
None can prevent or stay that tyrant's rage,  
But jesus Christ the Just: By him alone  
He was o'ercome, He open set the door  
To Eternal life, ne'er seen, nor known before.   

He is the stone the builders did refuse,  
Which you, sweet Lady, are to build upon;  
He is the rock that holy Church did choose,  
Among which number, you must needs be one;  
Fair Shepherdess, 'tis you that he will use  
To feed his flock, that trust in him alone:  
All worldly blessings he vouchsafes to you,  
That to the poor you may return his due.   

And if deserts a Lady's love may gain,  
Then tell me, who hath more deserved than he?  
Therefore in recompense of all his pain,  
Bestow your pains to read, and pardon me,  
If out of wants, or weakness of my brain,  
I have not done this work sufficiently;  
Yet lodge him in the closet of your heart,  
Whose worth is more than can be show'd by Art.    

TO THE VIRTUOUS Reader.  
OFten have I heard, that it is the property of some women, not only to emulate the virtues and perfections of the rest, but also by all their powers of ill speaking, to eclipse the brightness of their deserved fame: now contrary to this custom, which men I hope unjustly lay to their charge, I have written this small volume, or little book, for the general use of all virtuous Ladies and Gentlewomen of this kingdom; and in commendation of some particular persons of our own sex, such as for the most part, are so well known to myself, and others, that I dare undertake Fame dares not to call any better. And this have I done, to make known to the world, that all women deserve not to be blamed though some forgetting they are women themselves, and in danger to be condemned by the words of their own mouths, fall into so great an error, as to speak unadvisedly against the rest of their sex; which if it be true, I am persuaded they can show their own imperfection in nothing more: and therefore could wish (for their own ease, modesties, and credit) they would refer such points of folly, to be practised by evil disposed men, who forgetting they were borne of women, nourished of women, and that if it were not by the means of women, they would be quite extinguished out of the world, and a final end of them all, do like Vipers deface the wombs wherein they were bred, only to give way and utterance to their want of discretion and goodness. Such as these, were they that dishonoured Christ his Apostles and Prophets, putting them to shameful deaths. Therefore we are not to regard any imputations, that they undeservedly lay upon us, no otherwise than to make use of them to our own benefits, as spurs to virtue, making us fly all occasions that may colour their unjust speeches to pass currant. Especially considering that they have tempted even the patience of God himself, who gave power to wise and virtuous women, to bring down their pride and arrogancy. As was cruel Cesarus by the discreet counsel of noble Deborah, judge and Prophetess of Israel: and resolution of jael wife of Heber the Kenite: wicked Haman, by the dinine prayers and prudent proceed of beautiful Hester: blasphemous Holofernes, by the invincible courage, rare wisdom, and confident carriage of judeth: & the unjust Judges, by the innocency of chaste Susanna: with infinite others, which for brevity sake I will omit. As also in respect it pleased our Lord and Saviour jesus Christ, without the assistance of man, being free from original and all other sins, from the time of his conception, till the hour of his death, to be begotten of a woman, borne of a woman, nourished of a woman, obedient to a woman; and that he healed woman, pardoned women, comforted women: yea, even when he was in his greatest agony and bloody sweat, going to be crucified, and also in the last hour of his death, took care to dispose of a woman: after his resurrection, appeared first to a woman, sent a woman to declare his most glorious resurrection to the rest of his Disciples. Many other examples I could allege of divers faithful and virtuous women, who have in all ages, not only been Confessors, but also endured most cruel martyrdom for their faith in jesus Christ. All which is sufficient to enforce all good Christians and honourable minded men to speak reverently of our sex, and especially of all virtuous and good women. To the modest censures of both which, I refer these my imperfect endeavours, knowing that according to their own excellent dispositions, they will rather, cherish, nourish, and increase the least spark of virtue where they find it, by their favourable and best interpretations, than quench it by wrong constructions. To whom I wish all increase of virtue, and desire their best opinions.   

Salue Deus Rex judaeorum.  

Sigh Cynthia is ascended to that rest  
Of endless joy and true Eternity,  
That glorious place that cannot be expressed  
By any wight clad in mortality,  
In her almighty love so highly blest,  
And crowned with everlasting Sov'raigntie;  
Where Saints and Angels do attend her Throne,  
And she gives glory unto God alone.   

The Lady Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland  

¶ To thee great Countess now I will apply  
My Pen, to write thy never dying fame;  
That when to Heaven thy blessed Soul shall fly,  
These lines on earth record thy reverend name:  
And to this task I mean my Muse to tie,  
Though wanting skill I shall but purchase blame:  
Pardon (dear Lady) want of woman's wit  
To pen thy praise, when few can equal it.   

And pardon (Madam) though I do not write  
Those praiseful lines of that delightful place,  
As you commanded me in that fair night,  
When shining Phoebe gave so great a grace,  
Presenting Paradise to your sweet sight,  
Unfolding all the beauty of her face  
With pleasant groves, hills, walks and stately trees,  
Which pleasures with retired minds agrees.   

Whose Eagles eyes behold the glorious Sun  
Of th'all-creating Providence, reflecting  
His blessed beams on all by him, begun;  
Increasing, strengthening, guiding and directing  
All worldly creatures their due course to run,  
Unto His powerful pleasure all subjecting:  
And thou (dear Lady) by his special grace,  
In these his creatures dost behold his face.   

Whose all-reviving beauty, yields such joys  
To thy sad Soul, plunged in waves of woe,  
That worldly pleasures seems to thee as toys,  
Only thou seekest Eternity to know,  
Respecting not the infinite annoys  
That Satan to thy well-staid mind can show;  
Ne can he quench in thee, the Spirit of Grace,  
Nor draw thee from beholding Heavens bright face.   

Thy Mind so perfect by thy Maker framed,  
No vain delights can harbour in thy heart,  
With his sweet love, thou art so much inflamed,  
As of the world thou seem'st to have no part;  
So, love him still, thou needest not be ashamed,  
'tis He that made thee, what thou wert, and art:  
'tis He that dries all tears from Orphan's eyes,  
And hears from he av'n the woeful widow's cries.   

'tis He that doth behold thy inward cares,  
And will regard the sorrows of thy Soul;  
'tis He that guides thy feet from Satan's snares,  
And in his Wisdom, doth thy ways control:  
He through afflictions, still thy Mind prepares,  
And all thy glorious Trials will enroll:  
That when dark days of terror shall appear,  
Thou as the Sun shalt shine; or much more clear.   

The heavens shall perish as a garment old,  
Or as a vesture by the maker changed,  
And shall departed, as when a skrowle is rolled;  
Yet thou from him shalt never be estranged,  
When He shall come in glory, that was sold  
For all our snnes; we happily are changed,  
Who for our faults put on his righteousness,  
Although full oft his Laws we do transgress.   

Long may'st thou joy in this almighty love,  
Long may thy Soul be pleasing in his sight,  
Long may'st thou have true comforts from above,  
Long may'st thou set on him thy whole delight,  
And patiently endure when he doth prove,  
Knowing that He will surely do thee right:  
Thy patience, faith, long suffering, and thy love,  
He will reward with comforts from above.   

With Majesty and Honour is He clad,  
And decked with light, as with a garment fair;  
He joys the Meek, and makes the Mighty sad,  
Pulls down the Proud, and doth the Humble rear:  
Who sees this Bridegroom, never can be sad;  
None lives that can his wondrous works declare:  
Yea, look how far the Est is from the West,  
So far he sets our sins that have transgressed.   

He rides upon the wings of all the winds,  
And spreads the heavens with his all powerful hand;  
Oh! who can loose when the Almighty binds?  
Or in his angry presence dares to stand?  
He searcheth out the secrets of all minds;  
All those that fear him shall possess the Land:  
He is exceeding glorious to behold,  
Ancient of Times; so fair, and yet so old.   

He of the watery Clouds his Chariot frames,  
And makes his blessed Angels powerful Spirits,  
His Ministers are fearful fiery flames,  
Rewarding all according to their merits;  
The Righteous for an heritage he claims,  
And registers the wrongs of humble spirits:  
Hills melt like wax, in presence of the Lord,  
So do all sinners, in his sight abhorred.   

He in the waters lays his chamber beams,  
And clouds of darkness compass him about,  
Consuming fire shall go before in streams,  
And burn up all his enemies round about:  
Yet on these judgementsw orldlings never dreams,  
Nor of these dangers never stand in doubt:  
While he shall rest within his holy Hill,  
That lives and dies according to his Will.   

But woe to them that double-hearted be,  
Who with their tongues the righteous Souls do slay;  
Bending their bows to shoot at all they see,  
With upright hearts their Maker to obey;  
And secretly do let their arrows flee,  
To wound true hearted people any way:  
The Lord will root them out that speak proud things,  
Deceitful tongues are but false Slanders wings.   

Froward are the ungodly from their birth,  
No sooner borne, but they do go astray;  
The Lord will root them out from off the earth,  
And give them to their enemies for a pray,  
As venomous as Serpents is their breath,  
With poisoned lies to hurt in what they may  
The Innocent: who as a Dove shall fly  
Unto the Lord, that he his cause may try.   

The righteous Lord doth righteousness allow,  
His countenance will behold the thing that's just;  
Unto the Mean he makes the Mighty bow,  
And raiseth up the Poor out of the dust:  
Yet makes no count to us, nor when, nor how,  
But powers his grace on all, that puts their trust  
In him: that never will their hopes betray,  
Nor lets them perish that for mercy pray.   

He shall within his Tabernacle dwell,  
Whose life is uncorrupt before the Lord,  
Who no untruths of Innocents' doth tell,  
Nor wrongs his neighbour, nor in deed, nor word,  
Nor in his pride with malice seems to swell,  
Nor whets his tongue more sharper than a sword,  
To wound the reputation of the Just;  
Nor seeks to lay their glory in the Dust.   

That great jehovah King of heaven and earth,  
Will rain down fire and brimstone from above,  
Upon the wicked monsters in their birth  
That storm and rage at those whom he doth love:  
Snares, storms, and tempests he will rain, and dearth,  
Because he will himself almighty prove:  
And this shall be their portion they shall drink,  
That thinks the Lord is blind when he doth wink.    

To the Countess of Cumberland.  

¶ Pardon (good Madam) though I have digressed  
From what I doc intend to write of thee,  
To set his glory forth whom thou lov'st best,  
Whose wondrous works no mortal eye can see;  
His special care on those whom he hath blest  
From wicked worldlings, how he sets them free:  
And how such people he doth overthrow  
In all their ways, that they his power may know.   

The meditation of this Monarch's love,  
Draws thee from caring what this world can yield;  
Of joys and griefs both equal thou dost prove,  
They have no force, to force thee from the field:  
Thy constant faith like to the Turtle Dove  
Continues combat, and will never yield  
To base affliction; or proud pomps desire,  
That sets the weakest minds so much on fire.   

Thou from the Court to the Country art retired,  
Leaving the world, before the world leaves thee:  
That great Enchantress of weak minds admired,  
Whose all-bewitching charms so pleasing be  
To worldly wantoness; and too much desired  
Of those that care not for Eternity:  
But yield themselves as preys to Lust and Sin,  
Losing their hopes of Heaven Hell pains to win.   

But thou, the wonder of our wanton age  
Leav'st all delights to serve a heavenly King:  
Who is more wise? or who can be more sage,  
Than she that doth Affection subject bring;  
Not forcing for the world, or Satan's rage,  
But shrouding under the Almighty's wing;  
Spending her years, months, days, minutes, hours,  
In doing service to the heavenly powers.   

Thou fair example, live without compare,  
With Honour's triumphs seated in thy breast;  
Pale Envy never can thy name impair,  
When in thy heart thou harbourest such a guest:  
Malice must live for ever in despair;  
There's no revenge where Virtue still doth rest:  
All hearts must needs do homage unto thee,  
In whom all eyes such rare perfection see.   

That outward Beauty which the world commends, 
An Invective against outward beauty unaccompanied with virtue.   
Is not the subject I will write upon,  
Whose date expired, that tyrant Time soon ends,  
Those gaudy colours soon are spent and gone:  
But those fair Virtues which on thee attends  
Are always fresh, they never are but one:  
They make thy Beauty fairer to behold,  
Than was that Queens for whom proud Troy was sold.   

As for those matchless colours Red and White,  
Or perfect features in a fading face,  
Or due proportion pleasing to the sight;  
All these do draw but dangers and disgrace:  
A mind enriched with Virtue, shines more bright,  
Adds everlasting Beauty, gives true grace,  
Frames an immortal Goddess on the earth,  
Who though she dies; yet Fame gives her new birth.   

That pride of Nature which adorns the fair,  
Like blazing Comets to allure all eyes,  
Is but the thread, that weaves their web of Care,  
Who glories most, where most their danger lies;  
For greatest perils do attend the fair,  
When men do seek, attempt, plot and devise,  
How they may overthrow the chastest Dame,  
Whose Beauty is the White whereat they aim.   

'twas Beauty bred in Troy the ten years strife,  
And carried Helen from her lawful Lord;  
'twas Beauty made chaste Lucrece lose her life,  
For which proud Tarquin's fact was so abhorred:  
Beauty the cause Antonius wronged his wife,  
Which could not be decided but by sword:  
Great Cleopatra's Beauty and defects  
Did work Octavia's wrongs, and his neglects.   

What fruit did yield that fair forbidden tree,  
But blood, dishonour, infamy, and shame?  
Poor blinded Queen, couldst thou no better see,  
But entertain disgrace, in stead of fame?  
Do these designs with Majesty agree?  
To stain thy blood, and blot thy royal name.  
That heart that gave consent unto this ill,  
Did give consent that thou thyself shouldst kill.    

Of Rosa●und.  

¶ Fair Rosamund, the wonder of her time,  
Had been much fairer, had she not been fair;  
Beauty betrayed her thoughts, aloft to climb,  
To build strong castles in uncertain air,  
Where th'infection of a wanton crime  
Did work her fall; first poison, than despair,  
With double death did kill her perjured soul,  
When heavenly justice did her sin control.    

●f Matilda.  

¶ Holy Matilda in a hapless hour  
Was borne to sorrow and to discontent,  
Beauty the cause that turned her Sweet to Sour,  
While Chastity sought Folly to prevent.  
Lustful King john refused, did use his power,  
By Fire and Sword, to compass his content:  
But Friends disgrace, nor Father's banishment,  
Nor Death itself, could purchase her consent.   

Here Beauty in the height of all perfection,  
Crowned this fair Creatures everlasting fame,  
Whose noble mind did scorn the base subjection  
Of Fears, or Favours, to impair her Name:  
By heavenly grace, she had such true direction,  
To die with Honour, not to live in Shame;  
And drink that poison with a cheerful heart,  
That could all Heavenly grace to her impart.    

To the Lady of Cumberland the Introduction to the passion of Christ.  

¶ This Grace great Lady, doth possess thy Soul,  
And makes thee pleasing in thy Maker's sight;  
This Grace doth all imperfect Thoughts control,  
Directing thee to serve thy God aright;  
Still reckoning him, the Husband of thy Soul,  
Which is most precious in his glorious sight:  
Because the World's delights she doth deny  
For him, who for her sake vouchsafed to die.   

And dying made her Dowager of all;  
Nay more, Coheir of that eternal bliss  
That Angels lost, and We by Adam's fall;  
Mere castaways, raised by a judas kiss,  
Christ's bloody sweat, the Vinegar, and Gall,  
The Spear, Sponge, nails, his buffeting with Fists,  
His bitter Passion, Agony, and Death,  
Did gain us Heaven when He did lose his breath.    

A preamble of the Author before the Passion.  

¶ These high deserts invites my lowly Muse  
To write of Him, and pardon crave of thee,  
For Time so spent, I need make no excuse,  
Knowing it doth with thy fair Mind agree  
So well, as thou no Labour wilt refuse,  
That to thy holy Love may pleasing be:  
His Death and Passion I desire to write,  
And thee to read, the blessed Souls delight.   

But my dear Muse, now whither wouldst thou fly,  
Above the pitch of thy appointed strain?  
With Icarus thou seekest now to try,  
Not waxed wings, but thy poor barren Brain,  
Which far too weak, these silly lines descry;  
Yet cannot this thy forward Mind restrain,  
But thy poor Infant Verse must soar aloft,  
Not fearing threatening dangers, happening oft.   

Think when the eye of Wisdom shall discover  
Thy weakling Muse to fly, that scarce could creep,  
And in the Air above the Clouds to hover,  
When better 'twere mewed up, and fast asleep;  
They'll think with Phaeton, thou canst ne'er recover,  
But helpless with that poor young Lad to weep:  
The little World of thy weak Wit on fire,  
Where thou wilt perish in thine own desire.   

But yet the Weaker thou dost seem to be  
In Sex, or Sense, the more his Glory shines,  
That doth infuse such powerful Grace in thee,  
To show thy Love in these few humble Lines;  
The widows Mite, with this may well agree,  
Her little All more worth than golden mines,  
Being more dearer to our loving Lord,  
Than all the wealth that Kingdoms could afford.   

Therefore I humbly for his Grace will pray,  
That he will give me Power and Strength to Write,  
That what I have begun, so end I may,  
As his great Glory may appear more bright;  
Yea in these Lines I may no further stray,  
Than his most holy Spirit shall give me Light:  
That blindest Weakness be not overbold,  
The manner of his Passion to unfold.   

In other Phrases than may well agree  
With his pure Doctrine, and most holy Writ,  
That Heavens clear eye, and all the World may see,  
I seek his Glory, rather than to get  
The Vulgars' breath, the seed of Vanity,  
Nor Fame's loud Trumpet care I to admit;  
But rather strive in plainest Words to show,  
The Matter which I seek to undergo.   

A Matter far beyond my barren skill,  
To show with any Life this map of Death,  
This Story; that whole Worlds with Books would fill,  
In these few Lines, will put me out of breath,  
To run so swiftly up this mighty Hill,  
I may behold it with the eye of Faith;  
But to present this pure unspotted Lamb,  
I must confess, I far unworthy am.   

Yet if he please t'illuminate my Spirit,  
And give me Wisdom from his holy Hill,  
That I may Write part of his glorious Merit,  
If he vouchsafe to guide my Hand and Quill,  
To show his Death, by which we do inherit  
Those endless joys that all our hearts do fill;  
Then will I tell of that sad black faced Night,  
Whose mourning Mantle covered Heavenly Light.    

Here begin●… the Passion 〈◊〉 Christ.  

¶ That very Night our Saviour was betrayed,  
Oh night! exceeding all the nights of sorrow,  
When our most blessed Lord, although dismayed,  
Yet would not he one Minutes respite borrow,  
But to Mount Olives went, though sore afraid,  
To welcome Night, and entertain the Morrow;  
And as he oft unto that place did go,  
So did he now, to meet his long nursed woe.   

He told his dear Disciples, that they all  
Should be offended by him that self night;  
His Grief was great, and theirs could not be small,  
To part from him who was their sole Delight;  
Saint Peter thought his Faith could never fall,  
No more could happen in so clear a sight:  
Which made him say, Though all men were offended,  
Yet would he never, though his life were ended.   

But his dear Lord made answer, That before  
The Cock did crow, he should deny him thrice;  
This could not choose but grieve him very sore,  
That his hot Love should prove more cold than Ice,  
Denying him he did so much adore;  
No imperfection in himself hespies,  
But saith again, with him he'll surely die,  
Rather than his dear Master once deny.   

And all the rest (did likewise say the same)  
Of his Disciples, at that instant time;  
But yet poor Peter, he was most too blame,  
That thought above them all, by Faith to climb;  
His forward speech inflicted sin and shame,  
When Wisdoms eyes did look and check his crime:  
Who did foresee, and told it him before,  
Yet would he needs aver it more and more.   

Now went our Lord unto that holy place,  
Sweet Gethsemaine hallowed by his presence,  
That blessed Garden, which did now embrace  
His holy corpse, yet could make no defence  
Against those Vipers, objects of disgrace,  
Which sought that pure eternal Love to quench:  
Here his Disciples willed he to stay,  
Whilst he went further, where he meant to pray.   

None were admitted with their Lord to go,  
But Peter, and the sons of Zebed'us,  
To them good jesus opened all his woe,  
He gave them leave his sorrows to discuss,  
His deepest griefs, he did not scorn to show  
These three dear friends, so much he did entrust:  
Being sorrowful, and overcharged with grief,  
He told it them, yet looked for no relief.   

Sweet Lord, how couldst thou thus to flesh and blood  
Communicate thy grief? tell of thy woes?  
Thou knewest they had no power to do thee good,  
But were the cause thou must endure these blows,  
Being the Scorpions bred in Adam's mud,  
Whose poisoned sins did work among thy foes,  
To re-ore-charge thy ouer-burd'ned soul,  
Although the sorrows now they do condole.   

Yet didst thou tell them of thy troubled state,  
Of thy Souls heaviness unto the death,  
So full of Love, so free wert thou from hate,  
To bid them stay, whose sins did stop thy breath,  
When thou wert entering at so strait a gate,  
Yea entering even into the door of Death,  
Thou bidst them tarry there, and watch with thee,  
Who from thy precious bloodshed were not free.   

Bidding them tarry, thou didst further go,  
To meet affliction in such graceful sort,  
As might move pity both in friend and foe,  
Thy sorrows such, as none could them comport,  
Such great Indurements who did ever know,  
When to th'Almighty thou didst make resort?  
And falling on thy face didst humbly pray,  
If 'twere his Will that Cup might pass away.   

Saying, Not my will, but thy will Lord be done.  
When as thou prayedst an Angel did appear  
From Heaven, to comfort thee Gods only Son,  
That thou thy Sufferings mightst the better bear,  
Being in an agony, thy glass near run,  
Thou prayedst more earnestly, in so great fear,  
That precious sweat came trickling to the ground,  
Like drops of blood thy senses to confound.   

Lo here his Will, not thy Will, Lord, was done,  
And thou content to undergo all pains;  
Sweet Lamb of God, his dear beloved Son,  
By this great purchase, what to thee remains?  
Of Heaven and Earth thou hast a Kingdom won,  
Thy Glory being equal with thy Gains,  
In ratifying Gods promise on th'earth,  
Made many hundred years before thy birth.   

But now returning to thy sleeping Friends,  
That could not watch one hour for love of thee,  
Even those three Friends, which on thy Grace depends,  
Yet shut those Eyes that should their Maker see;  
What colour, what excuse, or what amends  
From thy Displeasure now can set them free?  
Yet thy pure Piety bids them Watch and Pray,  
Lest in Temptation they be led away.   

Although the Spirit was willing to obey,  
Yet what great weakness in the Flesh was found!  
They slept in Ease, whilst thou in Pain didst pray;  
Lo, they in Sleep, and thou in Sorrow drowned:  
Yet Gods right Hand was unto thee a stay,  
When horror, grief, and sorrow did abound:  
His Angel did appear from Heaven to thee,  
To yield thee comfort in Extremity.   

But what could comfort then thy troubled Mind,  
When Heaven and Earth were both against thee bend?  
And thou no hope, no ease, no rest couldst find,  
But must restore that Life, which was but lent;  
Was ever Creature in the World so kind,  
But he that from Eternity was sent?  
To satisfy for many Worlds of Sin,  
Whose matchiesse Torments did but then begin.   

If one Man's sin doth challenge Death and Hell,  
With all the Torments that belong thereto:  
If for one sin such Plagues on David fell,  
As grieved him, and did his Seed undo:  
If Solomon, for that he did not well,  
Falling from Grace, did lose his Kingdom too:  
Ten Tribes being taken from his wilful Son,  
And Sin the Cause that they were all undone.   

What could thy Innocency now expect,  
When all the Sins that ever were committed,  
Were laid to thee, whom no man could detect?  
Yet far thou wert of Man from being pitied,  
The judge so just could yield thee no respect,  
Nor would one jot of penance be remitted;  
But greater horror to thy Soul must rise,  
Than Heart can think, or any Wit devise.   

Now draws the hour of thy affliction near,  
And ugly Death presents himself before thee;  
Thou now must leave those Friends thou held'st so dear,  
Yea those Disciples, who did most adore thee;  
Yet in thy countenance doth no Wrath appear,  
Although betrayed to those that did abhor thee:  
Thou didst vouchsafe to visit them again,  
Who had no apprehension of thy pain.   

Their eyes were heavy, and their hearts asleep,  
Nor knew they well what answer then to make thee;  
Yet thou as Watchman, hadst a care to keep  
Those few from sin, that shortly would forsake thee;  
But now thou bidst them henceforth Rest and Sleep,  
Thy hour is come, and they at hand to take thee:  
The Son of God to Sinners made a prey,  
Oh hateful hour! oh blest! oh cursed day!   

Lo here thy great Humility was found,  
Being King of Heaven, and Monarch of the Earth,  
Yet well content to have thy Glory drowned,  
By being counted of so mean a birth;  
Grace, Love, and Mercy did so much abound,  
Thou entertaindst the Cross, even to the death:  
And namedst thyself, the son of Man to be,  
To purge our pride by thy Humility.   

But now thy friends whom thou didst call to go,  
Heavy Spectators of thy hapless case,  
See thy Betrayer, whom too well they know,  
One of the twelve, now object of disgrace,  
A trothless traitor, and a mortal foe,  
With feigned kindness seeks thee to embrace;  
And gives a kiss, whereby he may deceive thee,  
That in the hands of Sinners he might leave thee.   

Now muster forth with Swords, with staves, with Bills,  
High Priests and Scribes, and Elders of the Land,  
Seeking by force to have their wicked Wills,  
Which thou didst never purpose to withstand;  
Now thou makest haste unto the worst of Ills,  
And who they seek, thou gently dost demand;  
This didst thou Lord, t'amaze these Fools the more,  
T'inquire of that, thou knewest so well before.   

When lo these Monsters did not shame to tell,  
His name they sought, and found, yet could not know  
jesus of Nazareth, at whose feet they fell,  
When Heavenly Wisdom did descend so low  
To speak to them: they knew they did not well,  
Their great amazement made them backward go:  
Nay, though he said unto them, I am he,  
They could not know him, whom their eyes did see.   

How blind were they could not discern the Light!  
How dull! if not to understand the truth,  
How weak! if meekness overcame their might;  
How stony hearted, if not moved to ruth:  
How void of Pity, and how full of Spite,  
'Gainst him that was the Lord of Light and Truth:  
Here insolent Boldness checked by Love and Grace,  
Retires, and falls before our Maker's face.   

For when he spoke to this accursed crew,  
And mildly made them know that it was he:  
Presents himself, that they might take a view;  
And what they doubted they might clearly see;  
Nay more, to re-assure that it was true,  
He said: I say unto you, I am he.  
If him they sought, he's willing to obey,  
Only desires the rest might go their way.   

Thus with a heart prepared to endure  
The greatest wrongs Impiety could devise,  
He was content to stoop unto their Lure,  
Although his Greatness might do otherwise:  
Here Grace was seized on with hands impure,  
And Virtue now must be suppressed by Vice,  
Pure innocency made a prey to Sin,  
Thus did his Torments and our joys begin.   

Here fair Obedience shined in his breast,  
And did suppress all fear of future pain;  
Love was his Leader unto this unrest,  
Whilst Righteousness doth carry up his Train;  
Mercy made way to make us highly blest,  
When Patience beat down Sorrow, Fear and Pain:  
justice sat looking with an angry brow,  
On blessed misery appearing now.   

More glorious than all the Conquerors  
That ever lived within this Earthly round,  
More powerful than all Kings, or Governors  
That ever yet within this World were found;  
More valiant than the greatest Soldiers  
That ever fought, to have their glory crowned:  
For which of them, that ever yet took breath,  
Sought t'endure the doom of Heaven and Earth?   

But our sweet Saviour whom these jews did name;  
Yet could their learned Ignorance apprehend  
No light of grace, to free themselves from blame:  
Zeal, Laws, Religion, now they do pretend  
Against the truth, untruths they seek to frame:  
Now all their powers, their wits, their strengths, they bend  
Against one seely, weak, unarmed man,  
Who no resistance makes, though much he can,   

To free himself from these unlearned men,  
Who called him Saviour in his blessed name;  
Yet far from knowing him their Saviour then,  
That came to save both them and theirs from blame;  
Though they retire and fall, they come again  
To make a surer purchase of their shame:  
With lights and torches now they find the way,  
To take the Shepherd whilst the sheep do stray.   

Why should unlawful actions use the Light?  
Inniquitie in Darkness seeks to dwell;  
Sin rides his circuit in the dead of Night,  
Teaching all souls the ready ways to hell;  
Satan comes armed with all the powers of Spite,  
Heartens his Champions, makes them rude and fell;  
Like ravening wolves, to shed his guiltless blood,  
Who thought no harm, but died to do them good.   

Here falsehood bears the show of formal Right,  
Base Treachery hath got a guard of men;  
Tyranny attends, with all his strength and might,  
To lead this seely Lamb to lions den;  
Yet he unmoved in this most wretched plight,  
Goes on to meet them, knows the hour, and when:  
The power of darkness must express God's ire,  
Therefore to save these few was his desire.   

These few that wait on Poverty and Shame,  
And offer to be sharers in his Ills;  
These few that will be spreaders of his Fame,  
He will not leave to Tyrant's wicked wills;  
But still desires to free them from all blame,  
Yet Fear goes forward, Anger Patience kills:  
A Saint is moved to revenge a wrong,  
And Mildness doth what doth to Wrath belong.   

For Peter grieved at what might then befall,  
Yet knew not what to do, nor what to think,  
Thought something must be done; now, if at all,  
To free his Master, that he might not drink  
This poisoned draft, far bitterer than gall,  
For now he sees him at the very brink  
Of grisly Death, who 'gins to show his face,  
Clad in all colours of a deep disgrace.   

And now those hands, that never used to fight,  
Or draw a weapon in his own defence,  
Too forward is, to do his Master right,  
Since of his wrongs, he feels so true a sense:  
But ah poor Peter! now thou wantest might,  
And he's resolved, with them he will go hence:  
To draw thy sword in such a helpless cause,  
Offends thy Lord, and is against the Laws.   

So much he hates Revenge, so far from Hate,  
That he vouchsafes to heal, whom thou dost wound;  
His paths are Peace, with none he holds Debate,  
His Patience stands upon so sure a ground,  
To counsel thee, although it comes too late:  
Nay, to his foes, his mercies so abound,  
That he in pity doth thy will restrain,  
And heals the hurt, and takes away the pain.   

For willingly he will endure this wrong,  
Although his prayers might have obtained such grace,  
As to dissolve their plots though ne'er so strong,  
And bring these wicked Actors in worse case  
Than Egypt's King on whom God's plagues did throng,  
But that foregoing Scriptures must take place:  
If God by prayers had an army sent  
Of powerful Angels, who could them prevent?   

Yet mighty JESUS meekly asked, Why they  
With Swords and Staves do come as to a Thief?  
He teaching in the Temple day by day  
None did offend, or give him cause of grief.  
Now all are forward, glad is he that may  
Give most offence, and yield him lest relief:  
His hateful foes are ready now to take him,  
And all his dear Disciples do forsake him.   

Those dear Disciples that he most did love,  
And were attendant at his beck and call,  
When trial of affliction came to prove,  
They first left him, who now must leave them all:  
For they were earth, and he came from above,  
Which made them apt to fly, and fit to fall:  
Though they protest they never will forsake him,  
They do like men, when dangers overtake them.   

And he alone is bound to lose us all,  
Whom with unhallowed hands they led along,  
To wicked Caiphas in the judgement Hall,  
Who studies only how to do him wrong;  
High Priests and Elders, People great and small,  
With all reproachful words about him throng:  
False Witnesses are now called in apace,  
Whose trothless tongues must make pale death embrace   

The beauty of the World, heavens chiefest Glory;  
The mirror of Martyrs, Crown of holy Saints;  
Love of th'Almighty, blessed Angels story;  
Water of Life, which none that drinks it, faints;  
Guide of the Just, where all our Light we borrow;  
Mercy of Mercies; Hearer of Complaints;  
Triumpher over Death; Ransomer of Sin;  
Falsely accused: now his pains begin.   

Their tongues do serve him as a Passing bell,  
For what they say is certainly believed;  
So sound a tale unto the judge they tell,  
That he of Life must shortly be bereaved;  
Their share of Heaven, they do not care to sell,  
So his afflicted Heart be thoroughly grieved:  
They tell his Words, though far from his intent,  
And what his Speeches were, not what he meant.   

That he Gods holy Temple could destroy,  
And in three days could build it up again;  
This seemed to them a vain and idle toy,  
It would not sink into their sinful brain:  
Christ's blessed body, all true Christians joy,  
Should die, and in three days revive again:  
This did the Lord of Heaven and earth endure,  
Unjustly to be charged by tongues impure.   

And now they all do give attentive ear,  
To hear the answer, which he will not make;  
The people wonder how he can forbear,  
And these great wrongs so patiently can take;  
But yet he answers not, nor doth he care,  
Much more he will endure for our sake:  
Nor can their wisdoms any way discover,  
Who he should be that proved so true a Lover.   

To entertain the sharpest pangs of death,  
And fight a combat in the depth of hell,  
For wretched Worldlings made of dust and earth,  
Whose hardened hearts, with pride and malice swell;  
In midst of bloody sweat, and dying breath,  
He had compassion on these tyrants fell:  
And purchased them a place in Heaven for ever,  
When they his Soul and Body sought to sever.   

sins ugly mists, so blinded had their eyes,  
That at Noon days they could discern no Light;  
These were those fools, that thought themselves so wise,  
The jewish wolves, that did our Saviour bite;  
For now they use all means they can devise,  
To beat down truth, and go against all right:  
Yea now they take Gods holy name in vain,  
To know the truth, which truth they do profane.   

The chiefest helhounds of this hateful crew,  
Risen up to ask what answer he could make,  
Against those false accusers in his view;  
That by his speech, they might advantage take:  
He held his peace, yet knew they said not true,  
No answer would his holy wisdom make,  
Till he was charged in his glorious name,  
Whose pleasure 'twas he should endure this shame.   

Then with so mild a Majesty he spoke,  
As they might easily know from whence he came,  
His harmless tongue doth no exceptions take,  
Nor Priests, nor People, means he now to blame;  
But answers Folly, for true Wisdoms sake,  
Being charged deeply by his powerful name,  
To tell if Christ the Son of God he be,  
Who for our sins must die, to set us free.   

To thee O Caiphas doth he answer give,  
That thou hast said, what thou desir'st to know,  
And yet thy malice will not let him live,  
So much thou art unto thyself a foe;  
He speaketh truth, but thou wilt not believe,  
Nor canst thou apprehend it to be so:  
Though he express his Glory unto thee,  
Thy Owly eyes are blind, and cannot see.   

Thou rend'st thy clothes, in stead of thy false heart,  
And on the guiltless lai'st thy guilty crime;  
For thou blasphemest, and he must feel the smart:  
To sentence death, thou thinkest it now high time;  
No witness now thou needest, for this fowl part,  
Thou to the height of wickedness canst climb:  
And give occasion to the ruder sort,  
To make afflictions, sorrows, follies sport.   

Now when the dawn of day 'gins to appear,  
And all your wicked counsels have an end,  
To end his Life, that holds you all so dear,  
For to that purpose did your studies bend;  
Proud Pontius Pilate must the matter hear,  
To your untroths his ears he now must lend:  
Sweet jesus bound, to him you led away,  
Of his most precious blood to make your prey.   

Which, when that wicked Caitiff did perceive,  
By whose lewd means he came to this distress;  
He brought the price of blood he did receive,  
Thinking thereby to make his fault seem less,  
And with these Priests and Elders did it leave,  
Confessed his fault, wherein he did transgress:  
But when he saw Repentance unrespected,  
He hanged himself; of God and Man rejected.   

By this Example, what can be expected  
From wicked Man, which on the Earth doth live?  
But faithless dealing, fear of God neglected;  
Who for their private gain cares not to sell  
The Innocent Blood of Gods most dear elected,  
As did that caitiff wretch, now damned in Hell:  
If in Christ's School, he took so great a fall,  
What will they do, that come not there at all.   

Now Pontius Pilate is to judge the Cause  
Of faultless jesus, who before him stands;  
Who neither hath offended Prince, nor Laws,  
Although he now be brought in woeful bands:  
O noble Governor, make thou yet a pause,  
Do not in innocent blood imbrue thy hands;  
But hear the words of thy most worthy wife,  
Who sends to thee, to beg her saviours life.   

Let barbarous cruelty far departed from thee,  
And in true justice take afflictions part;  
Open thine eyes, that thou the truth may'st see,  
Do not the thing that goes against thy heart,  
Condemn not him that must thy Saviour be;  
But view his holy Life, his good desert.  
Let not us Women glory in men's fall,  
Who had power given to overrule us all.    

eves Apology.  

¶ Till now your indiscretion sets us free,  
And makes our former fault much less appear;  
Our Mother Eve, who tasted of the Tree,  
Giving to Adam what she held most dear,  
Was simply good, and had no power to see,  
The after-coming harine did not appear:  
The subtle Serpent that our Sex betrayed,  
Before our fall so sure a plot had laid.   

That undiscerning Ignorance perceived  
No guile, or craft that was by him intended;  
For had she known, of what we were bereaved,  
To his request she had not condescended.  
But she (poor soul) by cunning was deceived,  
No hurt therein her harmless Heart intended:  
For she alleged God's word, which he denies,  
That they should die, but even as Gods, be wise.   

But surely Adam can not be excused,  
Her fault though great, yet he was most too blame;  
What Weakness offered, Strength might have refused,  
Being Lord of all, the greater was his shame:  
Although the Serpent's craft had her abused,  
God's holy word ought all his actions frame,  
For he was Lord and King of all the earth,  
Before poor Eve had either life or breath.   

Who being framed by God's eternal hand,  
The perfectest man that ever breathed on earth;  
And from God's mouth received that straight command,  
The breach whereof he knew was present death:  
Yea having power to rule both Sea and Land,  
Yet with one Apple won to lose that breath  
Which God had breathed in his beauteous face,  
Bringing us all in danger and disgrace.   

And then to lay the fault on Patience back,  
That we (poor women) must endure it all;  
We know right well he did discretion lack,  
Being not persuaded thereunto at all;  
If Eve did err, it was for knowledge sake,  
The fruit being fair persuaded him to fall:  
No subtle Serpent's falsehood did betray him,  
If he would eat it, who had power to stay him?   

Not Eve, whose fault was only too much love,  
Which made her give this present to her Dear,  
That what she tasted, he likewise might prove,  
Whereby his knowledge might become more clear;  
He never sought her weakness to reprove,  
With those sharp words, which he of God did hear:  
Yet Men will boast of Knowledge, which he took  
From eves fair hand, as from a learned Book.   

If any Evil did in her remain,  
Being made of him, he was the ground of all;  
If one of many Worlds could lay a stain  
Upon our Sex, and work so great a fall  
To wretched Man, by Satan's subtle train;  
What will so fowl a fault amongst you all?  
Her weakness did the Serpent's words obey,  
But you in malice God's dear Son betray.   

Whom, if unjustly you condemn to die,  
Her sin was small, to what you do commit;  
All mortal fins that do for vengeance cry,  
Are not to be compared unto it:  
If many worlds would altogether try,  
By all their sins the wrath of God to get;  
This sin of yours, surmounts them all as far  
As doth the Sun, another little star.   

Then let us have our Liberty again,  
And challenged to yourselves no Sovereignty;  
You came not in the world without our pain,  
Make that a bar against your cruelty;  
Your fault being greater, why should you disdain  
Our being your equals free from tyranny?  
If one weak woman simply did offend,  
This sin of yours, hath no excuse, nor end.   

To which (poor souls) we never gave consent,  
Witness thy wife (O Pilate) speaks for all;  
Who did but dream, and yet a message sent,  
That thou shouldst have nothing to do at all  
With that just man; which, if thy heart relent,  
Why wilt thou be a reprobate with Saul?  
To seek the death of him that is so good,  
For thy soul's health to shed his dearest blood.   

Yea, so thou may'st these sinful people please,  
Thou art content against all truth and right,  
To seal this act, that may procure thine ease  
With blood, and wrong, with tyranny, and might;  
The multitude thou seekest to appease,  
By base dejection of this heavenly Light:  
Demanding which of these that thou shouldst lose,  
Whether the Thief, or Christ King of the jews.   

Base Barrabas the Thief, they all desire,  
And thou more base than he, perform'st their will;  
Yet when thy thoughts back to themseluesretire,  
Thou art unwilling to commit this ill:  
Oh that thou couldst unto such grace aspire,  
That thy polluted lips might never kill  
That Honour, which right judgement ever graceth,  
To purchase shame, which all true worth defaceth.   

Art thou a judge, and asketh what to do  
With one, in whom no fault there can be found?  
The death of Christ wilt thou consent unto,  
Finding no cause, no reason, nor no ground?  
Shall he be scourged, and crucified too?  
And must his miseries by thy means abound?  
Yet not ashamed to ask what he hath done,  
When thine own conscience seeks this sin to shun.   

Three times thou ask'st, What evil hath he done?  
And sayst, thou findest in him no cause of death,  
Yet wilt thou chasten God's beloved Son,  
Although to thee no word of ill he saith:  
For Wrath must end, what Malice hath begun,  
And thou must yield to stop his guiltless breath.  
This rude tumultuous rout doth press so sore,  
That thou condemnest him thou shouldst adore.   

Yet Pilate, this can yield thee no content,  
To exercise thine own authority,  
But unto Herod he must needs be sent,  
To reconcile thyself by tyranny:  
Was this the greatest good in justice meant,  
When thou perceivest no fault in him to be?  
If thou must make thy peace by Virtues fall,  
Much better 'twere not to be friends at all.   

Yet neither thy stern brow, nor his great place,  
Can draw an answer from the Holy One:  
His false accusers, nor his great disgrace,  
Nor Herod's scoffs; to him they are all one:  
He neither cares, nor fears his own ill case,  
Though being despised and mocked of every one:  
King Herod's gladness gives him little ease,  
Neither his anger seeks he to appease.   

Yet this is strange, that base Impiety  
Should yield those robes of honour, which were due;  
Pure white, to show his great Integrity,  
His innocency, that all the world might view;  
Perfections height in lowest penury,  
Such glorious poverty as they never knew:  
Purple and Scarlet well might him beseem,  
Whose precious blood must all the world redeem.   

And that Imperial Crown of Thorns he wore,  
Was much more precious than the Diadem  
Of any King that ever lived before,  
Or since his time, their honour's but a dream  
To his eternal glory, being so poor,  
To make a purchase of that heavenly Realm;  
Where God with all his Angels lives in peace,  
No griefs, nor sorrows, but all joys increase.   

Those royal robes, which they in scorn did give,  
To make him odious to the common sort,  
Yield light of Grace to those whose souls shall live  
Within the harbour of this heavenly port;  
Much do they joy, and much more do they grieve,  
His death, their life, should make his foes such sport:  
With sharpest thorns to prick his blessed face,  
Our joyful sorrow, and his greater grace.   

Three fears at once possessed pilate's heart;  
The first, Christ's innocency, which so plain appears;  
The next, That he which now must feel this sinart,  
Is Gods dear Son, for any thing he hears:  
But that which proved the deepest wounding dart,  
Is People's threatenings, which he so much fears,  
That he to Caesar could not be a friend,  
Unless he sent sweet JESUS to his end.   

Now Pilate thou art proou'da painted wall,  
A golden Sepulchre with rotten bones;  
From right to wrong, from equity to fall:  
If none upbraid thee, yet the very stones  
Will rise against thee, and in question call  
His blood, his tears, his sighs, his bitter groans:  
All these will witness at the latter day,  
When water cannot wash thy sin away.   

Canst thou be innocent, that 'gainst all right,  
Wilt yield to what thy conscience doth withstand?  
Being a man of knowledge, power, and might,  
To let the wicked carry such a hand,  
Before thy face to blindfold Heavens bright light,  
And thou to yield to what they did demand?  
Washing thy hands, thy conscience cannot clear,  
But to all worlds this stain must needs appear.   

For lo, the Guilty doth accuse the Just,  
And faulty judge condemns the Innocent;  
And wilful jews to exercise their lust,  
With whips and taunts against their Lord are bend;  
He basely used, blasphemed, scorned, and cursed,  
Our heavenly King to death for us they sent:  
Reproaches, slanders, spittings in his face,  
Spite doing all her worst in his disgrace.    

●hrist going 〈◊〉 death.  

¶ And now this long expected hour draws near,  
When blessed Saints with Angels do condole;  
His holy march, soft pace, and heavy cheer,  
In humble sort to yield his glorious soul,  
By his deserts the foulest sins to clear;  
And in th'eternal book of heaven to enroll  
A satisfaction till the general doom,  
Of all sins past, and all that are to come.   

They that had seen this pitiful Procession,  
From pilate's Palace to Mount Caluarie,  
Might think he answered for some great transgression,  
Being in such odious sort condemned to die;  
He plainly showed that his own profession  
Was virtue, patience, grace, love, piety;  
And how by suffering he could conquer more  
Than all the Kings that ever lived before.   

First went the Crier with open mouth proclaiming  
The heavy sentence of Iniquity,  
The Hangman next, by his base office claiming  
His right in Hell, where sinners never die,  
Carrying the nails, the people still blaspheming  
Their maker, using all impiety;  
The thieves attending him on either side,  
¶ The sergeant watching, while the women cried.    

The tears of the daughters of jerusalem,  

Thrice happy women that obtained such grace  
From him whose worth the world could not contain;  
Immediately to turn about his face,  
As not remembering his great grief and pain,  
To comfort you, whose tears poured forth apace  
On Flora's banks, like showers of April's rain:  
Your cries enforced mercy, grace, and love  
From him, whom greatest Princes could not move   

To speak on word, nor once to lift his eyes  
Unto proud Pilate, no nor Herod, king,  
By all the Questions that they could devise,  
Can make him answer to no manner of thing;  
Yet these poor women, by their piteous cries  
Did move their Lord, their Lover, and their King,  
To take compassion turn about, and speak  
To them whose hearts were ready now to break.   

Most blessed daughters of jerusalem,  
Who found such favour in your saviour's sight,  
To turn his face when you did pity him;  
Your tearful eyes, beheld his eyes more bright;  
Your Faith and Love unto such grace did climb,  
To have reflection from this Heavenly Light:  
Your eagle's eyes did gaze against this Sun,  
Your hearts did think, he dead, the world were done.   

When spiteful men with torments did oppress  
Th'afflicted body of this innocent Dove,  
Poor women seeing how much they did transgress,  
By tears, by sighs, by cries entreat, nay prove,  
What may be done among the thickest press,  
They labour still these tyrant's hearts to move;  
In pity and compassion to forbear  
Their whipping, spurning, tearing of his hair.   

But all in vain, their malice hath no end,  
Their hearts more hard than slint, or marble stone;  
Now to his grief, his greatness they attend,  
When he (God knows) had rather be alone;  
They are his guard, yet seek all means to offend:  
Well may he grieve, well may he sigh and groan,  
Under the burden of a heavy cross,  
He faintly goes to make their gain his loss.    

The sorrow of the virgin Marie.  

¶ His woeful Mother waiting on her Son,  
All comfortless in depth of sorrow drowned;  
Her griefs extreme, although but new begun,  
To see his bleeding body oft she swooned;  
How could she choose but think herself undone,  
He dying, with whose glory she was crowned?  
None ever lost so great a loss as she,  
Being Son, and Father of Eternity.   

Her tears did wash away his precious blood,  
That sinners might not tread it under feet  
To worship him, and that it did her good  
Upon her knees, although in open street,  
Knowing he was the jessie flower and bud,  
That must be gathered when it smelled most sweet:  
Her Son, her Husband, Father, Saviour, King,  
Whose death killed Death, and took away his sting.   

Most blessed Virgin, in whose faultless fruit,  
All Nations of the earth must needs rejoice,  
No Creature having sense though ne'er so brute,  
But joys and trembles when they hear his voice;  
His wisdom strikes the wisest persons mute,  
Fair chosen vessel, happy in his choice:  
Dear Mother of our Lord, whose reverend name,  
All people Blessed call, and spread thy fame.   

For the Almighty magnified thee,  
And looked down upon thy mean estate;  
Thy lowly mind, and unstained Chastity,  
Did plead for Love at great jehova's gate,  
Who sending swift-winged Gabriel unto thee,  
His holy will and pleasure to relate;  
To thee most beauteous Queen of Womankind,  
The Angel did unfold his Maker's mind.    

The salutation of the virgin Marie.  

¶ He thus began, Hail Marry full of grace,  
Thou freely art beloved of the Lord,  
He is with thee, behold thy happy case;  
What endless comfort did these words afford  
To thee that saw'st an Angel in the place  
Proclaim thy Virtues worth, and to record  
Thee blessed among women: that thy praise  
Should last so many worlds beyond thy days.   

Lo, this high message to thy troubled spirit,  
He doth deliver in the plainest sense;  
Says, Thou shouldst bear a Son that shall inherit  
His Father David's throne, free from offence,  
Calls him that Holy thing, by whose pure merit  
We must be saved, tells what he is, of whence;  
His worth, his greatness, what his name must be,  
Who should be called the Son of the most High.   

He cheers thy troubled soul, bids thee not fear;  
When thy pure thoughts could hardly apprehend  
This salutation, when he did appear;  
Nor couldst thou judge, whereto those words did tend;  
His pure aspect did move thy modest cheer  
To muse, yet joy that God vouchsafed to send  
His glorious Angel; who did thee assure  
To bear a child, although a Virgin pure.   

Nay more, thy Son should Rule and Reign for ever;  
Yea, of his Kingdom there should be no end;  
Over the house of jacob, heavens great Giver  
Would give him power, and to that end did send  
His faithful servant Gabriel to deliver  
To thy chaste ears no word that might offend:  
But that this blessed Infant borne of thee,  
Thy Son, The only Son of God should be.   

When on the knees of thy submissive heart  
Thou humbly didst demand, How that should be?  
Thy virgin thoughts did think, none could impart  
This great good hap, and blessing unto thee;  
far from desire of any man thou art,  
Knowing not one, thou art from all men free:  
When he, to answer this thy chaste desire,  
Gives thee more cause to wonder and admire.   

That thou a blessed Virgin shouldst remain,  
Yea that the holy Ghost should come on thee  
A maiden Mother, subject to no pain,  
For highest power should overshadow thee:  
Can thy fair eyes from tears of joy refrain,  
When God looked down upon thy poor degree?  
Making thee Servant, Mother, Wife, and Nurse  
To heavens bright King, that freed us from the curse.   

Thus being crowned with glory from above,  
Grace and Perfection resting in thy breast,  
Thy humble answer doth approve thy Love,  
And all these sayings in thy heart do rest:  
Thy Child a Lamb, and thou a Turtle dove,  
Above all other women highly blest;  
To find such favour in his glorious sight,  
In whom thy heart and soul do most delight.   

What wonder in the world more strange could seem,  
Than that a Virgin could conceive and bear  
Within her womb a Son, That should redeem  
All Nations on the earth, and should repair  
Our old decay: who in such high esteem,  
Should prise all mortals, living in his fear;  
As not to shun Death, poverty, and Shame,  
To save their souls, and spread his glorious Name.   

And partly to fulfil his Father's pleasure,  
Whose powerful hand allows it not for strange,  
If he vouchsafe the riches of his treasure,  
Pure Righteousness to take such ill exchange;  
On all Iniquity to make a seizure,  
Giving his snowwhite Weed for ours in change;  
Our mortal garment in a scarlet Die,  
Too base a robe for Immortality.   

Most happy news, that ever yet was brought,  
When Poverty and Riches met together,  
The wealth of Heaven, in our frail clothing wrought  
Salvation by his happy coming hither:  
Mighty Messiah, who so dearly bought  
Us Slaves to fin, far lighter than a feather:  
Tossed to and fro with every wicked wind,  
The world, the flesh, or Devil gives to blind.   

Who on his shoulders our black sins doth bear  
To that most blessed, yet accursed Cross;  
Where fastening them, he rids us of our fear,  
Yea for our gain he is content with loss,  
Our ragged clothing scorns he not to wear,  
Though foul, rent, torn, disgraceful, rough and gross,  
Spun by that monster Sin, and weaved by Shame,  
Which grace itself, disgraced with impure blame.   

How canst thou choose (fair Virgin) then but mourn,  
When this sweet offspring of thy body dies,  
When thy fair eyes beholds his body torn,  
The people's fury, hears the women's cries;  
His holy name profaned, He made a scorn,  
Abused with all their hateful slanderous lies:  
Bleeding and fainting in such wondrous sort,  
As scarce his feeble limbs can him support.   

Now Simon of Cyrene passeth them by,  
Whom they compel sweet JESUS Cross to bear  
To Golgatha, there do they mean to try  
All cruel means to work in him despair:  
That odious place, where dead men's skulls did lie,  
There must our Lord for present death prepare:  
His sacred blood must grace that loathsome field,  
To purge more filth, than that foul place could yield.    

Christ's death.  

¶ For now arrived unto this hateful place,  
In which his Cross erected needs must be,  
False hearts, and willing hands come on apace,  
All priest to ill, and all desire to see:  
Graceless themselves, still seeking to disgrace;  
Bidding him, If the Son of God he be,  
To save himself, if he could others save,  
With all th'opprobrious words that might deprave.   

His harmless hands unto the Cross they nailed,  
And feet that never trod in sinners trace,  
Between two thieves, unpitied, unbewailde,  
Save of some few possessors of his grace,  
With sharpest pangs and terrors thus appailde,  
Stern Death makes way, that Life might give him place:  
His eyes with tears, his body full of wounds,  
Death last of pains his sorrows all confounds.   

His joints disjointed, and his legs hang down,  
His alabaster breast, his bloody side,  
His members torn, and on his head a Crown  
Of sharpest Thorns, to satisfy for pride:  
Anguish and Pain do all his Senses drown,  
While they his holy garments do divide:  
His bowels dry, his heart full fraught with grief,  
Crying to him that yields him no relief.    

To my La●● of Cumberland.  

¶ This with the eye of Faith thou mayst behold,  
Dear Spouse of Christ, and more than I can write;  
And here both Grief and joy thou mayst unfold,  
To view thy Love in this most heavy plight,  
Bowing his head, his bloodless body cold;  
Those eyes wax dim that gave us all our light,  
His countenance pale, yet still continues sweet,  
His blessed blood watering his pierced feet.   

O glorious miracle without compare!  
Last, but not least which was by him effected;  
Uniting death, life, misery, joy and care,  
By his sharp passion in his dear elected:  
Who doth the Badges of like Liveries wear,  
Shall find how dear they are of him respected.  
No joy, grief, pain, life, death, was like to his,  
Whose infinite dolours wrought eternal bliss.    

●…e terror of ●… creatures ●…hat in●…t when ●…rist died.  

¶ What creature on the earth did then remain,  
On whom the horror of this shameful deed  
Did not inflict some violent touch, or strain,  
To see the Lord of all the world to bleed?  
His dying breath did rend huge rocks in twain,  
The heavens betook them to their mourning weed:  
The Sun grew dark, and scorned to give them light,  
Who durst eclipse a glory far more bright.   

The Moon and Stars did hide themselves for shame,  
The earth did rremble in her loyal fear,  
The Temple vail did rend to spread his fame,  
The Monuments did open every where;  
Dead Saints did rise forth of their graves, and came  
To divers people that remained there  
Within that holy City; whose offence,  
Did put their Maker to this large expense.   

Things reasonable, and reasonless possessed  
The terrible impression of this fact;  
For his oppression made them all oppressed,  
When with his blood he sealed so fair an act,  
In restless misery to procure our rest;  
His glorious deeds that dreadful prison sacked:  
When Death, Hell, Devils, using all their power,  
Were overcome in that most blessed hour.   

Being dead, he killed Death, and did survive  
That proud insulting Tyrant: in whose place  
He sends bright Immortality to revive  
Those whom his iron arms did long embrace;  
Who from their loathsome graves brings them alive  
In glory to behold their saviours face:  
Who took the keys of all Death's power away,  
Opening to those that would his name obey.   

O wonder, more than man can comprehend,  
Our joy and Grief both at one instant framed,  
Compounded: Contrarieties contend  
Each to exceed, yet neither to be blamed.  
Our Grief to see our saviours wretched end,  
Our joy to know both Death and Hell he tamed:  
That we may say, O Death, where is thy sting?  
Hell, yield thy victory to thy conquering King.   

Can stony hearts refrain from shedding tears,  
To view the life and death of this sweet Saint?  
His austere course in young and tender years,  
When great indurements could not make him faint:  
His wants, his pains, his torments, and his fears,  
All which he undertook without constraint,  
To show that infinite Goodness must restore,  
What infinite justice looked for, and more.   

Yet, had he been but of a mean degree,  
His sufferings had been small to what they were;  
Mean minds will show of what mean moulds they be;  
Small griefs seem great, yet Use doth make them bear:  
But ah! 'tis hard to stir a sturdy tree;  
Great dangers hardly puts great minds in fear:  
They will conceal their griefs which mighty grow  
In their stout hearts until they overflow.   

If then an earthly Prince may ill endure  
The least of those afflictions which he bore,  
How could this all-commanding King procure  
Such grievous torments with his mind to square,  
Legions of Angels being at his Lure?  
He might have lived in pleasure without care:  
None can conceive the bitter pains he felt,  
When God and man must suffer without guilt.   

Take all the Sufferings Thoughts can think upon,  
In every man that this huge world hath bred;  
Let all those Pains and Sufferings meet in one,  
Yet are they not a Mite to that he did  
Endure for us: Oh let us think thereon,  
That God should have his precious blood so shed:  
His Greatness clothed in our frail attire,  
And pay so dear a ransom for the hire.   

Lo, here was glory, misery, life and death,  
An union of contraries did accord;  
Gladness and sadness here had one birth,  
This wonder wrought the Passion of our Lord,  
He suffering for all the sins of all th'earth,  
No satisfaction could the world afford:  
But this rich jewel, which from God was sent,  
To call all those that would in time repent.   

Which I present (dear Lady) to your view,  
Upon the Cross deprived of life or breath,  
To judge if ever Lover were so true,  
To yield himself unto such shameful death:  
Now blessed joseph doth both beg and sue,  
To have his body who possessed his faith,  
And thinks, if he this small request obtains,  
He wins more wealth than in the world remains.   

Thus honourable joseph is possessed,  
Of what his heart and soul so much desired,  
And now he goes to give that body rest,  
That all his life, with griefs and pains was tired;  
He finds a Tomb, a Tomb most rarely blest,  
In which was never creature yet interred;  
There this most precious body he encloses,  
Embalmed and decked with Lilies and with Roses.   

Lo here the Beauty of Heaven and Earth is laid,  
The purest colors underneath the Sun,  
But in this place he cannot long be stayed,  
Glory must end what horror hath begun;  
For he the fury of the Heavens obeyed,  
And now he must possess what he hath won:  
The Maries do with precious balms attend,  
But being come, they find it to no end.    

Christ's resurrection.  

¶ For he is rise from Death t'Eternall Life,  
And now those precious ointments he desires  
Are brought unto him, by his faithful Wife  
The holy Church; who in those rich attires,  
Of Patience, Love, Long suffering, Void of strife,  
Humbly presents those ointments he requires:  
The oils of Mercy, Charity, and Faith,  
She only gives that which no other hath.    

A brief description of his beauty upon the Canticles.  

¶ These precious balms do heal his grievous wounds,  
And water of Compunction washeth clean  
The sores of sins, which in our Souls abounds;  
So fair it heals, no scar is ever seen;  
Yet all the glory unto Christ redounds,  
His precious blood is that which must redeem;  
Those well may make us lovely in his sight,  
But cannot save without his powerful might.   

This is that Bridegroom that appears so fair,  
So sweet, so lovely in his Spouses sight,  
That unto Snow we may his face compare,  
His cheeks like scarlet, and his eyes so bright  
As purest Doves that in the rivers are,  
Washed with milk, to give the more delight;  
His head is likened to the finest gold,  
His curled locks so beauteous to behold;   

Black as a Raven in her blackest hue;  
His lips like scarlet threads, yet much more sweet  
Than is the sweetest honey dropping dew,  
Or honey combs, where all the Bees do meet;  
Yea, he is constant, and his words are true,  
His cheeks are beds of spices, flowers sweet;  
His lips like Lilies, dropping down pure myrrh,  
Whose love, before all worlds we do prefer.    

To my Lady of Cumberland.  

¶ Ah! give me leave (good Lady) now to leave  
This task of Beauty which I took in hand,  
I cannot wade so deep, I may deceive  
Myself, before I can attain the land;  
Therefore (good Madam) in your heart I leave  
His perfect picture, where it still shall stand,  
Deeply engraved in that holy shrine,  
Environed with Love and Thoughts divine.   

There may you see him as a God in glory,  
And as a man in miserable case;  
There may you read his true and perfect story,  
His bleeding body there you may embrace,  
And kiss his dying cheeks with tears of sorrow,  
With joyful grief, you may entreat for grace;  
And all your prayers, and your almsdeeds  
May bring to stop his cruel wounds that bleeds.   

Oft times hath he made trial of your love,  
And in your Faith hath took no small delight,  
By Crosses and Afflictions he doth prove,  
Yet still your heart remaineth firm and right;  
Your love so strong, as nothing can remove,  
Your thoughts being placed on him both day and night,  
Your constant soul doth lodge between her breasts,  
This Sweet of sweets, in which all glory rests.   

Sometime h'appears to thee in shepherds weed,  
And so presents himself before thine eyes,  
A good old man; that goes his flock to feed;  
Thy colour changes, and thy heart doth rise;  
Thou call'st, he comes, thou findest 'tis he indeed,  
Thy Soul conceives that he is truly wise:  
Nay more, desires that he may be the Book,  
Whereon thine eyes continually may look.   

Sometime imprisoned, naked, poor, and bare,  
Full of diseases, impotent, and lame,  
Blind, deaf, and dumb, he comes unto his fair,  
To see if yet she will remain the same;  
Nay sick and wounded, now thou dost prepare  
To cherish him in thy dear lovers name:  
Yea thou bestowest all pains, all cost, all care,  
That may relieve him, and his health repair.   

These works of mercy are so sweet, so dear  
To him that is the Lord of Life and Love,  
That all thy prayers he vouchsafes to hear,  
And sends his holy Spirit from above;  
Thy eyes are opened, and thou seest so clear,  
No worldly thing can thy fair mind remove;  
Thy faith, thy prayers, and his special grace  
Doth open Heaven, where thou beholdest his face.   

These are those Keys Saint Peter did possess,  
Which with a Spiritual power are given to thee,  
To heal the souls of those that do transgress,  
By thy fair virtues; which, if once they see,  
Unto the like they do their minds address,  
Such as thou art, such they desire to be:  
If they be blind, thou giv'st to them their sight;  
If deaf or lame, they hear, and go upright.   

Yea, if possessed with any evil spirits,  
Such power thy fair examples have obtained  
To cast them out, applying Christ's pure merits,  
By which they are bound, and of all hurt restrained:  
If strangely taken, wanting sense or wits,  
Thy faith applied unto their souls so pained,  
Healeth all griefs, and makes them grow so strong,  
As no defects can hang upon them long.   

Thou being thus rich, no riches dost respect,  
Nor dost thou care for any outward show;  
The proud that do fair Virtues rules neglect,  
Desiring place, thou fittest them below:  
All wealth and honour thou dost quite reject,  
If thou perceivest that once it proves a foe  
To virtue, learning, and the powers divine,  
Thou may'st convert, but never wilt incline   

To fowl disorder, or licentiousness,  
But in thy modest vail dost sweetly cover  
The stains of other sins, to make themselves,  
That by this means thou may'st in time recover  
Those weak lost sheep that did so long transgress,  
Presenting them unto thy dearest Lover;  
That when he brings them back unto his fold,  
In their conversion than he may behold   

Thy beauty shining brighter than the Sun,  
Thine honour more than ever Monarch gained,  
Thy wealth exceeding his that Kingdoms won,  
Thy Love unto his Spouse, thy Faith unfaind,  
Thy Constancy in what thou hast begun,  
Till thou his heavenly Kingdom have obtained;  
Respecting worldly wealth to be but dross,  
Which, if abused, doth prove the owner's loss.   

Great Cleopatra's love to Anthony,  
Can no way be compared unto thine;  
She left her Love in his extremity,  
When greatest need should cause her to combine  
Her force with his, to get the Victory:  
Her Love was earthly, and thy Love Divine;  
Her Love was only to support her pride,  
Humility thy Love and Thee doth guide.   

That glorious part of Death, which last she played,  
T'appease the ghost of her deceased Love,  
Had never needed, if she could have staid  
When his extremes made trial, and did prove  
Her leaden love unconstant, and afraid:  
Their wicked wars the wrath of God might move  
To take revenge for chaste Octavia's wrongs,  
Because she enjoys what unto her belongs.   

No Cleopatra, though thou wert as fair  
As any Creature in Antonius eyes;  
Yea though thou wert as rich, as wise, as rare,  
As any Pen could write, or Wit devise;  
Yet with this Lady canst thou not compare,  
Whose inward virtues all thy worth denies:  
Yet thou a black Egyptian dost appear;  
Thou false, she true; and to her Love more dear.   

She sacrificeth to her dearest Love,  
With flowers of Faith, and garlands of Good deeds;  
She flies not from him when afflictions prove,  
She bears his cross, and stops his wounds that bleeds;  
She loves and lives chaste as the Turtle dove,  
She attends upon him, and his flock she feeds;  
Yea for one touch of death which thou didst try,  
A thousand deaths she every day doth die.   

Her virtuous life exceeds thy worthy death,  
Yea, she hath richer ornaments of state,  
Shining more glorious than in dying breath  
Thou didst; when either pride, or cruel fate,  
Did work thee to prevent a double death;  
To stay the malice, scorn, and cruel hate  
Of Rome; that joyed to see thy pride pulled down,  
Whose Beauty wrought the hazard of her Crown.   

Good Madam, though your modesty be such,  
Not to acknowledge what we know and find;  
And that you think these praises overmuch,  
Which do express the beauty of your mind;  
Yet pardon me although I give a touch  
Unto their eyes, that else would be so blind,  
As not to see thy store, and their own wants,  
From whose fair seeds of Virtue spring these plants.   

And know, when first into this world I came,  
This charge was given me by th'eternal powers,  
Th'everlasting Trophy of thy fame,  
To build and deck it with the sweetest flowers  
That virtue yields; Then Madam, do not blame  
Me, when I show the World but what is yours,  
And deck you with that crown which is your due,  
That of heavens beauty Earth may take a view.   

Though famous women elder times have known,  
Whose glorious actions did appear so bright,  
That powerful men by them were overthrown,  
And all their armies overcome in fight;  
The Scythian women by their power alone,  
Put king Darius unto shameful flight:  
All Asia yielded to their conquering hand,  
Great Alexander could not their power withstand.   

Whose worth, though writ in lines of blood and fire,  
Is not to be compared unto thine;  
Their power was small to overcome Desire,  
Or to direct their ways by Virtues line:  
Were they alive, they would thy Life admire,  
And unto thee their honours would resign:  
For thou a greater conquest dost obtain,  
Than they who have so many thousands slain.   

Wise Deborah that judged Israel,  
Nor valiant judeth cannot equal thee,  
Unto the first, God did his will reveal,  
And gave her power to set his people free;  
Yea judeth had the power likewise to queale  
Proud Holofernes, that the just might see  
What small defence vain pride, and greatness hath  
Against the weapons of God's word and faith.   

But thou far greater war dost still maintain,  
Against that many headed monster Sin,  
Whose mortal sting hath many thousand slain,  
And every day fresh combats do begin;  
Yet cannot all his venom lay one stain  
Upon thy Soul, thou dost the conquest win,  
Though all the world he daily doth devour,  
Yet over thee he never could get power.   

For that one worthy deed by Deb'rah done,  
Thou hast performed many in thy time;  
For that one Conquest that fair judeth won,  
By which she did the steps of honour clime;  
Thou hast the Conquest of all Conquests won,  
When to thy Conscience Hell can lay no crime:  
For that one head that judeth bore away,  
Thou tak'st from Sin a hundred heads a day.   

Though virtuous Hester fasted three days space,  
And spent her time in prayers all that while,  
That by God's power she might obtain such grace,  
That she and hers might not become a spoil  
To wicked Hamon, in whose crabbed face  
Was seen the map of malice, envy, guile;  
Her glorious garments though she put apart,  
So to present a pure and single heart   

To God, in sackcloth, ashes, and with tears;  
Yet must fair Hester needs give place to thee,  
Who hath continued days, weeks, months, and years,  
In God's true service, yet thy heart being free  
From doubt of death, or any other fears:  
Fasting from sin, thou prayest thine eyes may see  
Him that hath full possession of thine heart,  
From whose sweet love thy Soul can never part.   

His Love, not Fear, makes thee to fast and pray,  
No kinsman's counsel needs thee to advise;  
The sackcloth thou dost wear both night and day,  
Is worldly troubles, which thy rest denies;  
The ashes are the Vanities that play  
Over thy head, and steal before thine eyes;  
Which thou shak'st off when mourning time is past,  
That royal robes thou mayst put on at last.   

joachim's wife; that fair and constant Dame,  
Who rather chose a cruel death to die,  
Than yield to those two Elders void of shame,  
When both at once her chastity did try,  
Whose innocency bore away the blame,  
Until th'Almighty Lord had heard her cry;  
And raised the spirit of a Child to speak,  
Making the powerful judged of the weak.   

Although her virtue do deserve to be  
Writ by that hand that never purchased blame;  
In holy Writ, where all the world may see  
Her perfect life, and ever honoured name:  
Yet was she not to be compared to thee,  
Whose many virtues do increase thy fame:  
For she opposed against old doting Lust,  
Who with life's danger she did fear to trust.   

But your chafed breast, guarded with strength of mind,  
Hates the embracements of unchaste desires;  
You loving God, live in yourself confined  
From unpure Love, your purest thoughts retires,  
Your perfect sight could never be so blind,  
To entertain the old or young desires  
Of idle Lovers; which the world presents,  
Whose base abuses worthy minds prevents.   

Even as the constant Laurel, always green,  
No parching heat of Summer can deface,  
Nor pinching Winter ever yet was seen,  
Whose nipping frosts could whither, or disgrace:  
So you (dear Lady) still remain as Queen,  
Subduing all affections that are base,  
Unalterable by the change of times,  
Not following, but lamenting others crimes.   

No fear of Death, or dread of open shame,  
Hinders your perfect heart to give consent;  
Nor loathsome age, whom Time could never tame  
From ill designs, whereto their youth was bend;  
But love of God, care to preserve your fame,  
And spend that precious time that God hath sent,  
In all good exercises of the mind,  
Whereto your noble nature is inclined.   

That Ethyopian Queen did gain great fame,  
Who from the Southern world, did come to see  
Great Solomon; the glory of whose name  
Had spread itself o'er all the earth, to be  
So great, that all the Princes thither came,  
To be spectators of his royalty:  
And this fair Queen of Sheba came from far,  
To reverence this new appearing star.   

From th'utmost part of all the Earth she came,  
To hear the Wisdom of this worthy King;  
To try if Wonder did agree with Fame,  
And many fair rich presents did she bring:  
Yea many strange hard questions did she frame,  
All which were answered by this famous King:  
Nothing was hid that in her heart did rest,  
And all to prove this King so highly blest.   

Here Majesty with Majesty did meet,  
Wisdom to Wisdom yielded true content,  
One Beauty did another Beauty greet,  
Bounty to Bounty never could repent;  
Here all distaste is trodden under feet,  
No loss of time, where time was so well spent  
In virtuous exercises of the mind,  
In which this Queen did much contentment find.   

Spirits affect where they do sympathise,  
Wisdom desires Wisdom to embrace,  
Virtue covets her like, and doth devise  
How she her friends may entertain with grace;  
Beauty sometime is pleased to feed her eyes,  
With viewing Beauty in another's face:  
Both good and bad in this point do agree,  
That each desireth with his like to be.   

And this Desire did work a strange effect,  
To draw a Queen forth of her native Land,  
Not yielding to the niceness and respect  
Of womankind; she passed both sea and land,  
All fear of dangers she did quite neglect,  
Only to see, to hear, and understand  
That beauty, wisdom, majesty, and glory,  
That in her heart impressed his perfect story.   

Yet this fair map of majesty and might,  
Was but a figure of thy dearest Love,  
Borne t'express that true and heavenly light,  
That doth all other joys imperfect prove;  
If this fair Earthly star did shine so bright,  
What doth that glorious Son that is above?  
Who wears th'imperial crown of heaven and earth,  
And made all Christians blessed in his birth.   

If that small spark could yield so great a fire,  
As to inflame the hearts of many Kings  
To come to see, to hear, and to admire  
His wisdom, tending but to worldly things;  
Then much more reason have we to desire  
That heavenly wisdom, which salvation brings;  
The Son of righteousness, that gives true joys,  
When all they sought for, were but Earthly toys.   

No travels ought th'affected soul to shun,  
That this fair heavenly Light desires to see:  
This King of kings to whom we all should run,  
To view his Glory and his Majesty;  
He without whom we all had been undone,  
He that from Sin and Death hath set us free,  
And overcome Satan, the world, and fin,  
That by his merits we those joys might win.   

Prepared by him, whose everlasting throne  
Is placed in heaven, above the starry skies,  
Where he that sat, was like the jasper stone,  
Who rightly knows him shall be truly wise,  
A Rainbow round about his glorious throne;  
Nay more, those winged beasts so full of eyes,  
That never cease to glorify his Name,  
Who was, and will be, and is now the same.   

This is that great almighty Lord that made  
Both heaven and earth, and lives for evermore;  
By him the world's foundation first was laid:  
He framed the things that never were before:  
The Sea within his bounds by him is stayed,  
He judgeth all alike, both rich and poor:  
All might, all majesty, all love, all law  
Remains in him that keeps all worlds in awe.   

From his eternal throne the lightning came,  
thunderings and Voices did from thence proceed;  
And all the creatures glorified his name,  
In heaven, in earth, and seas, they all agreed,  
When lo that spotless Lamb so void of blame,  
That for us died, whose sins did make him bleed:  
That true Physician that so many heals,  
Opened the Book, and did undo the Seals.   

He only worthy to undo the Book  
Of our charged souls, full of iniquity,  
Where with the eyes of mercy he doth look  
Upon our weakness and infirmity;  
This is that corner stone that was forsook,  
Who leaves it, trusts but to uncertainty:  
This is God's Son, in whom he is well pleased,  
His dear beloved, that his wrath appeased.   

He that had power to open all the Seals,  
And summon up our sins of blood and wrong,  
He unto whom the righteous soul's appeals,  
That have been martyred, and do think it long,  
To whom in mercy he his will reveals,  
That they should rest a little in their wrong,  
Until their fellow servants should be killed,  
Even as they were, and that they were fulfilled.    

To the La●● dowager of Cumberland.  

¶ Pure thoughted Lady, blessed be thy choice  
Of this Almighty, everlasting King;  
In thee his Saints and Angels do rejoice,  
And to their Heavenly Lord do daily sing  
Thy perfect praises in their loudest voice;  
And all their haps and golden vials bring  
Full of sweet odours, even thy-holy prayers  
Unto that spotless Lamb, that all repairs.   

Of whom that Heathen Queen obtained such grace,  
By honouring but the shadow of his Love,  
That great judicial day to have a place,  
Condemning those that do unfaithful prove;  
Among the hapless, happy is her case,  
That her dear Saviour spoke for her behove;  
And that her memorable Act should be  
Writ by the hand of true Eternity.   

Yet this rare Phoenix of that worn-out age,  
This great majestic Queen comes short of thee,  
Who to an earthly Prince did then engage  
Her hearts desires, her love, her liberty,  
Acting her glorious part upon a Stage  
Of weakness, frailty, and infirmity:  
Giving all honour to a Creature, due  
To her Creator, whom she never knew.   

But lo, a greater thou hast sought and found  
Than Solomon in all his royalty;  
And unto him thy faith most firmly bound  
To serve and honour him continually;  
That glorious God, whose terror doth confound  
All sinful workers of iniquity:  
Him hast thou truly served all thy life,  
And for his love, lived with the world at strife.   

To this great Lord, thou only art affected,  
Yet came he not in pomp or royalty,  
But in an humble habit, base, dejected;  
A King, a God, clad in mortality,  
He hath thy love, thou art by him directed,  
His perfect path was fair humility:  
Who being Monarch of heaven, earth, and seas,  
Endured all wrongs, yet no man did displease.   

Then how much more art thou to be commended,  
That seekest thy love in lowly shepherds weed?  
A seeming Tradesman's son, of none attended,  
Save of a few in poverty and need;  
Poor Fishermen that on his love attended,  
His love that makes so many thousands bleed:  
Thus did he come, to try our faiths the more,  
Possessing worlds, yet seeming extreme poor.   

The Pilgrims travels, and the shepherds cares,  
He took upon him to enlarge our souls,  
What pride hath lost, humility repairs,  
For by his glorious death he us inroules  
In deep Characters, writ with blood and tears,  
Upon those blessed Everlasting scrolls;  
His hands, his feet, his body, and his face,  
Whence freely flowed the rivers of his grace.   

Sweet holy rivers, pure celestial springs,  
Proceeding from the fountain of our life;  
Swift sugared currents that salvation brings,  
Clear crystal streams, purging all sin and strife,  
Fair floods, where souls do bathe their snowwhite wings,  
Before they fly to true etern all life:  
Sweet Nectar and Ambrosia, food of Saints,  
Which, whoso tasteth, never after faints.   

This honey dropping dew of holy love,  
Sweet milk, wherewith we weaklings are restored,  
Who drinks thereof, a world can never move,  
All earthly pleasures are of them abhorred;  
This love made Martyrs many deaths to prove,  
To taste his sweetness, whom they so adored:  
Sweetness that makes our flesh a burden to us,  
Knowing it serves but only to undo us.   

His sweetness sweet'ned all the sour of death,  
To faithful Stephen his appointed Saint;  
Who by the river stones did lose his breath,  
When pains nor terrors could not make him faint:  
So was this blessed Martyr turned to earth,  
To glorify his soul by death's attaint:  
This holy Saint was humbled and cast down,  
To win in heaven an everlasting crown.   

Whose face  with Majesty and Sweetness,  
Did as an Angel unto them appear,  
That sat in Counsel hearing his discreetness,  
Seeing no change, or any sign of a fear;  
But with a constant brow did there confess  
Christ's high deserts, which were to him so dear:  
Yea when these Tyrant's storms did most oppress,  
Christ did appear to make his grief the less.   

For being filled with the holy Ghost,  
Up unto Heaven he looked with steadfast eyes,  
Where God appeared with his heavenly host  
In glory to this Saint before he dies;  
Although he could no Earthly pleasures boast,  
At God's right hand sweet JESUS he espies;  
Bids them behold Heavens open, he doth see  
The Son of Man at God's right hand to be.   

Whose sweetness sweet'ned that short sour of Life,  
Making all bitterness delight his taste,  
Yielding sweet quietness in bitter strife,  
And most contentment when he died disgraced;  
Heaping up joys where sorrows were most rife;  
Such sweetness could not choose but be embraced:  
The food of Souls, the Spirits only treasure,  
The Paradise of our celestial pleasure.   

This Lamb of God, who died, and was alive,  
Presenting us the bread of life Eternal,  
His bruised body powerful to revive  
Our sinking souls, out of the pit infernal;  
For by this blessed food he did contrive  
A work of grace, by this his gift external,  
With heavenly Manna, food of his elected,  
To feed their souls, of whom he is respected.   

This wheat of Heaven the blessed angels bread,  
Wherewith he feeds his dear adopted Heirs;  
Sweet food of life that doth revive the dead,  
And from the living takes away all cares;  
To taste this sweet Saint Laurence did not dread,  
The broiling gridyorne cooled with holy tears:  
Yielding his naked body to the fire,  
To taste this sweetness, such was his desire.   

Nay, what great sweetness did th'Apostles taste,  
Condemned by Counsel, when they did return;  
Rejoicing that for him they died disgraced,  
Whose sweetness made their hearts and souls so burn  
With holy zeal and love most pure and chaste;  
For him they sought from whom they might not turn:  
Whose love made Andrew go most joyfully,  
Unto the Cross, on which he meant to die.   

The Princes of th'Apostles were so filled  
With the delicious sweetness of his grace,  
That willingly they yielded to be killed,  
Receiving deaths that were most vile and base,  
For his name sake, that all might be fulfilled.  
They with great joy all torments did embrace:  
The vgli'st face that Death could ever yield,  
Can never fear these Champions from the field.   

They still continued in their glorious fight,  
Against the enemies of flesh and blood;  
And in God's law did set their whole delight,  
Suppressing evil, and erecting good:  
Not sparing Kings in what they did not right;  
Their noble Acts they sealed with dearest blood:  
One chose the Gallows, that unseemly death,  
The other by the Sword did lose his breath.   

His Head did pay the dearest rate of sin,  
Yielding it joyfully unto the Sword,  
To be cut off as he had never been,  
For speaking truth according to God's word,  
Telling king Herod of incestuous sin,  
That hateful crime of God and man abhorred:  
His brother's wife, that proud licentious Dame,  
Cut off his Head to take away his shame.   

Lo Madam, here you take a view of those,  
Whose worthy steps you do desire to tread,  
Decked in those colours which our Saviour chose;  

Colours of Confessors & Martyrs.  The purest colours both of White and Red,  
Their freshest beauties would I feign disclose,  
By which our Saviour most was honoured:  
But my weak Muse desireth now to rest,  
Folding up all their Beauties in your breast.   

Whose excellence hath raised my spirits to write,  
Of what my thoughts could hardly apprehend;  
Your rarest Virtues did my soul delight,  
Great Lady of my heart: I must commend  
You that appear so fair in all men's fight:  
On your Deserts my Muses do attend:  
You are the Arctic Star that guides my hand,  
All what I am, I rest at your command.    
FINIS.   

The Description of Cooke-ham  

FArewell (sweet Cooke-ham) where I first obtained  
Grace from that Grace where perfect Grace remained;  
And where the Muses gave their full consent,  
I should have power the virtuous to content:  
Where princely Palace willed me to indite,  
The sacred Story of the Souls delight.  
Farewell (sweet Place) where Virtue then did rest,  
And all delights did harbour in her breast:  
Never shall my sad eyes again behold  
Those pleasures which my thoughts did then unfold:  
Yet you (great Lady) Mistress of that Place,  
From whose desires did spring this work of Grace;  
Vouchsafe to think upon those pleasures past,  
As fleeting worldly joys that could not last:  
Or, as dim shadows of celestial pleasures,  
Which are desired above all earthly treasures.  
Oh how (me thought) against you thither came,  
Each part did seem some new delight to frame!  
The House received all ornaments to grace it,  
And would endure no foulness to deface it.  
The Walks put on their summer Liveries,  
And all things else did hold like similes:  
The Trees with leaves, with fruits, with flowers clad,  
Embraced each other, seeming to be glad,  
Turning themselves to beauteous Canopies,  
To shade the bright Sun from your brighter eyes:  
The crystal Streams with silver spangles graced,  
While by the glorious Sun they were embraced:  
The little Birds in chirping notes did sing,  
To entertain both You and that sweet Spring.  
And Philomela with her sundry lays,  
Both You and that delightful Place did praise.  
Oh how me thought each plant, each flower, each tree  
Set forth their beauties then to welcome thee!  
The very Hills right humbly did descend,  
When you to tread upon them did intend.  
And as you set your feet, they still did rise,  
Glad that they could receive so rich a prize.  
The gentle Winds did take delight to be  
Among those woods that were so graced by thee.  
And in sad murmur uttered pleasing sound,  
That Pleasure in that place might more abound:  
The swelling Banks delivered all their pride,  
When such a Phoenix once they had espied.  
Each Arbour, Bank, each Seat, each stately Tree,  
Thought themselves honoured in supporting thee.  
The pretty Birds would oft come to attend thee,  
Yet fly away for fear they should offend thee:  
The little creatures in the Burrow by  
Would come abroad to sport them in your eye;  
Yet fearful of the Bow in your fair Hand,  
Would run away when you did make a stand.  
Now let me come unto that stately Tree,  
Wherein such goodly Prospects you did see;  
That Oak that did in height his fellows pass,  
As much as lofty trees, low growing grass:  
Much like a comely Cedar straight and tall,  
Whose beauteous stature far exceeded all:  
How often did you visit this fair tree,  
Which seeming joyful in receiving thee,  
Would like a Palm tree spread his arms abroad,  
Desirous that you there should make abode:  
Whose fair green leaves much like a comely vail,  
Defended Phoebus when he would assail:  
Whose pleasing boughs did yield a cool fresh air,  
joying his happiness when you were there.  
Where being seated, you might plainly see,  
Hills, vales, and woods, as if on bended knee  
They had appeared, your honour to salute,  
Or to prefer some strange unlooked for suit:  
All interlaced with brooks and crystal springs,  
A Prospect fit to please the eyes of Kings:  
And thirteen shires appeared all in your sight,  
Europe could not afford much more delight.  
What was there then but gave you all content,  
While you the time in meditation spent,  
Of their Creator's power, which there you saw,  
In all his Creatures held a perfect Law;  
And in their beauties did you plain descry,  
His beauty, wisdom, grace, love, majesty.  
In these sweet woods how often did you walk,  
With Christ and his Apostles there to talk;  
Placing his holy Writ in some fair tree,  
To meditate what you therein did see:  
With Moses you did mount his holy Hill,  
To know his pleasure, and perform his Will,  
With lovely David you did often sing,  
His holy Hymns to Heavens Eternal King.  
And in sweet music did your soul delight,  
To sound his praises, morning, noon, and night.  
With blessed joseph you did often feed  
Your pined brethren, when they stood in need.  
And that sweet Lady sprung from Clifford's race,  
Of noble Bedford's blood, fair steam of Grace;  
To honourable Dorset now espoused,  
In whose fair breast true virtue than was housed:  
Oh what delight did my weak spirits find  
In those pure parts of her well framed mind:  
And yet it grieves me that I cannot be  
near unto her, whose virtues did agree  
With those fair ornaments of outward beauty,  
Which did enforce from all both love and duty.  
Unconstant Fortune, thou art most too blame,  
Who casts us down into so low a frame:  
Where our great friends we cannot daily see,  
So great a difference is there in degree.  
Many are placed in those Orbs of state,  
Parters in honour, so ordained by Fate;  
nearer in show, yet farther off in love,  
In which, the lowest always are above.  
But whither am I carried in conceit?  
My Wit too weak to construe of the great.  
Why not? although we are but borne of earth,  
We may behold the Heavens, despising death;  
And loving heaven that is so far above,  
May in the end vouchsafe us entire love.  
Therefore sweet Memory do thou retain  
Those pleasures past, which will not turn again:  
Remember beauteous dorset's former sports,  
So far from being touched by ill reports;  
Wherein myself did always bear a part,  
While reverend Love presented my true heart:  
Those recreations let me bear in mind,  
Which her sweet youth and noble thoughts did find:  
Whereof deprived, I evermore must grieve,  
Hating blind Fortune, careless to relieve.  
And you sweet Cooke-ham, whom these Ladies leave,  
I now must tell the grief you did conceive  
At their departure; when they went away,  
How every thing retained a sad dismay:  
Nay long before, when once an inkling came,  
Me thought each thing did unto sorrow frame:  
The trees that were so glorious in our view,  
Forsook both flowers and fruit, when once they knew  
Of your depart, their very leaves did whither,  
Changing their colours as they grew together.  
But when they saw this had no power to stay you,  
They often wept, though speechless, could not pray you;  
Letting their tears in your fair bosoms fall,  
As if they said, Why will ye leave us all?  
This being vain, they cast their leaves away,  
Hoping that pity would have made you stay:  
Their frozen tops, like Ages hoary hairs,  
Shows their disasters, languishing in fears:  
A swarthy riveled ryne all over spread,  
Their dying bodies half alive, half dead.  
But your occasions called you so away,  
That nothing there had power to make you stay:  
Yet did I see a noble grateful mind,  
Requiting each according to their kind;  
Forgetting not to turn and take your leave  
Of these sad creatures, powerless to receive  
Your favour, when with grief you did departed,  
Placing their former pleasures in your heart;  
Giving great charge to noble Memory,  
There to preserve their love continually:  
But specially the love of that fair tree,  
That first and last you did vouchsafe to see:  
In which it pleased you oft to take the air,  
With noble Dorset, than a virgin fair:  
Where many a learned Book was read and skand  
To this fair tree, taking me by the hand,  
You did repeat the pleasures which had passed,  
Seeming to grieve they could no longer last.  
And with a chaste, yet loving kiss took leave,  
Of which sweet kiss I did it soon bereave:  
Scorning a senseless creature should possess  
So rare a favour, so great happiness.  
No other kiss it could receive from me,  
For fear to give back what it took of thee:  
So I ingrateful Creature did deceive it,  
Of that which you vouchsafed in love to leave it.  
And though it oft had given me much content,  
Yet this great wrong I never could repent:  
But of the happiest made it most forlorn,  
To show that nothing's free from Fortune's scorn,  
While all the rest with this most beauteous tree,  
Made their sad consort sorrows harmony.  
The Flowers that on the banks and walks did grow,  
Crept in the ground, the Grass did weep for woe.  
The Winds and Waters seemed to chide together,  
Because you went away they knew not whither:  
And those sweet Brooks that ran so fair and clear,  
With grief and trouble wrinkled did appear.  
Those pretty Birds that wont were to sing,  
Now neither sing, nor chirp, nor use their wing;  
But with their tender feet on some bare spray,  
Warble forth sorrow, and their own dismay.  
Fair Philomela leaves her mournful Ditty,  
Drowned in dead sleep, yet can procure no pity:  
Each arbour, bank, each seat, each stately tree,  
Looks bare and desolate now for want of thee;  
Turning green tresses into frosty grey,  
While in cold grief they whither all away.  
The Sun grew weak, his beams no comfort gave,  
While all green things did make the earth their grave:  
Each brier, each bramble, when you went away,  
Caught fast your clothes, thinking to make you stay:  
Delightful Echo wont to reply  
To our last words, did now for sorrow die:  
The house cast off each garment that might grace it,  
Putting on Dust and Cobwebs to deface it.  
All desolation then there did appear,  
When you were going whom they held so dear.  
This last farewell to Cooke-ham here I give,  
When I am dead thy name in this may live,  
Wherein I have performed her noble hest,  
Whose virtues lodge in my unworthy breast,  
And ever shall, so long as life remains,  
Tying my heart to her by those rich chains.   
FINIS.   

¶ To the doubtful Reader.  
GEntle Reader, if thou desire to be resolved, why I give this Title, Salue Deus Rex judaeorum, know for certain, that it was delivered unto me in sleep many years before I had any intent to write in this manner, and was quite out of my memory, until I had written the Passion of Christ, when immediately it came into my remembrance, what I had dreamt long before; and thinking it a significant token, that I was appointed to perform this Work, I gave the very same words I received in sleep as the fittest Title I could devise for this Book.