MARRY magdalen's LAMENTATIONS FOR THE LOSS OF HER MASTER JESUS.  Disce mori mundo vivere disce Deo. 
LONDON, Printed by Adam Islip for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, dwelling at the little North door of Paul's, at the sign of the Gun. 1601.   


Yea soul confounding sin so far hath crept,  
Repentant sighs are reckoned for toys,  
And Mary's tears contemned, long have slept,  
As gems unprized, which corrupt age destroys:  
Save that her Lord, because they still should last,  
In surest cask hath them invesseled fast.   

For wretched souls let loose to liberty,  
So wanton like are weaned to each wrong,  
So licenced to work impiety,  
And free to fleshly wills have lived so long:  
That those fresh springs, whence penitent tears should flow,  
Presumption hath so stopped, that none will know.   

And senseless hearts, obdurate to all good,  
Have so perverted their perfixed end,  
That now (O grief) their sighs and dearest blood,  
To feed fond fancy they do vainly spend:  
But for their sins one tear for to let fall,  
They have (alas) nor eye nor heart at all.   

Ah could they see what sin from sense hath shut,  
How sweet it were to summon deeds misdone,  
To have their lives in equal balance put,  
To weigh each work ere that the judge do come:  
Ah than their tears would trickle like the rain,  
And their eye-flouds would help to fill the main.   

They would with Marie send forth bitter cries,  
To get the joys of their soule-saving love,  
They would gush forth fresh fountains from their eyes,  
To win his favour, and his mercy prove:  
Eyes, heart, and tongue, should pour, breath out, & send,  
Tears, sighs, and plaints, until their love they find.   

No idle hours ill spent in fond delight,  
No tears distilled for momentary losses,  
No sighs for missing absent lovers sight,  
No care contrived of common worldly crosses,  
Should then be used; but all consumed in this,  
To beg amendment and bewail their miss.   

Yea all too little to an humble soul  
(That inly sees her ill misgoverned life)  
Would it appear, to spend whole years in dole,  
Yea many ages to declare her strife  
Would pass as minutes, wishing time would stand,  
While she with fear her endless faults had scanned.   

But far from this lives sinners (too secure)  
Who giving bridle to their selfe-desires,  
Cannot alas one scanted hour endure  
In sacred service, but their mind aspires  
In following pleasures height, whose froward will  
In doing good, doth make them careless still.   

Which seen with pity on our graceless minds,  
This blessed sinner, whose so precious tears,  
Once bathed his feet, that heaven and earth in binds,  
And made a towel of her trailing hairs,  
To wipe the drops, which for her sins were shed,  
Now deigns to tell how our souls should be fed.   

And Marie shows to maids and matrons both,  
How they should weep and deck their roselike cheeks  
With showers of grief, whereto hard hearts are loath,  
And who it is her matchless mourning seeks:  
And when we ought to send our reeking sighs,  
To thick the passage of the purest lights.   

And Marie shows us when we ought to beat  
Our brazen breasts, and let our robes be rend,  
How prostrating, to creep unto the seat  
Of that sweet lamb, whose blood for us was spent:  
And that we should give way unto our woes,  
When the excess no fault or error shows.   

If you will deign with favour to peruse  
Mary's memorial of her sad lament,  
Exciting Collen in his graver Muse,  
To tell the manner of her hearts repent:  
My gain is great, my guerdon granted is,  
Let Mary's plaints plead pardon for amiss.    

Marry magdalen's first Lamentation  
At the Tomb of jesus.  

WHat climate will afford a mournful mate,  
All wo-begon, that volleys out her groans,  
Whose griefs do equalize my sad-grown state,  
Whose heart pours forth a sea of helpless moans?  
If to my care, companion such there be,  
I'll help her mourn, if she will mourn with me.   

But sure, no such associate there is,  
My Muse may tell a grief without compare,  
A black rehearse of metamorphosed bliss,  
And sad memorial of untimely care,  
Lugubre Carmen fitteth best my use,  
In waning state best fits a wailing Muse.   

The deepest passion of true burning love  
That ever any lovesick heart possessed,  
(Drowned in distress) I silly woman prove,  
Whose ardent zeal is nurse of mine unrest,  
But even to death (O hapless death) alone  
I rued his death when other friends were gone.   

I did behold my loves too cruel death,  
With these sad eyes, made red with brinish tears:  
My soul did sorrow for his loss of breath,  
By whose sweet life, my life was free from fears.  
Oh had I died, when he died on the cross,  
I needed no complaint to wail my loss.   

But that (too sweet a favour) was denied,  
I might not I, consort my lover dying,  
My course of life doth sorrow still betide,  
Which moves my soul to such a ceaseless crying:  
Oh hapless soul, so clogged with care and grief,  
For loss of him that was thy comfort chief.   

My Lord is dead, to whom my soul did live,  
He died for me, I wretch am left alive,  
Now to the dead I lasting praise must give,  
Sith light is lost, which did my life revive,  
And all in darkness I desire to dwell,  
In deaths dread shade my saddest griefs to tell.   

My jesus Tomb my mansion is become,  
My weary soul hath there made choice to inn,  
Upon his coarse my comfort shall consume,  
And joys shall end where joys did first begin.  
Oh eyes gush forth your fast distilling force  
Of Ocean tears, upon his Tomb and corpse.   

Oh life-containing Tomb of my dead Lord,  
From thee no chance shall hale me hence away,  
I'll linger here while death doth life afford,  
And being dead, my twining arms shall stay,  
And cleave unto thee; nor alive or dead  
Will I be drawn from where my Lord is laid.   

Thou art the Altar of all mercy meek,  
The Temple of all truth, the Grave of death,  
The Sanctuary which lost souls do seek,  
The Cradle of eternal living breath.  
Oh sweetest heaven of my eclipsed Son,  
Receive this silly star, whose light is done.   

Oh Whale, that my dear jonas swallowed haste,  
Come swallow me (more meet to be thy prey)  
'twas I, not he, that should in right have past  
This bloody tempest; I was cause I say,  
Unequal doomer, what hast thou misdone,  
To rob the earth of her celestial Son.   

Oh Cistern of my Ios●ph innocent,  
Let thy dry bottom take me prisoner,  
Sith I, not he (Oh wretch most impudent)  
Gave cause that so enraged my brethren were.  
What pitch clouds darken our translucent way,  
And on what shore doth Truth's sweet preacher stay?   

Ay me accursed, why did I not before  
Think upon this, which now I ask too late?  
Why did I leave him when I had him sure?  
To rue his loss, and moon my ruthless state.  
Oh had I watched, as I wail him now,  
None could have taken him without me too.   

But being too precise to keep the Law,  
The laws sweet maker I have thereby lost,  
And bearing to his ceremonies too much awe,  
I miss his sweetest self, of far more cost,  
Sith rather with the Truth I should have been,  
Than working that, which but a Type was seen.   

The Sabbath day so strict solemnized,  
The standing by his Coarse had not profaned;  
By which, profanest things are sanctified,  
And that made pure, which erst was foully stained;  
Whose touch doth not defile the thing that's clean,  
But most defiled, maketh fair again.   

But when I should have stayed, I went away,  
And when it was too late, I came again,  
In time of help (Ah then) my help did stay,  
Now I repent my folly (but in vain.)  
My careless heed hath brought a heap of care,  
And careful I, must ceaseless tears prepare.   

Ah let my heart into sad sighs dissolve,  
Let eyes consume their floods in brinish tears,  
Let soul (cares captive) in dislikes resolve,  
To languish still (sunk with despair and fears.)  
Let all I have endure deserved pain,  
That penance due, sins losses may regain.   

But ah my sweetest jesus (my dear heart)  
Thou art not now, where thou wert but of late;  
And yet, alas, I know not where thou art,  
(Oh wretched case, oh lamentable state:)  
Such hapless state, unhappy I live in,  
To better it, I cannot yet begin.   

Alas my joy, my hope, my chief desire,  
How hast thou left me wavering thus in doubt?  
In mazed moodiness my thoughts to tyre,  
Wandering in woe, and cannot find way out.  
If I stay here, I cannot find thee so,  
To seek elsewhere, I know not where to go.   

To leave the Tomb, is for to gain unrest,  
To stand still helpless, is a cureless pain,  
So all my comfort in this plot doth rest,  
Helpless to stay, or going, hope in vain.  
And to this choice poor soul I am left free,  
Which is to say, with what death I will die.   

And yet (even this) too happy a choice would be  
For me, so vile, so base, unhappy wretch:  
For if to choose my death it lay in me,  
How soon should I that execution catch?  
How willing would I be to stop lives breath,  
If I might point the manner of my death?   

I would be nailed to the self-same cross,  
With those same nails, and in the self-same place,  
Where bloody jews did butcher up my loss:  
His spear should wound my heart, his thorns my face,  
His whips my body, I would taste all smart,  
To tread his steps in an imbrued heart.   

But oh ambitious thoughts, gaze not so high,  
Upon so sweet divine felicity,  
Think not with such a glorious death to die,  
Whose life is privy to such infamy:  
Death I deserved, not one, but many a death,  
But not so sweet a mean to stop my breath.   

So sweet a death seasoned with such deep joy,  
The instruments whereof, dead corpses would raise,  
And most impurest souls from sin destroy,  
And make it pure, to yield thee pure due praise:  
A scourge too much (ah where alas) too small  
For my offences to be beat withal.   

And therefore am I left, more deaths to taste  
Than I live hours, and far more woes to shun  
Than I have thoughts for my lost joy to wast,  
Which are in number more than motes in Sun.  
Unhappy me, whose weak estate must bear  
The violence of such confused care.   

But sith I cannot as he died, die,  
Nor yet can live where he now liveth dead,  
To end my dying life, I here will lie,  
Fast by his grave, and lean my weary head  
Upon his tomb, on whose most sweet repose  
I'll leave to live, and death my eyes shall close.   

Better it is after his body's loss,  
(His sacred body which all creatures ioy'de)  
To keep his sepulchre from farther cross,  
Than losing one, to let both be destroy'de.  
Though I have lost the Saint of clearest shine,  
I will at least have care to keep the shrine.   

And to this shrine I'll sacrifice my heart,  
Though it be spoiled of the sovereign host,  
It shall the altar be and sacred part,  
Where I my tears will offer with the most,  
My tears distilled from my hearts deep pain,  
Which going out, my sighs shall blow again.   

Here in this place (oh happy place) I'll lead,  
Yea, lead and end my woeful loathed life,  
That at the least my cold grave may be made  
Near to this tomb, where I have told my grief.  
Near this stone-couch, my eyes their light shall lose,  
Which my Lord made the place of sweet repose.   

It may be so, this Sindon lying here,  
Thus empty left and serving to no use,  
This tomb being open without any there,  
May pierce some piteous heart for to peruse  
My naked bones, whose rights for to prefer,  
This shroud may wrap, & this sweet tomb inter.   

But oh too fortunate a lot to crave,  
For her that is a wretch so unfortunate,  
No, no, I seek not such a bliss to have,  
Alas, I dare not beg so good estate:  
But yet if such a sin may pass unblamed,  
I would forgive by whom it first was framed.   

And if to wish, no more presumption were  
In me alive, than to permit it dead,  
If I knew him that first should pass me here,  
My tears should woe to have my corpses so laid,  
And with my prayers I that man would hire,  
To bless me with this bliss which I desire.   

And though I dare not wish that any do it,  
Yet this without offence to all I say,  
This Sindon hath my love so tied unto it,  
Above all clothes I love to it will pay.  
And this same Tomb my heart more dear doth deem,  
Than any Prince's Hearse of most esteem.   

Yea, and I think that coarse is favoured much,  
That shall my Lord in this same Tomb succeed:  
And for my part (as my resolve is such)  
Upon this plot to meet Death's fatal deed;  
So do I wish, that in the readiest grave,  
My breathless bones the right of burial have.   

But this is all, and I dare say no more,  
My body I will leave to what befalls,  
And in this paradise all joy will store  
For my poor soul, which flesh and blood inthrals,  
Which from this brittle case shall pass even than,  
Into the glorious Tomb of God and man..    

Marry magdalen's second Lamentation  
For the loss of the body, which she came to anoint.  

But stay my Muse, I fear my masters love  
(The only portion that my fortune left me)  
Would languish in my breast, and chillish prove,  
Sith warmth to cherish it, was quite bereft me.  
His words, his presence gone, which fed my flame,  
And not the ashes left to rake the same.   

My spice and ointments shall be then prepared,  
To pay last tribute of external duty,  
Though others have thereto devoutly cared,  
And brought the best in worth, in work, in beauty:  
Yet such desire my duty doth inherit,  
That I must yield my love my latest merit.   

My love each quantity too little deemed,  
Unless that mine were added thereunto,  
Best quantity too mean and not esteemed,  
Except with mine it somewhat have to do:  
No diligence enough for to apply,  
Unless my service be employed by.   

Nor do I thus sharp censure others deeds,  
But 'cause love makes me covetous of doing,  
Though Joseph's work no reprehension needs,  
Though to my wish his balm he was bestowing:  
Yet all he did cannot my love suffice,  
But I must actor be to please mine eyes.   

Such is the force of true affecting love,  
To be as eager in effects t'appear,  
As it is zealous, fervently to move  
Affections firm, to what it holdeth dear  
This love devout sets my poor heart on fire,  
To show some deed of my most deep desire.   

And to embalm his breathless corpse I came,  
As once afore I did anoint his feet,  
And to preserve the relics of the same,  
The only remnant that my bliss did meet:  
To weep afresh for him in depth of dole,  
That lately wept to him for mine own soul.   

But lo alas, I find the grave wide open,  
The body gone, the empty Sindon left,  
The hollow Tomb I every where do grope,  
To be assured of what I am sure bereft,  
The labour of embaulming is prevented,  
But cause of endless weeping is augmented.   

He wanting is unto my obsequies,  
That was not wanting to my ceaseless tears,  
I find a cause to move my miseries,  
To ease my woe, no wished for joy appears.  
Thus though I miss, whom to anoint I meant,  
Yet have I found a matter to lament.   

I having settled all my sole desires  
On Christ my love, who all my love possessed,  
In whose rare goodness, my affection fires,  
Whom to enjoy, I other joys suppressed,  
Whose peerless worth unmatched of all that live,  
Being had (all joy) and lost (all sorrows) give.   

The life of lives thus murdering in his death,  
Doth leave behind him, lasting to endure,  
A general death to each thing having breath,  
And his decease our nature hath made pure:  
Yet am poor I of ornament bereft,  
And all the world without perfection left.   

What marvel then if my hearts hot desire,  
And vehement love to such a lovely Lord,  
To see life's wrack, with scalding sighs aspire,  
And for his body's loss such woe afford,  
And feel like taste of sorrow in his miss,  
As in his presence I enjoyed bliss.   

And though my tears, destiled from moistened eyes,  
Are rather oil than water to my flame,  
More apt to nourish sorrow in such wise,  
Than to diminish or abate the same;  
Yet silly soul I plunged in depth of pain,  
Do yield myself a captive to complain.   

Most true it is that Peter came and john,  
With me unto the Tomb to try report,  
They came in haste, and hastily were gone,  
They (having searched) dare make no more resort,  
And what gained I, two witness of my loss,  
Dismaiers of my hope, cause of more cross.   

Love made them come, but love was quickly quailed,  
With such a fear as called them soon away,  
I (poor I) hoping, in despair assailed,  
Without all fear persevering still to stay,  
Because I thought, no cause of fear was left,  
Sith whom I feared, was from my sight bereft.   

For I (poor soul) have lost my master dear,  
To whom my thoughts devoutly were combined,  
The total of my love my chiefest cheer,  
The height of hope in whom my glory shined,  
My final fear, and therefore him excepted,  
No other hope, nor love, nor loss respected.   

Worse fear behind, was death, which I desired  
And feared not, (my soul's life being gone)  
Without which I no other life required,  
And in which death had been delight alone:  
And thus (ah thus) I live a dying life,  
Yet neither death nor life can end my strife.   

Yet now me thinks 'tis better die than live,  
For haply dying, I my love may find,  
Whom while I live, no hope at all can give,  
And he not had, to live I have no mind:  
For nothing in myself, but Christ I loved,  
And nothing joys, my jesus so removed.   

If any thing alive to keep me, strived,  
It is his image, cause it should not die  
With me, whose likeness love in me contrived,  
And treasured up in sweetest memory:  
From which my love by no way can depart,  
Unless I rip the centre of my heart.   

Which had been done, but that I feared to burst  
The worthless Trunk which my dear Lord enclosed  
In which the relics of lost joy was trust,  
And all the remnant of my life imposed:  
Else grief had changed my heart to bleeding tears,  
And fatal end had passed from piteous ears.   

Yet piteous I, in so unperfit sort  
Do seem to draw my undesired breath,  
That true I prove this often-heard report,  
Love is more strong than life-destroying death:  
For what more could pale death in me have done,  
Than in my life, performed plain is shown.   

My wits distraught, and all my sense amazed,  
My thoughts let loose and fled I know not where,  
Of understanding robbed, I stand agazed,  
Not able to conceit what I do hear:  
That in the end, finding I did not know,  
And seeing, could not well discern the show.   

I am not where I am, but with my love,  
And where he is, poor soul I cannot tell,  
Yet from his sight nothing my heart can move,  
I more in him than in myself do dwell:  
And missing whom I look for, with sad seeking,  
Poor wo-worn woman, at the Tomb stay weeping.    

Marry magdalen's third Lamentation  
In finding the Angels, and missing whom she sought.  

But hope-beguiling fortune, now to cheer  
My long-sad spirits with a shade of joy,  
With Angel's presents doth present me here,  
Granting a moment's mirth to increase annoy.  
For looking him, though for him I find twain,  
To think on him, redoubleth still my pain.   

Yet for a time I will revive my soul,  
With this good hope, which may my hopes exceed,  
Comfort, sweet comfort shall my cares control,  
Relief may hatch, where grief did lately breed:  
I seek for one, and now have found out twain,  
A body dead, yet two alive again.   

My woeful weeping, all was for a Man,  
And now my tears have Angels bright obtained:  
I will suppress my sigh-swolne sadness than,  
And glad my heart with this good fortune gained:  
These Heaven attendants to a parley invite me,  
I'll hear what they will say, it may delight me.   

For I assure myself, if that the corpse  
By fraud or malice had removed been,  
The linen had not found so much remorse,  
But had been carried too away with him:  
Nor could the Angels look so cheerfully,  
But of some happier chance to warrant me.   

And for to free me from all fears (even now)  
They thus encounter, these their speeches were,  
And thus they spoke, Woman why weepest thou?  
As if they bade me weeping to forbear:  
For ill it fits a mortal eye should weep,  
Where heavenly Angels such rejoicing keep.   

Erewhile they said, Thou camest with manly courage,  
Arming thy feet, through greatest thorns to run,  
Thy body to endure all tyrant's rage,  
Thy soul no violent tortures for to shun:  
And art thou now so much a woman made,  
Thou canst not bid thine eyes from tears be staid.   

If that thou hadst a true Disciples name,  
So many certain proofs would thee persuade,  
But incredulity so blots the same,  
Thou of that title art unworthy made:  
And therefore woman (too much woman now)  
Tell us (O woman) wherefore weepest thou.   

If there were any coarse here lying by,  
We then would think for it thou sheddest thy tears,  
That sorrow for the dead enforced thee cry:  
But now this place, a place of joy appears,  
Thou findest no dead, but living to be here,  
Oh then why weepest thou with mournful cheer?   

What, is our presence so uncomfortable,  
That seeing us, thou art enforced to weep,  
Thinkst thou if tears were so available,  
That we ourselves from flowing streams could keep  
Or is thy kindness in this course extended,  
That we with tears should thus be entertained.   

If they be tears of love to show good will,  
As love is known, so let them be suppressed;  
If tears of wrath, denouncing anger still,  
To shed them here, thou shouldst not have addressed  
Here where all anger lately buried was,  
But none deserved, ah none deserved alas.   

If they be tears of sorrow, dead men's duties,  
(The dead revived) they are spent in vain;  
If tears of joy, distilled from the booties  
Of happy fortune (flowers of joyful gain)  
It better were that fewer had been spent,  
And fitter tokens might express content.   

And Angels semblance visible, presents  
The will invisible of his dread Lord,  
Whose shapes are shadowed after the intents  
And drift of him, that rules him by his word:  
They brandish swords when God begins to frown,  
They sheath in scabbards when his wrath is down.   

When he would fight, they armed come to field,  
When he would terrify, their form affright,  
When he would comfort, they their countenance yield  
To smiling looks, and signs of sweet delight:  
Mirth in their eyes, and mildness in their words,  
All favour, grace, and comeliness affords.   

Why weepest thou Marie then when we rejoice,  
Think not our nature can degenerate  
Or fail in duty (which we hold so choice)  
Ours is no changing or sin-working state:  
Dost thou more love, or more his secrets know,  
Than we that at his Throne our service show.   

Oh deem not Marie, deem not then amiss  
Against so plain apparent evidence,  
At our request forbear, and leave of this,  
Leave weeping Marie, and with tears dispense:  
Exchange thy sorrow for our offered joy,  
Accept sweet comfort, and forsake annoy.   

No, no, you Saints of glory ever shining,  
Persuade not me to harbour joyful glee,  
But think to whom my sorrow is inclining,  
And bear with my poor love-bound misery:  
Alas I weep for this one only loss,  
For whom all joy doth but infer new cross.   

For while he lived, I made my Paradise  
In every place, where I his presence found,  
A special bliss was every exercise,  
Wherein I showed my service to him bound:  
Each season wherein I enjoyed my king,  
Did seem to me a never dying Spring.    

Marry magdalen's fourth Lamentation.  
Marie bewails the loss of that part which Christ promised her when he said, Marie hath chosen the better part, which shall not be taken from her.  

IT comforts me to send forth dryrie plaints,  
To fill the air with my uncessant cries,  
To volley forth a sea of sad laments,  
With liquid tears to moisten still mine eyes:  
Yet neither plaints, nor cries, laments, nor tears,  
Can serve, can ease, can salve, can show my fears.   

For all enjoined to do their best avail,  
To help the mourn of my greefe-burthened soul,  
Persuade me still it is my best to wail,  
And spend the day in pity-pleading dole:  
Sith whom I chose, the comfort of my heart,  
Is now bereft (oh care-increasing smart.)   

That I did choose the best and precious part,  
It is no doubt, sith Christ I only chose,  
My Lord, the sovereign of my zealous heart,  
Whom to possess, I wish my life to lose:  
But how I have it now, I cannot say,  
Sith he that was that part, is ta'en away.   

Ah could I still have kept him with me here,  
I would not thus have lost him from my sight,  
No, I would not have parted from my dear,  
If to my will I had obtained might:  
And might I now with tears his presence buy,  
Rather than lose it, I all chance would try.   

Sith than I nothing seek, but what I chose,  
And loss of choice is all my combats cause,  
Either vouchsafe this part I do not lose,  
Or I see not how to aver this clause:  
Or how (poor wretch) I now may truly say,  
I chose best part, which is not ta'en away.   

But happily, his heavenly meaning was,  
That it should not be taken from my heart,  
Though from mine eyes thou suffered it to pass,  
Thy inward presence should supply this part:  
And yet I think if thou within me were,  
I should thee feel (and felt) not seek thee here.   

Thou art too hot a fire to heat my breast,  
And not to burn me with thy scorching flame;  
Thy glorious light would not leave me to rest  
In this blind darkness, if I had the same:  
For if thy glory in me duly shined,  
It would rejoice and cheer my dying mind.   

No, no, if that I had the Virgin's boy,  
My innocent heart (which never yet hath known  
To counterfeit an outside of hid joy)  
Could not complain and make such grievous moan:  
Nor should my thoughts feed on a dead man's grave,  
If they at home so sweet a feast might have.   

My love would not retain a thought to spare,  
Nor have an idle minute for to spend,  
In any other action for to care,  
But in the sweet amplecting of my friend:  
Ah nothing could withdraw my mind from this,  
To abridge least part in me from such a bliss.   

My starving thirst for his lost sight is such,  
The sea of my still flowing joys again  
So able is to let me drink as much  
As may suffice to fill my longing pain:  
That though each part, whole tides of joy should drink,  
Yet all too few my greedy drought would think.   

In true loves hearts each part is made an eye,  
And every thought prefixed for a look,  
Then I so sweet an object soon would spy,  
That 'mongst so many eyes should darkness brook:  
So clear a shine, so bright, so clear a light,  
Could not be hidden from a lover's sight.   

Yea doubtless had the Lord in me a seat,  
I would not envy at the fortunes sweet  
Of mightiest prince (or empress ne'er so great)  
Yea I would more (if so he thought me meet)  
Rejoice in earth, to be his Tomb or shrine,  
Than be in heaven, a Throne or Saints fair shine.   

But peradventure now 'tis with my mind,  
As erst it was with his Apostles eyes,  
Who on the sea thought they a ghost did find,  
When there he walked in miraculous wise:  
And I knowing more his body's shape than might,  
Take him but for a fancy in heart's sight.   

But oh (s●d soul) it seems too strange that he,  
He whom I seek, and he for whom I weep,  
Should to my plain thus estranged be,  
And leave me to these fits which sorrow keep:  
If that in me a cause he did not see,  
For which he will not yet be seen of me.   

For hence it comes that water-wasted eyes,  
Command a fresh incessant showers of tears,  
And drive my breast, which under burden cries,  
Unto a new-made storm of sighs and fears:  
And last my soul (oh soul with woe oppressed)  
Is made a prisoner to my own unrest.   

My heart shall never cease to tyre my tongue,  
My tongue shall never rest to tell my smart,  
My smart shall cause me still to wail my wrong,  
My wrong (bereaving me of my best part:)  
So heart, so tongue, so smart, shall all accord,  
To sigh, tell, show, my griefs for my dead Lord.   

I silly soul, sith I my mirth have lost,  
For my part will make much of hearty sorrow,  
And sith my joy with such deep woe is crossed,  
In bitter tears all comfort I will borrow:  
Which I presume I lawfully may shed,  
Fetching my warrant from his latest deed.   

Alas, what need had my sweet Lord to weep  
Upon the cross, but for our learning's sake;  
Which cannot sure be ill for me to keep,  
That he thought good to give, 'tis good to take:  
My weeping cannot prejudice my bliss,  
A world of tears cannot bewail my miss   

I still will draw to my distressed mind  
All sad conceits, all heavy pensive musing,  
My heart to daily languor I will bind,  
Where it may pin● in withered ca●e perusing:  
Taking no comfort for my woes redress,  
But in consenting to be comfortless.   

Oh would to God I were as privy made  
Unto his blessed bodies sweet remove,  
To know where that pure vessel now is laid,  
As he is witting of my faithful love:  
Oh thou my Lord and owner of my soul,  
That knows my heart, and can conceive my dole.   

If skies bright Sun to show his beams did shame,  
When light of lights was darkened with disgrace,  
If heavens their beauty did with louring stain,  
Suiting their colours to their maker's case,  
If Nature's frame did (melting) shake to see  
Nature's fair Author used unnaturally:   

Why should not I, whose overburdening smart  
Hath equal cause to wail his heavy case,  
Help in this ●●d consort to bear a part?  
Especially sith in this little space,   

His body's loss hath mourner's number lessened,  
And yet the cause of weeping is increased:  
The Apostles all are fled, his friends afraid,  
And I alone to weep for all am stayed.    

Marry magdalen's fifth Lamentation.  
Mary's perseverance at the Tomb, and the apring of Christ in the likeness of a Gardener.  

OH my dear Lord, thy grief the greatest was  
That ewer was in man or manly heart,  
And my grief is as great a grief alas  
As ever came to woman for her part:  
For out of thine my love hath carved me,  
A part not small, and yet too small for thee.   

Thy loss my torment hath redoubled,  
And all sad souls pay me what they did borrow,  
I bear the grief, which then too much hath troubled,  
Yea I am made Vicegerent of all sorrow:  
Sorrow, ah sorrow thou O Tomb with me,  
And thaw to tears you stones that hardest be.   

The time is come (now is the very time)  
That leave it had and licence for to cry,  
To tell the pharisees their sinful crime,  
Now for the Lord, the breach of silence try:  
Who said, if his disciples held their peace,  
The very stones would cry for sins increase.   

Sith then their lips be locked up with fear,  
And sadness makes them mute, and not a word,  
Oh cry you stones, and no exclaims forbear,  
Cry out against the murderers of my Lord:  
The robbers of his sacred coarse bewray,  
Bring them to light that stole my Lord away.   

For sure it was some pharisees fell spite  
Or bloody Scribe (not sated with the pain  
His body felt) but blood their hearts invite  
To practise some worse cruelty again:  
And now to glut their brutish mind withal,  
Have stolen his coarse to use unnatural.   

Oh rocks and stones, if ever you must cry,  
Now is high time to pour your loud exclaims,  
Now let your clamours to the welkin fly,  
Sith light is darkened, dead the flame of flames,  
The world's great Monarch foully massacred,  
The life of lives outrageously misused.   

Doth not his tongue (whose truth infallible is)  
Whose word omnipotent rules sea and wound,  
Whom creatures (most insensible) do kiss  
With awed obedience, which his power doth bind:  
Promise the whole world shall defend the just,  
Against those senseless souls, which self power trust.   

And who more just than he, of justice king?  
Who than his barbarous murderers, senseless more?  
Whose innocent blood could not a staunching bring  
Unto their greedy thirst, slaughtered before;  
Unless they to this impious act proceed  
To work (his body dead) some hellish deed.   

Why do not then all creatures them apply  
To be revenged in a cause so just,  
Upon the jews uncivil tyranny,  
Bereft of sense and blinded in mistrust,  
Their hearts made inhuman, of reason barren,  
Void of good feeling both to God and Man?   

But sure it cannot be in human might  
To steal the body of my Lord away,  
No bloody thief, nor any mortal wight  
Had sufferance to bear so wicked sway:  
It can not be that any sinful soul  
Would undertake a deed of such deep dole.   

No, no, he was no booty for a chief,  
Nor for a cruel Pharisee a pray,  
Nor were the Angels slack to attend him chief,  
As my suspicion doth presume to say:  
If this thing cannot change my mind from fear,  
Yet looking on the clothes, my doubts may clear.   

Would any thief have so religious been,  
To steal the body, and the clothes not take?  
Would any thief so venturous have been seen,  
To stay, so many fear delays to make,  
As to unshroud the coarse, order the sheets,  
And fold the napkins with such seemly pleets?   

I know that Myrrh makes linen cleave as fast  
As pitch or glue, well tempered or made;  
And could a thieves stolen leisure so long last,  
As to dissolve the Myrrh, and ba●e the dead,  
Break up the seals, open the Tomb and all?  
Where was the watch when these things did befall?   

If all this yet cannot persuade my mind,  
Yet might my own experience make me see,  
When at the cross they stripped him, unkind,  
I saw his garment would not parted be  
From goa●ie back, but tore his tender skin,  
Much more if it with Myrrh had anointed been.   

I'll look into the sheet, if there remain  
Any one parcel of his mangled flesh,  
Or any hair plucked from his heads soft vain,  
If none, that shall my weary woe refresh:  
I'll think a better chance betides my love,  
Than my misdeeming fear will let me prove.   

A guilty conscience doubteth want of time,  
And lewd attempts are still dispatched in haste,  
Offenders doubt least light make known their crime,  
And in nights sable weed commit their waste:  
With dread and horror acting fearfully,  
And cannot mark when things well ordered be.   

But to unwrap a body mangled so,  
Out of Myrrh clothes, and not the flesh to tear,  
Leaving them thus so cleanly vviped in show,  
It is a thing most marvelous to hear,  
And most impossible for man to do,  
Unless they had light, help, and time thereto.   

But oh the great effects of rarest love,  
If love a languor be, how then live I?  
If life, how do I then such dead fits prove?  
If it bereaveth sense, how did I see  
The Angels then? if it revive the same,  
Why did I not know jesus when he came?   

And do I in such zeal thus seek for one,  
Whom when I have found out, I do not know,  
Or if I know him that of late was gone,  
Now having him, why do I seek him so?  
Behold my Christ is come, he whom I sought,  
Doth talk with me, and I myself know nought.   

Why do I not then wipe my dazzled eyes?  
Ah hath my Lord in this world lived so long,  
Died with such pain, shed showers of tears with cries,  
Laboured so much, and suffered so much wrong,  
And hath thereby no more preferment caught,  
But for to be a silly Gardener thought?   

And hath my kindness so much cost bestowed  
Upon the ointment which I did prepare,  
Have I in anguish pined and so long sorrowed,  
Shed all these tears, and had such heedless care:  
And was all done for one, and one no better  
Than is a silly simple Gardener?   

Alas, and is a silly garden plot  
The best freehold that my love can afford,  
Is this the highest office he hath got,  
To be a Gardener now that was my Lord:  
He better might have lived and owned me,  
Than with his death to have bought so small a fee.    

Marry magdalen's sixth Lamentation.  
jesus said unto h●r (Marry:) she turned and said unto him Rabb●ni.  

OH loving Lord, thou only didst defer  
My consolation to increase it more,  
That thy delightful presence might prefer  
The better welcome, being wished so sore,  
In that thy absence little hope had left.  
Unto my heart, so long of bliss bereft.   

It may be that I knew not former bliss,  
Till I a time was from the sweetness vveaned:  
Nor what it was such treasures rich to miss,  
Which in thy presence I of late attained;  
Until my poverty had made it clear,  
Of what inestimable rate they were.   

But now thou showst me by a proof most sweet,  
That though I paid thee with my dearest love,  
With water of my tears to wash thy feet,  
With my best breath, which all desire could move:  
Yet small the price was that I did bestow,  
Weighing the worth, which now thou lettest me know.   

I sought thee dead, pinned in a stony gail,  
But find thee living and at liberty:  
Shrined in a shroud, thy visage wan and pale,  
Left as the model of all misery:  
But now invest in glorious robes I find thee,  
And as the precedent of bliss I mind thee.   

As all this while I sought but could not find,  
Wept without comfort, called unanswered to:  
So now thy coming satisfies my mind,  
Thy triumphs please my tears, which long did woe;  
And all my cries are hushed with this one word,  
(Marry) cause sweetly spoken from my Lord.   

For when I heard thee call in wont sort,  
And with thy usual voice, my only Name,  
Issuing from that thy heavenly mouths report;  
So strange an alteration it did frame,  
As if I had been wholly made anew,  
Being only named by thee (whose voice I knew.)   

Whereas before my grief benumbed me so,  
My body seemed the hearse of my dead heart,  
My heart (souls coffin) killed with care and woe,  
And my whole self did seem in every part  
A double funeral presented plain,  
Of thee and of myself together slain.   

But now this one word hath my sense restored,  
Lightened my mind, and quickened my heart,  
And in my soul a living spirit poured,  
Yea, with sweet comfort strengthened every part:  
For well this word a spirit dead may raise,  
Which only word made Heaven, World, and Seas.   

Marry I was when sin possessed me whole,  
Marry I am, being now in state of grace,  
Marie did work the ill that damned her soul,  
Marie did good in giving ill place:  
And now I show both what I was and am,  
This word alone displays my joy and shame.   

For by his virtues that did speak the same,  
An Epitome of all his mercies sweet,  
A Repetition of my miseries came,  
And all good haps I did together meet:  
Which so my senses ravished with joy,  
I soon forgot my sorrows and annoy.   

And thus my heart a troop of joys did lead,  
Mustered in ranks, to mutiny they fell,  
Conspiring which might worthiest be made,  
With them my own unworthies do rebel:  
And long in doubtful issue they contend,  
Till view of highest bliss the strife did end.   

He was my Sun, whose going down did leave,  
A dampish night with fearful fancies filled,  
And did each star of glistering shines bereave,  
And all the world with misty horror hilled:  
And every planet reigning erst so bright,  
Were changed to dismal signs in this dark night.   

Yet now the clearness of his lovely face,  
His words authority which all obey,  
This foggy darkness clean away doth chase,  
And brings a calm and bright well tempered day:  
And doth disperse clouds of melancholy,  
Awakes my sense, and cures my lethargy.   

Rapt with his voice, impatient of delay,  
Out of his mouth his talk I greedily take,  
And to this first and only word I say,  
And with one other word this answer make,  
Rabboni: then my joy, my speech did choke,  
I could no more proceed, nor more hear spoke.   

Love would have spoke, but fear concealed the clause,  
Hope framed words, but doubt their passage stays,  
When I should speak, I then stood in a pause,  
My sudden joy my inward thoughts quite slays:  
My voice doth tremble, and my tongue doth falter,  
My breath doth fail, and all my senses alter.   

Lastly, in am of words, issue my tears,  
Deep sighs in stead of sentences are spent,  
Their mother's want they fill with sighs and fears,  
And from the heart half uttered breath they sent:  
Which so in passions conflict disagree,  
To sounds perceived, they cannot sorted be.   

So fares the heart that's sick for sudden joy,  
Attaining that for which it long did fire:  
For even as fear is loves still servile boy,  
And hope an usher unto hot desire,  
So love is hard, a firm belief in gaining,  
And credulous conjectures entertaining.   

And though desire be apt for to admit  
Of wished for comfort any smallest shade,  
The hotter yet it burns in having it,  
The more it cares to have it perfect made:  
And while least hope is wanting which is sought,  
The best assurances avantage nought.   

And even as hope doth still the best presume,  
Inviting joy to welcome good success,  
So fear suspects true bliss can hardly come,  
And calls up sorrow, making it seem less:  
With grief bewailing the uncertainty  
Of that which should be sole felicity.   

And while as these do mutually contend,  
Fear sometime falleth into deep despair,  
Hope rising up, his fiery darts doth send  
Of wrath, repining to the empty air:  
Making a doubtful skirmish, dead they stand,  
Till evidence of proof the strife have skand.   

For though (poor I) so suddenly replied  
Upon the notice of his voice well known,  
Yet for because so rare a chance I spied,  
His person changed, himself unlooked for shown:  
The sight my thoughts into sedition drew,  
Then were they purged from doubts by stricter view.   

And then though speeches would have issued fain,  
And my poor heart to his have duty sent,  
Yet every thought for utterance taking pain,  
Which first might be received, so hastily went,  
That I was forced (indifferent judge to all)  
To act by signs, and let my speeches fall.   

And running to the haunt of my delight,  
My chiefest bliss, I straight fall at his feet,  
And kindly offer in my Saviour's sight,  
To bathe them now with tears of joy most sweet:  
To sanctify my lips with kissing his,  
Once grievous, but now glorious wounds of bliss.   

To hear more words I listed not to stay,  
Being with the word itself now happy made,  
But deem a greater bliss for to assay,  
To have at once my wishes full apaid  
In honouring and kissing of his feet,  
Than in the hearing of his speech, less sweet.   

For even as love, in nature coveteth  
To be united, yea transformed whole  
Out of itself into the thing it loveth:  
So what unites, love most affecteth sole,  
And still preferreth least conjunction ever,  
Before best joys, which distance seems to sever.   

To see him therefore, doth not me suffice,  
To hear him doth not quiet whole my mind,  
To speak with him in so familiar wise,  
Is not enough my loose let soul to bind:  
No, nothing can my vehement love appease;  
Lest by his touch my wo-worne heart I please.    

Marry magdalen's seventh Lamentation.  
Her falling at Christ's feet to kiss them, his forbidding her: saying, Do not touch me, for I am not yet ascended to my Father.  

OH loving Lord, what mystery is this;  
Being dead in sin, I touched thy mortal feet  
That were to die for me, now may not kiss  
Thy glorious feet, yet thou hast thought it meet  
They should as well for my good now revive,  
As for my good they died, being late alive?   

Thou didst admit me once to anoint thy head,  
And am I now unmeet thy feet to touch?  
Thou wont was for to commend the deed,  
Which now thou dost command me from as much:  
O Lord, sith I and others shall them feel,  
Why dost thou now forbid me so to kneel.   

What meanest thou good Lord, that thou restrainst  
My heart of such a duty so desired,  
Sith thou 'mongst all thy friends, to me hast deigned  
The first of thyself (of all required:)  
With thy first words my ears sole happy be,  
And may I not be blest with touching thee?   

If tears have won such favour from mine eyes,  
If longing earns a recompense so sweet,  
Why dost thou Lord my feeling hands despise,  
And bar my mouth from kissing thy sweet feet:  
Sith lips (with plaints) & hands (with will to serve)  
Do seem as great reward for to deserve.   

But notwithstanding, thus thou dost prevent  
My tender offer, which I would effect,  
Forbidding me to touch (as if thou meant)  
I should the difference of thy state respect:  
Being now a glorious, not a mortal body,  
A life eternal, and not momentary.   

For sith the body's immortality,  
The glory of the soul together knit,  
Are both of them endowments heavenly  
For such as in sweet Paradise do sit:  
Rights of another world well mayst thou deem  
This favour, than nothing of small esteem.   

Though to my Father I have not ascended,  
I shortly shall, let thy demeanour then  
Not by the place where I am, be intended,  
But by that place which is my due: and when  
With reverence thou far off wouldst fall,  
I will consent that thou me handle shall.   

If thou my former promises believe,  
My present words may be a constant proof,  
Do not thy eyes and ears true witness give,  
Must hands and face most feel for heart's behoof:  
If eyes and ears deceived be by me,  
As well may hands and face deluded be.   

Yet if thou fear lest I so sudden part,  
That if thou take not leave now of my feet,  
With hambles kiss, with tears fetched from thy heart,  
Thou never shalt so fit a season meet:  
Licence that doubt, for all these loves of thine,  
There will be found a more convenient time.   

But go about what now more haste requires,  
Run to my brethren, tell them what I say,  
That I to satisfy their soul's desires,  
For them in Gallilee will go stay:  
And there before them shortly will I be,  
Where they my sacred heavenly face shall see.   

And I preferring fore my wish his will,  
Even like a hungry child departed from him,  
Pulled from a tear, which soo●e of milk doth fill,  
Or like a thirsty Hart, from brooks exiled:  
Sorry that I by carrying joyful news,  
Should leave my Lord, whom I did rather choose.   

Alas then (said I) cannot others be  
Made happy, but by my unhappy cross,  
Cannot their gain come in by none but me,  
And not by me, but by my heavy loss:  
Must dawning of their day my evening be,  
And to enrich themselves, must they rob me?   

Alas go seek to better thee (dear heart)  
And ease thy woe in some more happy breast,  
Sith I unworthy creature for my part,  
Am nothing freed from my late unrest:  
But in the taste of high felicity,  
The want whereof doth work more misery.   

Thus lead by duty, and held back by love,  
I paced forward, but my thoughts go back,  
Ready eftsoons a sounding fit to prove,  
But that firm faith supported me from wrack:  
And towards the Tomb in breathing oft I turned,  
As it that air with new refreshing burned.   

Sometimes poor soul myself I do forget,  
Love in a sweet distraction leading me,  
Makes me imagine I my love have met,  
And seems as though his words were feeding me:  
I deem his feet are folded in my arms,  
And that his comfort my i'll spirit warms.   

But when my wits are all again awake,  
And this a mere illusion is found,  
My heart half dead, it wont woe doth take,  
And greater grief my sick soul doth confound,  
That I (alas) the thing itself must miss,  
Whose only thought so much delightful is.   

And as I passed where my Lord hath been,  
Oh stones (said I) more happier far than I,  
Most wretched caitiff, I alas have seen  
When unto you my Lord did not deny  
The touch of his for ever blessed feet,  
Whereof my ill deserts makes me unmeet.   

Alas, what crime have I of late commit,  
That cancels me out of his good conceit?  
Or doth my Lord his wont love forget,  
May I no more his wont love await?  
Had I for term of life his love in lease,  
And did my right expire in his decease?   

Oh in his feet with tears at first I writ  
My supplication for his mercy sweet,  
With sobs and sigh (poor soul) I pointed it,  
My hair did choicely ●old it, being wet,  
My lips impression humbly sealed the same,  
With reverend 〈◊〉, which from my sick soul came.   

They were the doors that 〈◊〉 first did give  
Into his favour, and by them 〈◊〉  
By kind acceptance in his 〈…〉,  
By them I did my 〈…〉  
Unto his head 〈…〉  
In man, a 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉 b●go●nesse plain.   

〈…〉 alas I must contented be 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 bea●e a lower sail, and 〈◊〉 to ●une,  
〈…〉 down my 〈◊〉 that sores so high,  
To meaner hopes, and leave aloft to c●ime:  
Si●h ●o●mer favours now are marks too high,  
Either ●o level at, or to come nigh.   

But oh ambitious ●ies for so weak sight,  
He is too bright a Sun your looks are tied,  
And now are limited to meaner light,  
And rather like a Bart, than Eagle eyed:  
You must yourselves t'in●eriour looks submit,  
For him to see, such substance is unfit.   

No, no, sith 〈…〉 his feet rejected,  
How can I think, but that my want of faith  
Is cause I am so slenderly respected,  
An● that his heart to yield me love gainesaith:  
Yea, that I am from all possession thrown,  
Of his kind favour, which were erst mine own.   

Yet why should I stoop to a fear so base,  
When want of faith with sin was worse aggrieved:  
He did vouchsafe to gr●●nt me of his grace,  
And shall I now, cause faintly I believed,  
Think that my Lord so rigorously will deal,  
As to abridge me of this wished weal?   

Is the sincerity of my pure Love,  
(Wherein he hath no partner at all)  
In no respect available to move,  
Or in account is it so light and small,  
As that it may not hope some spark to find  
Of wont mercy, and his gra●● so kind.   

I will not wrong him with so ●●iust a thought,  
Sith his appearing doth approve the same,  
His words o'erthrow that such suspicion wrought,  
His countenance doth te●l I am to blame:  
Why then should I from such a vain surmise,  
Suck so much sorrow in such foolish wise?   

Thus as I travailed in this journey short,  
My fantasies long voyages did make,  
And healed my mind in such a wavering sort,  
Hope could not win, nor fear would not forsake:  
But twixt them both my vision made me glad,  
And grief of my denial made me sad.   

But as I was in this perplexed wise,  
Rising and falling in uncertainty,  
The other holy women I espy  
That first with me came to the grave to see,  
To whom the Angels had made demonstration  
Of Christ my Lord and masters resurrection.    

The Conclusion.  
jesus met them, saying, All Hail.  

OH how profound are all thy judgements Lord,  
How dost thou take my sorrow to thy heart,  
How doth thy eyes such bleeding drops afford,  
To see my wounded love and grievous smart:  
That thy refusal late required is  
With such a grant so free and full of bliss.   

Full of content, the balm of troubled mind,  
That took no pleasure where thy presence wanted.  
But oh how grace hath graced me to find  
The love, wherewith my soul is chief acquainted:  
His love's my life, by his love my life liveth,  
For to my soul his love the life breath giveth.   

Now are the doleful, dark, and pitcht-faced clouds  
Dispersed and driven from my comforts face,  
Those melancholy, moist, and wat'rie shrouds,  
That did the brightness of my joys displace,  
Wrapping me up, as in eternal night,  
Vanished they are, seeing my heart's delight.   

Delight in him, to whom all love is debt,  
Sealed with the heart, the soul, and all the might,  
A payment that admits no worldly let,  
To linger or defraud a heavenly right:  
Which if I cannot pay as due requires,  
Accept (O Lord) thy debtors true desires.   

Let me thy everlasting prisoner be,  
Chained in the links of an eternal love,  
My want and will is only known to thee,  
A willing debtor I will ever prove:  
And what I have, I freely do bestow,  
Take all my worth, for part of that I owe.   

Oh Christian soul take Marie to thy mirror,  
And if thou wilt the like effects obtain,  
Then follow her in like affections fervour,  
And so with her, like mercy shalt thou gain:  
Learn sinful man of this once sinful woman,  
That sinners may find Christ, which sin abandon.   

That love recovereth him, that sin did lose,  
That firm belief recalleth that again  
Which fainting faith did quite forsake to choose;  
That what nor force nor favour can obtain,  
Nor policy by mortal means bring in,  
Continued tears of constant love can win.   

Learn then of her for Christ no force to fear,  
And out of Christ no comfort to desire  
With Christ his love, all love (though ne'er so dear)  
To overrule, to quench fond fancies fire:  
Rise early soul, in thy good motions morn,  
Sleep not in sloth, when diligence may perform.   

Run with repentance to thy sinful heart,  
Which should the Temple undefiled have been,  
But through thy fault, deserves no better part  
Than be the Tomb for Christ to bury in:  
For wanting life to taste this heavenly bread,  
He seemed to thee as if he had been dead.   

Remove the loads that press thee down in sin,  
The stone of former hardness roll away,  
Look to thy soul, if Christ be lodged therein,  
And if thou find that there he do not stay,  
Then weep without, in other creatures mind him,  
Sith had in all, in any thou mayst find him.   

Make faith thine eye, hope guide, and love thy light,  
Seek him, not his, for himself, not his meeds:  
If faith have found him in a cloudy night,  
Let hope seek for him when the day spring breeds:  
If hope to see him, have thee luckily led,  
Let love seek further, in him to be fed.   

If Sorrow knock, Remorse is Mercies porter,  
And ever opens to let Dolour in,  
Unto that door be thou a quick resorter,  
'tis much to save the loss that comes by sin:  
He that of Sorrow is true mournful taster,  
Doth feel sins smart, and find sins salving plaster.   

Strive with thy thoughts, being all prepared together,  
To rise out of mortality's foul mire,  
Which hath no standing, nor firm footing neither,  
Prevent the danger, and in time retire:  
Crave to be clean of that same filth sin urged,  
For who is pure, that jesus hath not purged?   

He can the ruins of thy soul repair,  
He yet destributeth his mercy's treasure,  
The door stands open yet, thy suit prepare,  
Let not repentance stay old ages leisure:  
When the Meridian of thy Sun's once past,  
The night of Nature hies upon thee fast.   

Awake therefore, watch th'evils hourly nigh,  
Provide before thou be surprised of breath,  
Upon the pale horse heedful cast thine eye,  
Note him that sits thereon, whose name is Death:  
Be ready for the stroke he is to give,  
For fear thou die, ere thou begin to live.   

Oh mild Physician, how well didst thou know  
Thy corosive so sharp did grieve my wound,  
Which did by ignorance, not error grow,  
Therefore no sooner felt, but help was found:  
Thy linative appli'de, did ease my pain,  
For though thou did forbid, 'twas no restrain.   

And now to show that thy denial late,  
Was but a cheek to my unsettled faith,  
And no rejecting of my fault with hate;  
Thou lettest me wash thy feet in my tear bath:  
I kiss them too, the seals of our redemption,  
My love renewed with endless consolation.   

Thus hast thou Lord full finished my tears,  
Assured my hopes, contented my desire●  
Repaid my love ●●extirped 〈◊〉 my fea●es,  
Perfected joys with all that heart requires:  
And made the period of expiring griefs,  
The preamble to ever fresh reliefs.   

How merciful a father art thou Lord  
To poor forsaken Orphans in distress,  
How soft a judge, that judgement doth afford  
With mildest grace, to sinners comfortless?  
How sure a friend unto a sincere lover,  
Whose pure and faithful love doth alter never?   

Thou then that art with diligence prepared,  
Going with speed, standing with hopes lift high,  
Humbling thy heart, thy haughty will impaired,  
If thou with Marie none but Christ would see,  
Himself will to thy tears an answer give,  
And his own words assure thee he doth live:   

That sweetly he, unto thee being shown,  
To others thou mayst run, and make him known.   
FINIS.