THE HOLY ROOD, OR CHRIST'S CROSS: Containing CHRIST Crucified, described in Speaking picture.  
By JOHN DAVIES.  

And who in Passion sweetly sing the same,  
Do glorify their own in Jesus NAME.   
Crux Christi clavis Coeli.  
LONDON Printed for N Butter   

To the Right Honourable, well accomplished Lady, ALICE, Countess of Derby, my good Lady and Mistress: And, to her three right Noble Daughters by Birth, Nature, and Education, the Lady Elizabeth, Countess of Huntingdon, the Lady Francis Egerton, and the Lady Anne, Wife to the truly Noble Lord, Grace, Lord Chandois that now is; be all Comfort when so ever CROSSED.  

THough long, yet (lo) at length What was designed,  
To you and yours (great Lady) now is come  
To your fair Hands, to move your fairer Mind  
To mind His pain that is true pleasures Sum:  
For, Siren-pleasures, that but Sense allure,  
Must with the pleasures flowing from this pain  
Be cleansed; else those will run to Helles impure;  
While these to Eden fair reflow again.  
The Cross (true Tree of life) doth fairly grow  
In midst thereof; of whose fruit if you taste  
The Nectared juice will so your Soul o'erflow  
That She will be ioy-drunke with that repast!  
To Flesh and Blood this Tree but Wormwood seems,  
How ere the same may be of Suger-chest;  
But* That which quickens Flesh, the Cross esteems 
The 〈◊〉   
To be, of Comforts, better than the best!  
Upon the Cross (as on a Touch) we may  
Try our Souls value whether great, or small:  
If there, it (washed with Water-Strong) doth stay,  
We may be sure its most Angelical!  
But (with a touch) if from this Touch (the Cross)  
It fleets, as if the Cross did Cross its kind,  
Then, doth it show that it is full of Dross,  
Till in Afflictions flames it be refined.  
But you (with Solomon) have erst surveyed  
(Nay proved) the value of earths dearest joys;  
Then hardly can your judgement be betrayed,  
Unless sense will not see their felt annoys.  
Now, as you are the Root from whence do spring  
True royal Branches, beautifying their Stock;  
To this Tree bear them: and, fair Branches cling  
To It, as ivy to th' immortal Oak:  
For, royal Branches to the royal'st Tree  
Do cleave by kind, sith there they kindly thrive:  
Then, Ladies, of this Tree embracers be  
Which, when ye die, will make you more than live!  
When sensual pleasure filled hath a Cup  
Of her sweet Liquor for you (sith too blame)  
Stir it about before ye drink it up,  
With some part of this Tree to purge the same,  
Else, like sweet Poison, it will bane the Soul;  
But, highly-lowly Ladies, (good, as great)  
Your great Minds Powers (borne great) can soon control  
Vain Pleasure's siege, and so their Spoils defeat:  
For, Pleasure's most o'ercome the weakest Minds  
Unfenced with Virtue, lying open to Vice:  
Whose judgements every flash of Pleasure blinds  
Borne but to Honour's shame and Prejudice.  
Then, O firm Quadruple (in Unity)  
Of highly borne, (so, kindly noble) Hearts,  
I wish all Pleasures flow from calvary,  
(Most holy Mount) into your inward'st parts.  
And still I'll pray (without Times smallest loss)  
The Cross may bless you from your Comforts Crosse.   
Your honours humble Servant, and devoted Beadsman. john Davies.   


❧ To the Author.  

THine Art and Subject both such Worth contain,  
That thou art best requited in thy pain.   
EDW. HERBRET Knight.   

¶ TO M. JOHN DAVIES, my good friend.  

Such men as hold intelligence with Letters,  
And in that nice and Narrow way of Verse,  
As oft they lend, so oft they must be debtor,  
If with the Muses they will have commerce:  
Seldom at Stawles me, this way men rehearse,  
To mike Inferiors, nor unto my Betters:  
He stales his Lines that so doth them disperee:  
I am so free, I love not Golden-fetters:  
And many Lines fore Writers, be but Setters  
To them which Cheat with Papers; which doth pierce,  
Our Credits: when we show ourselves Abetters:  
To those that wrong our knowledge: we rehearse  
Often (my good john; and I love) thy Letters;  
Which lend me Credit, as I lend my Verse.   
Michael Drayton.   

Ad Libri Lectorem.  

Writ on, and have the Palm: continue still  
In sacred style, to treat of Powers divine:  
Invoke no mortal Grace: for, Angels will  
From Heaven descend, to grace this Tract of Thine,  
Changing each black into a golden line.  
Write on: O blessed Subject! God, and Men,  
In Heaven, and Earth, approves, applaud thy pains:  
Zeal seeks not Art: yet, see no barren Pen  
To common Trifles hath enlarged the reins,  
Nor sucked the borrowed blood from stranger veins.  
Hence, All distressed may to their Souls apply  
True, saving Comfort: for, the Love that could  
Enforce a God for wretched Man to die,  
Cursed, crossed, and scorned, tormented, bought, and sold  
And all for such, to whom such Grace he would,  
Cannot, in justice, but extend relief  
To such as mourn their sins, and rue his grief.  
Thrice happy than be Thou, stirred up to spend  
The Gifts he gives thee, to so blessed an end.   
N. Deeble.    

To all passionate Poets.  

YE Poets, that in Passion, melt to Ink,  
Wherewith Melpomen draws her saddest Lines,  
So melt; that so my thirsty Pen may drink  
Of you, made Liquid for the saddest Designs:   

For, were all Spirits of Poets made entire,  
And I therewith inspired; and, had I Pens  
Made of Time's saddest Plumes, yet full of Fire,  
All were too cold for Passion for these Threns!   

Here is a Ground for Art, and sorrows Souls  
(Divinely holp) to prove their Descant on:  
This World of Grief so whoorles on Passions Poles  
That still it Varies, though it still be One!  
Then Brains, if ere ye did your Owner steed,  
My Heart hereon, through my Pen, make to bleed!   
JOHN DAVIES of Hereford.   

THE HOLY ROOD OR CHRIST'S CROSS.  

SONNET.  
SInce all, that All, is altogether vain,  
Uncertain, mortal, momentany, vile,  
Which this Sin-biaced Bowl, the Earth, contains,  
My Pen an Heavenly Ditty shall compile.  
Vouchsafe, sweet Christ, my Paper, be thy Cross:  
My Pen, that Nail, that Nailed thine holy Hand:  
Mine Ink, thy Blood, wherewith thou didst engross  
Th' acquittance of my vows infringed Band:  
The Subject of my Song, let be thy Glory;  
The Burden of the same, thy Glories praise;  
The Sum whereof, thy Passions sacred Story,  
Let these be all, and some of all my Lays;  
For, heavenly Quires, by nature, do rejoice  
When Art, in Grace's Choir, rears Nature's Uoice.   

WHile that blessed Body, Saviour of each Soul,  
(Whose Bodies are the Temples of his sprite)  
Hung on the Cross, by Death, DEATH to control  
The Temples vail Stones, Graves, Earth, Skies, and Light,  
Rent, clave, oped, quaked, and (thundering) waxed obscure,  
To see LIFE die, and Grief their God devour!   

These lifeless Bodies, wanting Souls, and Sense,  
(With sense of his Souls, Soule-tormenting, smart)  
Condole (provoked by Pities violence)  
His pain (though they of pain can feel no part)  
They senseless are, yet pains that sense exceed,  
Make their obdurate senseless Hearts to bleed.   

And wilt thou Man, God's Image, angels Lord,  
Emperor of Earth, and all her Breast doth bear,  
Made so (in love) by him, not him afford  
(Seeing Him die for thy Love) one silly Tear?  
O air and Earth why do ye not conspire  
To burn this Turf, that Water wants, with Fire?   

Aswell the Cross, the Hammer, nails, and Spear,  
Did crucify thy jesus, as the jews:  
No, no, thy sins his Crucifiers were;  
That by his death, they might their life excuse.  
O Sin how sinful art Thou, sith thou must  
Excuse thy crimes, by crimes much more unjust?   

Is't not enough the Soul quite to subvert  
Wherein Thou liv'st, but must thou spoil Him too  
Through whom the Soul doth live, by whom Thou Art;  
And so do That, that doth thyself undo?  
Then, blame not Faith, thy foe to spoil thy State  
When thou thyself, thyself dost dissipate.   

Think Man (whose Feet are swifter fa●re then Thought  
To do what ere is opposite to Good:)  
Think that thou seest him on his face long straught  
In Prayer, and in Passion sweeting Blood:  
Sith from all parts for Thee his blood out flies,  
Give Him one Drop of Water from thine Eyes.   

A Bird there is (as Pliny doth report)  
That in the time of treading sweateth blood;  
That Bird, Ciconia height sweats so in sport,  
But this kind Pelican in maestive mood:  
So That, in pleasure, sweats begetting young,  
But This, in Pain with sanguine sweat among:   

This kind, most kind, soul-saving Empiric  
His own blood broacheth so our Souls to save;  
And for our Healths He makes his own Heart sick,  
Yea dies: that by his Death, we life might have:  
Then sith this blessed by-parted Man-god dies  
For Man's love, Man's love should be like likewise.   

Think now thou seest (O ioy-griefe-breeding sight!  
joy for his merit, grief for his annoy)  
Perditions child with Men, Swords, staves, and Light,  
The Lord of Light to catch, and so destroy:  
Now think thou seest that Reprobate by birth,  
(With kiss) betray the Lord of Heaven and Earth.   

Then see, ah see, how They (Limbs of that Lord  
That Lords it in Death's gloomy Continent)  
His tender hands bind with a boisterous cord,  
So straight, that strait, with rigour violent,  
It seems to cut in two those tender hands,  
For, soft flesh yields, when such rough force commands.   

And canst Thou see, (O Thou thou careless Man  
Thou worm, thou insect, slave to base Contempt!)  
Freedom thus bound for thee? if so thou can,  
And yet live loosely, thouart from grace exempt:  
O that the God of grace, as Man should die  
For man, whose grace in looseness most doth lie!   

Now think, O think, thou seest those hounds of hell,  
(That yelp out blasphemies about their prey)  
With ungrave gate, to run do him compel,  
And with tumultuous noise him lead away:  
Ah see how He that stayed the suns swift course,  
Through thick and thin doth (sta●lesse) run perforce!   

jerusalem, O fair jerusalem,  
Figure of Heaven, built on celestial soil!  
Yet wast beheau'nd through blessed Bethelem,  
Shall yet her heavens bliss in thee suffer foil?  
O be thou not ingrate, but dash to dust  
(With thine own downfall) thine own folk unjust.   

Think now thou seest the sons of Babylon  
(Infernal furies) furiously present  
Meekness itself, this harmless holy One  
To Annas, high Priest, low hell's Precedent:  
Where he with arms and hands (meek lamb) stands bound,  
To hear, what sense of hearing might confound.   

Here Truth itself with Falsehood fowl is charged,  
To which for making mild and just replies,  
A cursed Fist on his blessed face discharged  
A furious buffer that inflamed his eyes:  
Ah see thy God how he doth reeling stand,  
With bloodshot eine by force of hellish hand!   

O damned hand (fell engine of reproach)  
How dar'st thou strike that awful sacred face,  
Before whose dread aspect the Heavens crouch,  
Before whose Majesties most glorious grace  
The Seraphins with reverend fear do quake,  
And all th'infernal Legions trembling shake.   

What frantic fit, what rage did thee incense,  
What fiend, what desperate fury made thee dare  
To offer him that barbarous violence,  
That is of God the lively Character?  
Why didst not dread lest his high hand of power  
Upon thy pate would sudden vengeance power?   

Saw'st thou not justice sitting in his Front,  
As well as Mercy in his eyes to sit?  
Did both at once thy cruel eyes affront,  
And yet thy heart and hand not stayed by it?  
Did Deity in his face make a stand  
Yet That not make thee (Devil) hold thy hand?   

Then is it clear thy Hand is none of thine,  
(Much less thy Heart that did thy Hand direct)  
But it is Hells, and wrought Hells damned design;  
Or else that Grace, that Face might well protect:  
Near durst the Devil tempt him with such force,  
Then though the Fiend be self ill, thou art worse.   

Canst thou (O tell me, tell me canst thou) Man,  
With th'eye of Thought, behold this dreary sight  
With dried eyes? Those eyes that whilom ran  
With blood for thee, wilt not one drop require?  
Why should the Sun and Moon (the heavens bright eyes)  
Then look on thee but as thine enemies?   

Now think, O think, thou see'st (O savage sight)  
His foes inhuman hale him thence in haste  
Along the streets with clamour, rage, and spite,  
To Caiphas' house, where he was so disgraced  
As never Man, much less a God could be,  
Yet never God more good to man than he!   

Bound (as before) he stands, (in whom we rest)  
Affront the face of that pernicious Priest;  
Who, with the Scribes and Elders, there are priest  
In their reproachful slanders to persist:  
Mean while (meek Soul) though he from guilt be clear,  
Yet stands he mute, as though he guilty were.   

See the conjuring, proud, remorseless Priest  
Rend, in fell rage, (too like a furious fiend)  
The pompous vestures of this Pithonist,  
When Christ doth (urged) aright his cause defend:  
Whereat the rest, in depth of scorn, and hate,  
His divine Truth, with taunts do depravate.   

And to express the rancour of their spite,  
They blindfold him, and make his face as 'twere  
A Drum, to call his Foes against him to fight;  
For, still a tab'ring on his face they are:  
So fast their fists do fall as Drum-sticks, while  
The Drum doth sound Alarm to the broil.   

But that which doth all credit far exceed,  
(But that all credit to this Truth is due)  
They in his lovely Face (O loathsome deed!)  
Do spitting spall, or rather spalling spew!  
O Heavens can ye endure to see your King  
More vilely used than Toad, or vilest thing!   

O wonder! far surmounting wonderments!  
O more than most profound humility!  
Do they (fiends) varnish with fowl excrements,  
That Face whose grace the Heavens doth glorify,  
And he endure it? what should we endure  
When he (most pure) for us was made s'impure?   

Men if they spit do choose the foulest place  
Where to bestow their eie-offending phlegm:  
Is no place fouler than his heavenly face  
To cast that filth that reaketh hellish steam?  
O dung, O dust, O heir of rottenness,  
Will't ere be proud seeing such humbleness!   

God silent is whiles Diu'ls do spit on him;  
The heavens are whist, whiles hell reviles their Lord:  
The measure of abuse, up to the brim,  
These hellish furies fill in deed and word:  
What could Gods hate inflict▪ since hell began  
That was not heaped on this God and Man?   

The wound was sore that craved a salve so sharp:  
The disease shameful that fowl shame must cure:  
Though David healed Saul with sound of harp,  
Our David's self must swoon ere health procure:  
So many Saul's possessed with Satan's store,  
Must make the remedy exceeding sore!   

O Pride! the swelling Sore that nought can suage,  
But such extreme dejection of the Highest;  
O Sin! that dost within the marrow rage,  
Can nothing kill thee but the death of Christ?  
O depth profound of Heavens just dooms! who may  
track out th'almighty in his pathless way?   

He (patient) bears these contumelious wrongs,  
So to supplant the kingdom of our pride;  
He, (only wise, knowing what to all belongs)  
Knew base we were, unless he should abide  
Baseness itself, to honour us thereby,  
And knew we could not live, but he must die.   

Think now how he, that gives eternal rest,  
Did restless pass away that hellish night;  
Where Darkness children still did him molest,  
With whatsoe'er his soul could most despite:  
If any (forced by sleep) began to nod,  
Like Devils they wake themselves by grieving God.   

There sits he blindfold, that doth all things see;  
Bats flying in his face, that light do loath;  
Each one as ireful as an angry Bee  
Do sting his blessed Soul and Body both:  
O restless hate that rest rejects; wherefore?  
Because the Lord of Rest should rest no more.   

Ye heavens weep out your world-enlight'ning eyes;  
Shower down the Sun and Moon in Tears of blood:  
So (in gross darkness) make a Deluge rise  
Of Gore, to glut these furies with that flood:  
For, such a bloody work of darkness done  
(By fiends, or furies) near saw Moon nor Sun!   

O hell, that dost all Cruelties surround,  
Blush with bright Flames (that black to burn are wont)  
Until thy faces flush these fiends confound,  
Sith thee in crneltie they far surmount:  
Light them with flames, coufounding with their light,  
To see the meed of their past hellish spite.   

But, O frail Muse, be not transported so▪  
With passion past the patience of thy Christ;  
Who prays for those that thus do work his woe;  
Then (O) do not his prayer so resist:  
But he is God: but merely Man can near  
Endure such liellish rage to see, or hear!   

Kind Nature, Night ordained for sweet repose  
To tired limbs, and wits, through Days turmoil;  
But they the same quite opposite transpose,  
And in tormenting Christ, themselves they toil:  
How can it be but, in eternal Night,  
justice, with restless plagues, should them requite.   

What difference is between those Hymns divine  
The Angels chant unto his praise in heaven,  
And these discordant Notes of harsh Repine  
They are as Fame, and Shame, no less uneven:  
For, Sanctum, Sanctum, sing those sacred Quires,  
But, Crucifige, Crucifige, theirs.   

O sweet celestial Spirits Angelical  
Are ye not mazed with worlds of wonderment  
To see the Subject of your Praises all  
To such shame subject, yet therewith content!  
Your Tongues unable are, though most divine,  
Such Pain and Patience rightly to define!   

What temper is that heart, that is so hard  
That feeling this, from bleeding yet forbears?  
What substance are those eyes, that in regard  
Of this distress, dissolve not into Tears?  
If Eyes seeing this, melt not, and Hearts that feel,  
They are not Hearts, nor Eyes, but Flint, or Steel.   

But hark! now Crows and Curses interchange,  
The Cock and Peter strive to crow, and curse  
(Who should exceed) but Peter (O most strange!)  
Gives Three for Two, and yet he had the worse:  
Were not infernal Legions and thief Fiends  
Enough to vex thee Christ? but must thy Friends?   

Wert thou so hardy Peter in thy word,  
What time, in peace, thou vowdest with him to die?  
And wert thou no less hardy with thy Sword  
In the first fight? and, from him now wilt fly?  
That Man that overcomes must wear the Crown;  
Thou art no Man, a Woman put thee down.   

Though All forsake Him, thou wilt never fail Him:  
These be thy vaunts, and (vaunting) this didst vow;  
Yet thou, with grief, dost with his Foes assail him,  
And to a Maid, more than a Maid, dost show  
Thy woman-weakenesse, weaker than a woman,  
For, better is a woman far, than no man.   

Saw'st thou that Man was God? yea God and Man  
In all his works? and did He by his power,  
Strengthen thee Weakling, (for, He all things can)  
To march upon the Seas foot-failing floor?  
Saw'st thou by Revelation, He was Christ?  
And yet, for fear of his Cross, him deni'st?   

Fearest thou that Cross, that is the Tree of Life?  
What! loathest thou Death? and yet dost fear to live?  
Dost strife eschew, that is the end of strife?  
Wilt thou not take, because thou wilt not give?  
Is thy Soul rational? and yet thy Soul  
Doth Reason's reason brutishly control?   

Did He in love (O 'twas a matchless favour!)  
Take thee with him (more firm to make thy faith)  
To see God, this God glorify on Thabor?  
And, heard'st his voice, whom Heaven and Earth obai'th,  
Say 'twas his Son, more bright than Sun, thou saw'st  
Yet from God, and his Son thyself withdraw'st?   

Soule-wracking Rock, (Faith's Rock of ruin) Peter,  
Art thou for Christ his Church a fit foundation,  
That in Faith, from Faith, sans Faith art a fleeter?  
Tends thy faiths fleeting to Faith's confirmation?  
If that stand fast, that hath so false a Ground,  
It most miraculous must needs be found!   

Didst thou desire (with glory ravished)  
To Tabernacle Tabor there to dwell?  
Wouldst thou in Heaven with Christ be glorified?  
And not consociate him in his woes hell?  
Art thou austere in life? yet, sensual, Thou  
eschewst the Gall, and wilt but Honey chew?   

God's Counsels are his own, therefore unknownè;  
All whose Intents no rules of Reason want;  
Else, that to thee, he hath such favour shown  
What reason ist? But, God is God, Igrant,  
By whose Prerogative he may do All,  
And make thee and his firmer by thy fall.   

Dost thou esteem it such a fowl reproach  
To know that Wisdom whence all Knowledge springs?  
Think'st it no shame to set such shame abroach  
As cracks thy credit, and the King of Kings?  
Was Grace s'inglorious found, that for thy grace,  
Thoú gracelesly abiur'dst him to his face?   

Could they acknowledge him that were his foes,  
When thou deniedst him that wert his friend?  
By thy denial they might well suppose  
That he was such as (falsely) they pretend:  
Weep Peter weep, for fowl is thine offence,  
Wash it with Tears springing from Penitence.   

'Twas time to turn His Soule-conuerting Eyes  
To thee perverted Peter, reas'nlesse Man;  
Lest brutish fear, which did thee (Beast) surprise,  
Should make thee (as thyself) thy God to ban:  
Can Mercies eyes behold a fault so fowl,  
With loving look, and not in anger scowl?   

They loving looked; O constant Lord of Love!  
What is vile Man, that Man thou valuest so?  
Must his Redemption make thy heart to prove  
(Though he falsehearted be) such hells of woe?  
Let Love itself, this Love alone admire,  
That loves for hate, and dies through loves desire!   

Those glittering Suns (his bright transpiercing eyes)  
On Peter's eyes, as on two Fountains, shine;  
By whose attractive virtue Dropsarise,  
Then down distill in showers of Angel's wine:  
Who with heavens host therefore, their tongues employ  
To praise their God, in hymns, stark drunk with joy!   

Who cannot love, to think on love so high,  
That loves in Mercy, justice Objects hate?  
Yea, loves a Man that doth that love defy;  
Who cannot die for such love, lives too late:  
Let never Adam's sons, through Eaves offence,  
To God and Nature use such violence!   

This hellish Night being ended, then suppose  
This heavenly Day-starreled to Pluto's court:  
(Pilat's I would say, but respect of woes  
He there endured, made true, and false report)  
Yet did this Comet clear make Pilate pause,  
Ere doomed him as contagious by the laws.   

In the divine sweet features of his face,  
(That might an heart of steel relent with ruth)  
Pilate, no doubt, beheld a world of grace,  
And well perceived his Innocence and Truth:  
Yet must he die, do Pilate what he can,  
And for his judge that Monster is the man..   

To doom to death Rights wronger's is but right,  
Although we wrongfully, do deem them so;  
That's wronging Right, as Men, that have no sight  
In that which righteous God alone doth know:  
But when the Conscience cries the doom is wrong  
The tongue pronounceth, Hell confound that Tongue.   

Dismissed by Pilate, see thy most just judge  
From this judge most unjust, led to a King  
Much more unjust; lo, how he's forced to trudge  
Through thick, and thin; hark how their clamours ring  
About his Ears; and, see the people flock  
To see whereat to wonder, gaze, and mock.   

To Herod come, that long had longed to see him,  
See now (as if some juggler he had been,  
That would show tricks to all men that would fee him)  
How he provokes Him some trick to begin:  
But, for He silent stands, and thwarts his mind,  
He holds Him but a Fool, and fool unkind.   

Oye great Princes little do ye know  
What wrong you do unto your high estate,  
Tinsult through pompous pride, on States below,  
And think all Fools not frolicked with like Fate:  
Ye are no Gods, and therefore know ye not  
Whom ye abuse, and what may be your Lot.   

This Fool, wise fool, holds Him, full wise, a fool;  
And on the Mantle must, that fools doth fit:  
He learned his wisdom in gross Follies school,  
But, Wisdom on her Throne in Christ doth sit:  
One seemed, not was; the other was, not seemed;  
Yet seemed a God indeed, though Man was deemed,   

He man was deemed indeed, that stirred up strife,  
And crossed the course the way ward world still runs:  
Life was accused, with deadly sin, in life;  
God, was a Devil deemed, by Satan's sons:  
A Devil deemed, or Man that had a Devil,  
But such a Man is worse, or full as evil.   

But, Wrong (that wrencheth every right awry,  
And doth herself, herself oft contradict)  
That Supposition now doth flat deny;  
And for a fool he's ta'en, and named, and nicked:  
Had he a Devil been, or they as wise  
As Devils be, more smooth had been their lies.   

Here Wisdom, that baptizeth with his Spirit  
All godly wise, is baptised for a fool:  
Their angers glowing heat, with this despite,  
They think, in red-hot raging hate, to cool:  
If his love liked the fool, that fools detest,  
For us poor fools, he liked that he loved least.   

Olet, yea let weak Humane-wisdome vail  
Her peacock's plumes, and make swift wing from Fame;  
By this Example let her courage quail,  
And have no heart to hurt her honours shame:  
If he whom Angel's praise, and Heavens adore  
Endure such shame, let Earth seek fame no more.   

He was accused, of what not? so 'twere evil;  
Glutton, Wine-bibber, loathed Samaritan,  
Dam'd sinners coapesmate, one that had a devil,  
Soul-slaying Schismatic, nor God, nor Man,  
But Hatreds Hydra, bred in Stygian Pool,  
And to conclude all closed all with the Foole.   

O had I Art to satisfy Desire,  
(That would, with Words, throw down Man's pride to hell;  
That would past Heaven, if it could, aspire;  
And makes the Bulk with rank ambition swell)  
I would upon this Ground, set such a Strain  
As should surmount the reach of Voice, or Brain!   

Meekness look on thyself, and blush for shame  
To see thyself, thyself surpassed so:  
Humility, low, low, stoop thy high fame,  
Thou art surmounted far, far, God doth know!  
Thou boundless flood of virtues confluence,  
Thy bounds in him have endless residence!   

Look Glory on thy Lord, thy God behold,  
Invested with Contempts derided coat;  
Yet see what constant Grace his face doth hold!  
O earth, frail earth, thy Props strong patience note;  
And never lift thyself, thyself above  
(To love thyself) unless this Lord to love!   

See, see, how he, in midst of all Extremes,  
(The proper Place where Virtue is confi'nd)  
Though mad Misrule his name, with shame, blasphemes,  
Yet his rare patience passeth human kind:  
Which well bewrays this Man is more than man  
That loves for hate, and bl●st, when Spite did ban!   

How mute was he among so many lies,  
Loud lies (God wot) braid out by his Accusers?  
How still (meek Lamb) among so many cries  
Offowle mouthed hounds, his hunters, and abusers?  
In few, he showed so many Gifts of Grace,  
That men might clearly see God in his face!   

God in his face for, 'mong the sons of men  
Was not a fairer, or Form more divine:  
The Paragon of Beauty was he then,  
Which, in his sacred shape, did brightly shine:  
For Beauty was constrained herself t'excel,  
When she him made fair without Parallel.   

Yet could not so great grace, (Grace, great as God)  
Infused in all his parts, protect this Man  
From the most roguish Whip, and slavish Rod;  
But, he must brook them both▪ do what he can:  
And yet he did what none but God could do;  
Which he, they said, did like a devil too!   

But, what will not Spite say, to work her spite,  
Against what Good soe'er, that thwarts her will?  
she'll call the brightest Day, the darkest Night;  
And God, a Devil; Good, the cause of Ill:  
For, if her Conscience once be cauterised,  
She is a very Fiend and worse advised!   

For, Rage is mad and cares not what she doth;  
And Spite, enraged, cares less what she says:  
Then what's to be expected from them both?  
But Words and Deeds that God, and Man dispraise:  
Though God reigns over All, by Nature's right,  
Yet is He subject to Man's hate and spite!   

The heavens Sovereign, is thus subject made  
To Hell's damned vassals vilest villainy;  
Yet Faith, and Reason, discreet Souls persuade,  
That Hell is subject to heavens Deity:  
Then by this short account, which yet is right,  
Hell is not half so bad as Hate, and Spite.   

Yet, though they be farre worse than what is worst,  
They (only) fill the jews hard, hollow hearts:  
From whose abundance their tongues (most accursed)  
Do speak; and so are moved their other parts:  
If Hate, and Spite, be cursed Hearts only movers,  
They must be Murders spightfull-hatefull lovers.   

These spites thus past, ensues Spite, past despite;  
For, to the Pillar bound, he's post alone:  
Without one friend t'entreat, or wrongs to right;  
Compassed with Hearts? nay Stones, more hard than stone:  
For on his virgin skin (most delicate!)  
Flesh-tawing Whips engross the deeds of Hate!   

And yet this was but Pilat's favour to him,  
A favour with a witness, witness Wounds!  
Nay rather Wound; for, they, quite to undo him,  
With wounding Stripes, each Wound, in one confounds:  
For, from his Heels to Head He doth appear  
Not as a Man, but ghastly Wound he were!   

O Heavens! wrap ye the Earth with endless Wonder!  
Gaze Angels with immortal admiration!  
Great Thunderer! why dost forbear to Thunder?  
And dash to dust this brasse-neckt Generation?  
It well appears th'u'rt from all Passions free,  
That art not passioned passions such to see!   

O! can the Heart of Flesh be steeled so,  
Or Steel itself, so Adamantine made,  
As but t'uphold the Eye to see this woe,  
And Heaviness the Heart not overlade?  
Then may I boldly say, if so It can,  
There's nothing harder than the Heart of Man?   

O! that there were some new words lawf'lly coined  
Much more significant than currant'st words;  
Or that all woeful words in one were joined;  
And by that one more made, as Art affords,  
I would (though all, and more, too little were)  
Make this his Plight, in colours right, appear.   

Can any Thing, that hath but feeling sense  
Be so obdurate (though it feel it not  
No otherwise than by Intelligence)  
As not to melt away, in Passion hot,  
To see these Passions? Passions call I them?  
Yea so; but, yet much more than most extreme!   

Rome's World commanding Nation (though profane)  
Did privilege their People from the Rod:  
Are ye (jews) for an holy Nation ta'en?  
Yet whip unholy Heavens holy God?  
Whip him that with an iron Rod doth bray  
All flesh to dust, that dare his Word gainsay!   

This sight doth c'oud, with care, the heavens bright Eyes,  
To see such glory dimmed with such disgrace:  
Good-nature hardly can itself suffice  
With Tears, to mollify this most hard Case:  
For, thus it stands, Christ (God and Man) abides  
That Man, to heal himself, should wound His sides!   

The plague for Slaves, on him these Slaves inflicts  
The Whip's for Slaves, or Rogues that be unruly:  
Yet tyranny, that good Laws interdicts,  
On Innocence and Truth doth lay it truly:  
Truly their Falsehood, and their Tyranny,  
Is true Idea of all villainy!   

If stones did, welling, stream forth Water store,  
What time meek Moses rod had struck the Rock;  
Then, if we see our Rock of refuge gore  
Rend out by whips, and not our Founts unlock  
To let out water-drops, It to condole,  
'Twere pity Mercies drops should purge our Soul.   

O depth past sounding! Way past finding out!  
Didst thou in knowledge infinite foresee  
That Man should fall, (made mutable no doubt  
By thine own hand) thus to be razed by Thee?  
From all Beginnings pleasure tookst in pain,  
To make the Slave for whom thyself was slain?   

Here Flesh lay finger on thy mouth that mumbles;  
Dispute not Wisdoms will, nor Mercies power;  
Sufficeth thee that Grace her glory humbles  
To lift, base thee, to top of Glories tower:  
Do thou admire in silence, This, so geason,  
Because the Cause thereof surmounts thy Reason!   

For, this is such a gulf of mystery,  
That Angels, Saints, nor God, as man can sound!  
It's darker far than hell to reason's bright eye;  
Wherein no rest nor bottom can be found:  
The suns eclipse the eyes of flesh annoys;  
But, Reasons eyes Gods sons eclipse, destroys!   

God did from all eternity foresee  
What man would do; and, what was Christ his lot:  
Then might have chosen to have made man Be;  
And so have spared Christ's pains, that spared him not:  
But, that He (knowing all) gave way to It,  
Confounds, in endless maze, all human Wit!   

justice, and Mercy, as it seems to sense,  
Were most impatient of their quiet rest;  
(Sith Virtues work, to show their excellence)  
Which made deep Mercy, justice high, digest!  
For, other reason, Reason cannot give,  
To make Faith such a mystery believe.   

Had Men and Angels in their justice stood,  
Then, divine justice unimploid had been;  
And, Mercies power had near been understood,  
Had it not been for, most rebellious, Sin:  
Then, did man's fall make resting-Mercie rise,  
To strive with justice for God's glories prize!   

Nor, wast alone for his own glory mere  
That he did man create, or recreate;  
But for man's good; that so he might appear  
(That Nothing was before) in blessed state!  
For, with that Glory He could pleased have been  
Which ere Worlds were, he had himself within!   

Yet seeing Nothing, nothing can deserve;  
And man, of nothing, being Something made,  
Yea, such a Something, as all things do serve,  
That God is good to man, it doth persuade:  
Then to the glory of his goodness, He  
Made himself man, for man, and man to Bee!   

And, is God's glory so high prized a thing,  
That sor It He his own heartblood will spend:  
And from the height of heaven himself to fling  
To hell, to make his Glory so ascend!  
Then, mad are men, who for his glory Were,  
To set at nought a Thing that is so dear!   

Then, what are These (what shall I call them) Jews?  
(The name's too good, though now it's worse than ill)  
What, what are they that so great grace refuse,  
And in disgracing It continue still?  
Hell, name thine own; sor, too poor is the devil  
To yield, or name a Name so rich in evil!   

God damned the Devil, for one sinful Thought,  
And, put him quite past hope the help of grace:  
But, He the jews hath from damnation bought;  
Yet still they seek that Goodness to disgrace!  
Then, clear it is, the jews, so sold to Evil,  
Are far worse, than what's far worse, than the Devil!   

Now, think thou see'st this Soul of sacred Zeal,  
This kindling Coal of flaming Charity,  
Dispossed all in post; not for his weal,  
But, for his further future misery.  
Here see the true Character of Distress  
For pity shown to people pitiless!   

O God what Man, this miserable Man,  
Would not have pitied? and with woe have pined?  
No Eyes can weep, except for this they can;  
Grief coming not for This, comes out of Kind:  
Then what kind are those Men that joy at This?  
No name can name them, they are so amiss!   

Christ's darling gospeler mu'sd that the jews  
Adored not Christ, as jesus, for his deeds:  
More may'st thou wonder (Saint) that I refuse  
To do His will, for whose amiss He bleeds:  
Wonders, have less force to confirm belief,  
Than to confirm true Love hath his true grief.   

What violence (surmounting violence)  
Veiled his high Majesty to state so vile?  
Was it not Love in highest excellence,  
Man unto God, by Both, to reconcile?  
For, God, and Man, did God, and Man accord,  
Through Love, that near agreed but with this Lord!   

O Man! canst thou, canst thou O unkind Man,  
A moment breath, and not breath out his praise?  
What! is thy mortal life but on short Span?  
And wilt not love his long love, thy short Days?  
'Twere pity then a God's heartblood should be  
Like worthless water spilled for loving Thee!   

But look! (O Heart-dividing dreyrie sight!)  
See, see thy jesus (O flint-hearted jews!)  
Kinged with a Crown of thorns (O spiteful spite!)  
Of piercing Thorns, that do transpierce his Brows!  
See how they maul it on, in ruthless rage,  
That Thorns do seem his Brainpan (bruised) to gauge!   

Daughters of Zion, see King Solomon,  
Crowned, by his Mother on his Marriage day!  
Ye Sons of Salem, see Gods glorious Son,  
Enrobed with Wounds, and Blood, all goarie-gay!  
All gentle Joseph's weep, none can do less,  
To see your Brother brought to such distress.   

Is that Head crowned with Thorns, upon whose Crown  
Depends the highest Heavens resplendent Roof  
By whose 
* Were it possible.  rewlsion It would soon fall down,  
Yet did a weak Post hold this Prop of Proof?  
Who brought this strong Alcid●s down so lo?  
'Twas I his Deianeira that served him so.   

Yet, Heavenly Hercules, though plagued thou be,  
Thy Hydra-labours will thee Deific;  
We, Pagan▪ Offsprings, aye will honour Thee,  
Not as a Semi, but sole God; and cry  
Holy Holy, Holy, jesus Christ,  
Lord God of Saboth, our true Eucharist!   

O thou all-powreful-kind Omniparent,  
What holds thy hands that should defend thy head?  
Is Sin so strong, or so Omnivalent,  
That by Her power, thy power is vanquished?  
Why, Sin is Nothing; O! then Nothing is't  
That binds thy Hands, that nothing can resist?   

Thy Head all heavenly wisdom doth contain,  
(That's only wise) and stands it with the same  
To wear a Crown that yields both Shame, and Pain,  
And so seem proud of Dolour, and Defame?  
Art glories God, and Pleasures Sovereign,  
Yet lettest their Contraries o'er thee to reign?   

Could not thy Head, that compass can, what not?  
Compass Man's dear Redemption with less loss?  
Thy wisdom never can be overshot;  
Then, shot the same at such a Crown and Cross?  
O strange ambition of Humility,  
To covet Hell, to give Hell, Heaven thereby!   

For, what's the World, but Hell? yea, Hell at best!  
Yet, for the World, He brooks these Hells of woes;  
That so the World of Heaven might be possessed;  
For, with his Saints, through Hell, He thither goes:  
First He is Crowned, then Crossed, both with annoy;  
But they are * Crossed, then Crowned; and both with joy!   

But, O my Soul! to stir, in thee devotion,  
Upon this ground of Grief thine Eye still fix:  
See here the King of Heavens Earthly promotion,  
Crowned with sharp Thorns, and made a Crucifix;  
Which (bruising) broach His Brows; lo, for our sakes,  
His Head is bruised, that should bruise the Snakes!   

To King Him right, he's Sceptered with a Reed;  
As if his Kingdom were but like a Kex:  
Then crouch they with, Hail King: Then strait Aread,  
Who smote thee jesus? Thus his Soul they vex:  
O Bat-blind Fools do ye infatuate  
That Wisdom that makes Wisdom govern Fate   

To pity wretched Wights, o'erwhelmed with dole,  
An human duty 'tis, which Men should do:  
But, to deride a poor distressed Soul,  
A savage part it is, and damned too:  
Yet, such is their damned in humanity,  
That they make merry with his misery!   

O Thou that dost the Heads condecorate  
Of Kings Terrestrial, with Imperial Crowns;  
Why lettest weak Worms thy Head dedecorate  
With worthless briars, and flesh-transpiercing Thorns?  
It's to acquit the Penance of our Pride  
By this Poll-deed, with Blood exemplified!   

The Spear the Pen, his precious Blood the Ink,  
Wherewith he, jesus, to this Deed subscribed;  
And Consummatum est, the Seal did sink  
To our Quietus est, that were proscribed:  
Then, by that jesus signed so with his Hand,  
Sealed with his Gore, we clear discharged stand.   

Ah might it please thy dread Exuperance,  
To write th'excript thereof in humble Hearts  
And give them us: Then, by Recgonizance,  
we'll aye be bound to praise Thee, for our parts:  
And if our indevotion break our Band,  
Our little All shall rest at Thy command.   

Our little All; for, all we haue's but little;  
Nay, less than nothing; all we have is Thine:  
Wilt have those Souls which thou in us didst settle?  
Retake them as thine own; for, theyare divine.  
Wilt have our Bodies which thou didst create?  
Then take them to thee thou true Panaret.   

Such forfeiture, were too too fortunate  
For such unhappy Bodies, luckless Souls:  
Then, would we ever our Bonds violate,  
Sith Freedom so their forfeiture enrols  
In Book of Life, in heavens Exchequer rich,  
Where we, as free, as freely would keep touch.   

And thou my Soul shouldst be the Antitype  
Of what thou art, sith thou art Slave to Sin:  
True Pattern of true virtues Archetype  
Than shouldst thou be; and being, rest therein!  
Yet resting so, that, thou shouldst ever move  
To Him, that hath so dearly bought thy love!   

That though Confusion shall dispuluerate  
All that this Round, Orbiculer, doth bear,  
Yet, He that so doth supererogate,  
Shall aye, in order, my Thanks Organs hear:  
The Orbs of Heaven shall stop, and Time shall stay;  
But, they shall sound his Praise an endless day!   

feign would I fix my Thoughts, with these sharp Thorns,  
To these sore wounds, that these sharp Thorns do tent;  
Such Sight a squeamish stomach overturns,  
But comforts mine, with Matter subjacent:  
My Thorny sins, each Thorns deep Sepulture,  
Doth, in Charybdises of Blood, devour!   

For, look how Pikes in Battailes-front are pight,  
To bide the shock of Foes, crossed every way:  
So through his Brows these Thorns are crossed quite,  
To bide the shock of sins, which him affray:  
These Thorns, through pierced (besides that is within)  
Have length enough to pierce the Head of sin..   

But now my Soul make thou a swift regress,  
(Yet Rose-sweet is the ingress to these briars)  
From whence, through sense thereof, thou didst digress,  
And view, with wonder, what the Heaven admires:  
For, God that is most jealous of his honour,  
For Men, most vile, endures most base dishonour!   

justice, unjustly, for Injustice deemed;  
And scourged, crowned, wounded, priest to die:  
A Worm, no Man, this God-man, for Man, seemed;  
For, formless is divine Formosity!  
Dry Root, parched Plant, burnt Leaf, and withered Flower,  
Yet fruit It hath, that hath reviving power!   

As when bright Phoebus (Landlord of the Light)  
And his Fee-farmer Luna, most are parted,  
He sets no sooner, but she comes in sight:  
So, when our sins from God had us averted,  
The Lord of Life no sooner set in Death,  
But gave us (Lunatics) Lifes light beneath.   

He that the Earth within His Palm includes,  
And Heavens Embrace-all measures with His Span,  
A Rough-cast of thick Gore his Body shrouds;  
Then, Blood exhausted, Flesh is weak, and wan.  
For, as Thorns did his Head, convulnerate:  
So, Rods all round did Him excoriate!   

It's pleasant to recount our Woe in weal;  
These Stripes had I deserved, which He endures:  
These deep Incisions, my Pride's Swellings heal  
Then must I joy in counting what It cures:  
" To tell the jerkes with joy, that joy do bring,  
" Is both a wealesull, and a woeful thing.   

These most Herodian-cruelties effected;  
His People-pleasing Dooms-man Him presents  
To Furies fell, (with Hellish rage affected)  
That joy in His past Hellish Languishments:  
Yet for He hoped to point at Pity than  
In sorrows Map; He saith, Behold the Man!   

Behold the Man, and not the God behold?  
Yes Bifax, God and Man behold in Him:  
His Person both those Natures doth enfold;  
But, Man thou see'st, but God thine Eyes doth dim:  
Thine Eye is Mortal, and no mortal Eye  
Can brook the splendour of heavens Majesty!   

Yet had thine Eyes been equal (though obscure)  
Thou mightst have clearly seen this spotless Man  
A God in Word, in Deed in Life, in Power:  
But he's most blind that will not see, and can.  
The Earth did interpose itself between  
Thee, and God's son, else God thou mightst have seen.   

But what provoked thee, Pilate, so to rue,  
His case in case no more but Man He were?  
Thou heard'st (no doubt) his Words and Works were true  
Wonders, and Miracles; which made thee fear;  
And, fearing, rue his Case: but Fear, nor Ruth,  
Can make thee (False-heart) to acquit this Truth.   

The more is thy Souls torment, by how much  
The more thy soul did eye his Truth, and Power;  
If his Disgrace, and griefs did make thee gruch,  
Thy gruching soul, thy greater Grief procures:  
If thou, unlike thyself, thyself dost thwart,  
Thy dole dies not, when thine own Cross thou art.   

Can that clear Element, that quencheth fire  
(Although it clear thy Hands) thy Conscience clear?  
Or quench a Souls just (with sin raged) ire?  
No, Hypocrite, to wash thouart near the near:  
But drops of grace, and Tears, well mixed with moan,  
May pierce, with falling, the chief Corner Stone.   

Nor can a Prince's Laws, if most unright,  
Excuse the judge, that judgeth by those Laws:  
Nor Ignorance shall Guiltiness acquit;  
The judge must judge his own, and Prince his Cause:  
For, if his Laws would have him judge amiss,  
He breaks God's law, to keep those Laws in this.   

Then judges (though therefore ye be misjudged)  
If Man, without God, make Herodian laws,  
judge not by them, though ye by them be judged;  
Sith Means to ill Effects, are like their Cause:  
It's better die (for love of Equity)  
Than that, by us, an Innocent should die.   

But, ah (alas!) alas it is too true,  
Too many judges of this Iron Age,  
(With brazen faces) will cross Christ anew,  
For Prince's love, Rewards, and Patronage:  
These, these are they, that make the World so ill;  
Who make the Laws speak as their oblivion's will.   

How many Lands groan underneath this Load?  
Those Patrons of Oppression so abound;  
Who make an Hell, where-ere they make abode;  
And for Coin, crossed; the Cross of Christ confound:  
For, having got the Law into their Hands,  
Make Law, for meed, cross Christ, and Laws commands.   

All Ages had a grudge of this Disease;  
But, this Age lies quite speechless of the same:  
For, judgement oft is mute (for want offees)  
And fingers Things, in sign of death, with shame:  
Christ's Cross him speed, that thinks to speed in Suits  
That hath but only Liquids for these Mutes. 
Tears.    

Many a woeful Mothers sighing Child  
Goes to the gibbet, by their judge misdoomed,  
Because they had not judgements hands defiled  
With that wherein she seeks to be intoomed!  
O crime of crimes! when Men must lose their breath  
Not for their faults, but theirs that doom them death.   

And many a Fathers, true begotten, Son,  
Invokes the Heavens, for judgement on their judge;  
By whom, both They, and Theirs, have been undone,  
Either for want of giving, or some grudge:  
Who, through their judges fault, are lands bereft,  
And oft by him hanged afterwards for Theft▪   

Then can no death, nor torment be too sore  
For judges, judging for love, fear, or meed;  
Whose Skins were nailed to judgement-seats of yore,  
That judges Eyes, thereon, might daily feed:  
For, though the Prince be good, if bade they be,  
His Realm is ruled, as nought were worse than He!   

NOw, Soul return, with thy sole Souls return,  
It will not be, they will not pity him;  
Again He goes, no torment serves their turn,  
But Death, with torment, must part Life, from Limb:  
Now, Barrabas is freed, Christ judged to die;  
Onespils, the other sheds blood, diversly!   

That Man-destroyer is from Death preserved;  
This Man-preseruer, Death must strait destroy:  
Right's made away, and Wrong is still reserved;  
In nought but in Christ crucified they joy:  
So, do good Christians too, but here's the odds,  
They are the devils demesne, but Christians, Gods.   

The ruthless Crucifige now they cry,  
Like hungry Hounds that close pursue the Pray;  
Whose blood to suck, their pliant judge they ply  
With ceaseless clamours, Him to make away:  
And thus (to urge him to't) they cry at once,  
His blood be on us and our little oncs.   

These Cries, for blameless Blood, diverberate  
The high resounding Heavens convexity:  
That bloods loud Cries the skies do penetrate  
With shrill Vindicta's irresistibly:  
" If Men have blood for blood, by justice course,  
" Gods blood in Equity hath much more force.   

Man's blood is spilled, for spilling blood of Man;  
Because Man's spirit alone, resembleth Gods;  
But God's the thing itself; by justice than  
Between both bloods is odds, surmounting odds!  
The Ransom of the World is rich, (Christ knows)  
Who spills it then deserves a world of woes.   

The damned Doomesman hath him judged to death,  
(The devil that devil elinguate for his doom)  
O wavering Weathercock! what way ward breathe  
Turned thee about, from thy first holy-doome?  
Doth thy damned double Tongue judge him to die,  
Whom self same Tongue, before, did justify?   

Past is thy judgement on this judge of All;  
His judgement on thee is, as yet, to come:  
Thy doom, in thy own Thoughts was partial;  
But He, on thee, shall give a righteous doom:  
Pilate farewell; till then, Christ bids th'adue,  
When fiends shall plague thee, as fiends plague him now!   

NOw, Eye of Spirit, behold this Spectacle;  
Christ's Cross him speed, Cross on his Back He bears;  
That Tree, (that Soule-refreshing Vmbracle,  
Together with our Sin) His shoulders tears:  
" When Cross, and Sin and Gods most heavy hate  
" Depend on Flesh, they Flesh do lacerate!   

Ah! see how th'All-supporting shoulders bow  
Under this Burden most importable▪  
And, how his Legs do double, as they go;  
As forced to bear much more than they are able▪  
(Disabled through our frailty) lo, how He  
Yields to th'oppression of this yielding Tree!   

He, all whose life was nothing but a Cross  
Of all Soule-vexing Crosses, life to wrack;  
Those, by retail he had, but This, in gross,  
Is laid on him; so, quite to break his Back:  
Backe-broken lo, He wends, with these grave freights,  
To cast this Crosse-like Anchor in Death's straits.   

No step He treads, but to those straits they tend;  
Crossed with Christs-Crosse, or a Cross per se:  
He Mutes, and Consonants did add to th'end:  
His Mothers bitter tears the Liquids be:  
The jews the Vowels are, that spell his woe  
That life expels; These make the Christ-cross Row!   

See how the sweat falls from his bloodless Brows,  
Which doth illiquefact the clotted Gore:  
His Burden pains him so with pinching Throws,  
That (labouring) lo, he faints with travel sore:  
His corporal powers annihilated quite  
(With Pains incursions) lo, yield now outright.   

Now at a Stand He stays yet hardly stands;  
For, bloodless, breathless, powerless, is his Body:  
Now faints that Power that Heaven and Earth commands;  
His Body bloodless all, and yet all bloody;  
Drawn out by boisterous Blows sanguinolent,  
Which make him stand with Body double bent!   

O see my Soul, ah cast thy careful Eye  
Upon this Miracle-surmounting Wonder!  
The Body of thy God is wrenched awry,  
And double bowed this massy Burden under!  
Is He made crooked that was ever straight?  
He is so made, but made so most unright.   

Ah see how his most holy Hand relies  
Upon his knees, to underprop his Charge:  
Now Simon-Cyrene help, or else he dies,  
The Cross hath broke his Back, it is too large:  
Then, take It off, lest Malice be prevented,  
And He die yer fell Fury be contented.   

Weep Daughters of jerusalem amain,  
Here, wash his weary Body with your Tears▪  
Though He, in Love, doth will you them refrain,  
Yet sith He, for your Love, this Burden bears,  
Help, with your sorrow, to condole his grief,  
For, Mates in Mean, yield Misery relief.   

Weep Ioy and Mirth, although it cross your kind,  
To see your kind Lord thus unkindly Crossed:  
Crossed all, in all; in Life, Death, Body, Mind;  
But, crossed least in his Cross, that crossed him most:  
For, that, though cruel, most did him relieve,  
Sith it did end, the Deaths, that Life did give.   

It's mercy the condemned, strait to rid  
Out of the pains, to which condemned they be;  
Christ's cursed Cross then show this mercy did;  
For which, ere since, it's called a blessed Tree!  
Where Pain, itself, doth pity more than Men,  
Who will not pity, there, the Pained then?   

It's said, the longer that the world doth wear  
The worse It is; the last Days are the worst:  
But, these last Times, though bad, do nothing bear  
That can, so martyr aught, that Nature nursed:  
And did not Truth, itself, the same avow,  
Who would believe this Tragedy were true?   

Then who's a Particle of highest Power,  
That will not weep to see It brought so low?  
What Eyes so Gorgonized, that can endure,  
To see the All-upholder forced to bow?  
Then, sith he's bowed that canopied the sky,  
Let Earth in centre of her Centre lie!   

Dismount your towering Thoughts, aspiring Minds;  
Vnplume their wings in flight pennipotent;  
Sith He that flees on wings of swiftest Winds,  
And with heavens Monarch is equipollent,  
Deigns to detrude His Super-excellence  
So low, to check base Earth's magnificence!   

O thou that back'st the Sunbright Cherubins,  
And gallop'st o'er the glittering Lamps of Heaven,  
Behold thy Son sole Lord of Seraphins,  
Humbled to Earth; nay, with the Earth made e'en!  
O let his deject highest Lowliness,  
Our pride, and thy fell plagues, for pride, suppress.   

Remount us by His fall, from whence we fell;  
He's fallen in't hands of Sin, of Griefs the Ground;  
Those self same Hands, threw us from Heaven to Hell;  
Yet by's hard fall, O let us back rebound:  
And for we are the Mammothrepts of Sin,  
Cross us with Christ, to wean our joys therein.   

Upon this Stand of Christ still could I stand,  
To view, with Pities Eyes His Wondrous plight:  
My Muse is gravelled here in Silos Sand;  
And all profundity o'erwhelms Her sprite,  
That Weakness so should cross th' Almighty's Will,  
As priest to go, yet oppressed standeth still!   

NOw let a sacred Trance transport thy Spirit  
O Man, ●o that unholy-holy Mount;  
Christ-cross supporting Mount, where He did merit  
By bitter death, from death, thy Lives remount:  
Mount-Tabor All will mount to see his glory,  
But few his grief, will mount Mount Caluarie.   

There see, ah see, (though torture-tyred quite)  
How He (weak Worm) creeps up the Hill in Haste:  
Yet, lo, the ruthless jews, with main, and might,  
(Beyond His might) do lug him to His last:  
As doubting feeble Flesh would faint, and die,  
To cross their, Crosse-intended, cruelty.   

Fell Envy dies with Death; but, Malice lives  
In Life, and Death of those she seeks to bite:  
The death of whom her, half dead, oft revives;  
Yet, grieves that Death hath freed them from her spite:  
Then Malice doth 'gainst Mercy most rebel;  
For she her foes pursues past Death, and Hell!   

When jonathan (all fearless) scaled the Rocks 
〈…〉. 14   
Where, charged he was with troops of Philistines,  
His Man him equalled in sustaining knocks:  
Then (lo) our jonathan (charged with our sins)  
Now climbs up calvary, to foil our fone,  
And shall we (cowards) leave him there alone?   

When Saul's bold Squire had seen his Lord to fall 
Reg. 31.   
Upon his sword, he forth with did the same;  
And, rather chose death with his General,  
Than spare his life to die with living shame:  
Then sith our Saul falls on his justice Sword  
For us, we die should, like wise, for our Lord.   

Now have they scaled this mestive Mountain top,  
O'ertopped with dead men's Tops, and fleshless Shins:  
(A grim aspect!) but here, with joy they hop,  
Sith here their Plays Catastrophe begins:  
Among Death's Trophies, th'Engine of his Death,  
Is laid along the Dead-skull-paved Earth.   

See, see, my Soul, (ah hark how It doth crack!)  
The Hand of Outrage, that deglutinates  
His Vesture, glued with gore-blood to his Back,  
Which his enfestered Sores exulcerates!  
Ah ●●e a God or rather Grave, God knows,  
For, now more like a Grave, than God he shows:   

There stands He shaking in a Fever-fit,  
While the cold Air his Wounds confrigerates;  
Where on some cold Stone (faint) he's sane to sit,  
Which to itself his Sores conglutinates:  
The while his Tort'rers make the Morteffe ready,  
To hold the Cross, that must sustain him, steedie.   

Which being done, see how their Teeth they grind,  
And rudely rend, not raise, him from that Stone:  
There stick the cataplasma's still behind,  
As proofs how they do part this Holy-One:  
They bear him to the Cross, but so they bear him,  
As in their portage they do rather tear him.   

See now thereon how they long-straught him stretch,  
And first one Hand; fast to the same they nail;  
Mean while hard by doth stand a ruthless Wretch,  
That 'gainst this Lamb, with open mouth, doth rail:  
Alas the while, what dolour is He in  
Ah now, e'en now, sweet Christ, thy woes begin.   

There with one Hand, nailed to the Tree, he lies,  
Hand-fasted so to Dolours heaui'st Hand;  
The while his foes protract their Tyrranies,  
That so his Cross might still lie at a Stand:  
Who fretat Time that fled, they thought, too fast,  
And past, in pity, from the pity past.   

Yet that no Time might scape, without offence,  
They fill his Ears with Blasphemies the while;  
The while Spite studies so to plague his sense,  
That ceaseless plagues Times pity might beguile:  
While Heminds nothing but their only good,  
And freely bleeds, to save them with his blood!   

His holy Heart doth ache, more for their sin  
Than for the Torments which they make it prove;  
Who opes his Heart, to take his Plaguers in,  
Till he God's plagues, by Plagues, from them remove:  
Did ever Mercy, justice so o'erflow,  
To save Injustice, while it works her woe?   

Mercy, o'erwhelmed in woe, to justice prays  
To pardon unjust damned Cruelties;  
And with deep sighs, and groans her griefs bewrays,  
Lest justice should confound her Enemies:  
O Mercy infinite! how much are We  
(Loose in our Lives, and Manners) bound to Thee?   

And yet this Mercy, Patience, Grace, and Love,  
Can nought avail, their rage to mitigate;  
Who try what pain the perfectest flesh may prove,  
Yer pains the vital Powers quite dissipate:  
Trieye Conclusions, Devils, on your God,  
That brooks your jerkes to free you from the Rod?   

Now Time, not Mercy, moves their Hearts of Steel  
(Because the Sun wends (mourning) to the West)  
To take the other Hand like pain to feel;  
Yet still prorogue the Consummatum est:  
So, to the Cross that Hand they slowly fix,  
And still his pain with mocks and mows they mix.   

Both Hands thus nailed; lo, how they skip for joy,  
To see the blood come spinning from his veins:  
And, for they would his sight the more annoy,  
Like, worse than fiends, they triumph in his pains.  
Then glorious is his Triumphs excellence,  
That such spite conquers with such patience!   

His Hands thus handled, than his feet they take,  
And with a Nail of more than ample size,  
They boar them through; which makes them so to ache,  
That It wrings water from his Manhood's Eyes!  
Weep Angels Saints, and ye Celestial Spheres,  
To see your Glories Eyes, eclipsed with Tears!   

Thus being fixed upon the senseless Cross  
(How beit it cracked in token of its cares!)  
Now here, now there, the same they turn, and toss,  
Which scarce can beare* That, which her Burden bears: 
sin..   
If Heart of Oak, with these griefs, broken be,  
What Hearts have they, that joy the same to see?   

For, lo, with joy to see the same they hie,  
While He, sweet Christ, lies nailed amidst the Throng:  
Here stands one grinning with his neck awry;  
There stands another, lolling out the Tongue:  
Mean while, O Christ, thy pains no Tongue can tell,  
Save only Thine, that knewest such pains too well!   

Well, yet at length his Body up they rear,  
The poise whereof, constrains the Cross to crack:  
Ah hark (my Muse) hark, hark, how in the Air  
It groans to feel the God of Nature's wrack:  
Crack on, sweet Cross, and call for vengeance due,  
Against those Wolves which Nature's God pursue.   

Thus being reared, He hou'ring hangs on high,  
In doubt, as yet, what place in the Air to have;  
For, now this way he reels, and by and by  
The other way, he's tossed, like a Wave:  
The while on Dolours Deeps, in storms of Strife,  
With Arms displayed, He swims to lose his Life!   

Now up He is, and past the Pikes thus far,  
As one spewed out of Heaven, and cast from Earth;  
For, Heaven, and Earth do both against Him war,  
Who travels now, with our Redemptions birth:  
The whiles the Fiend doth tempt Him, in these woes,  
That so He might that blessed Burden lose.   

But now, ah now ensues a pinching pain;  
For, having brought him to the Sockets Brims,  
(That should the reeling Cross, and Him sustain)  
They jog it in to lacerate his limbs:  
No marvel though the Temple's vail did rend,  
Being near such tearing of th'Omnipotent!   

O Christ, my jesus, (dear, celestial Sweet)  
In this annoy, thine ease, as should appear,  
Was nought but this, to rest thee on thy feet,  
When as thy Hands with hanging weary were:  
And then to ease thy numbed feet again,  
Thou mak'st thy Hands thy heavy corpse sustain.   

If for thine aching Head thou seekest ease,  
Then lo, a Wreath of thorns bewraps thy Brows;  
Whose piercing pricks, thy Head do so disease,  
That it confounds the same with pinching Throws:  
That Head, whose Members It exhilarates,  
Now agonizing anguish macerates.   

All Members feel the anguish of the Head,  
In Animals whose Souls are sensitive;  
Except, through Accident, the same be dead;  
But Members to rejoice, when Head doth grieve  
Is most unnatural; but Grace in this,  
Makes Headsannoy become the Body's bliss!   

If towards the Heavens for help thou cast thine Eyes,  
Lo, there thou seest thy Father's Brows to bend,  
Against Man's sin, which on thy shoulders lies,  
So that he looks more like a foe than friend.  
If to the Earth, for help, thou look'st again,  
Lo, there thyfoes stand priest t'increase thy pain,   

In this extreme thy friends fled every one,  
Albeit thou didst foretell they should do so:  
Only thy Mother, and thy darling john,  
Stood by thee still, wring their hands for woe:  
These blessed Pair, repaired to thee then  
When thou seemedst left of God, and loathed of Men,   

The hateful Homicide, the damned Thief,  
Which on thy left hand hung, derides thy power;  
And for thou wouldst not yield thyself relief,  
Thou couldst not; he (wretch) thought, with thought unpure:  
So, many deemethy Members fit of Thee,  
When they with mortal torments martyred be.   

But Faith is most complete, when Sense hath nought  
Where on to give her, but the least repose;  
When Means, whereby her Battles must be fought,  
Fail utterly; yet, She no ground to lose:  
This faith is worthy of the Cross, and Crown,  
Because when all is lost, she holds her own!   

This faith the Thief, that on thy right hand hung,  
Had in full force; for, what saw he in thee,  
(Save extreme Patience in a World of wrong)  
That he should think thee God and Man to be?  
Who justified thee, to be justified,  
And prayed to Thee, as to Man Deified!   

O thou true Thief, more true was never any,  
Would in thy case I were for all thy pain;  
Thy pains, to day, shall pass to pleasures many,  
Too many for man's heart to entertain!  
O blessed Thief (so blest was never Thief)  
To die with him whose death's thy Souls relief!   

But now, O Christ, how farest thou all this while?  
Not well, I wot, though well it be for me:  
Ah look how all thy foes do grenne, and smile,  
To see thy vile advancement on this Tree:  
Come down, say they, and save thyself, for why,  
Thou art God's Son, and therefore canst not die.   

But, these their words are most ironical,  
Proceeding from the depth ofscorne, and hate:  
And all their words and deeds tyrannical;  
Undoing all that do thy woes abate:  
O! envious Serpents hatched in Hèll belo,  
What fiend a faultless Soul could torture so?   

Down from the height of his exalted Cross  
He casts his dazzled Eyes, with motion slow,  
Upon his blessed Mother; ah how close  
Her Heart with woe is shut, to feel his woe!  
His woe she feels; for, of her Flesh is He,  
Than all His Bodies pains, Her Bodies be.   

His Body's pain, Her Soul and Body pines;  
Her extreme love in all extremity,  
His passions feel; for, such Love near repines  
To suffer with her Object feelingly:  
If then, Her loves life, Death of Deaths, endures,  
judge what a Hell of woe Her Soul immures!   

Woman (quoth He) behold, behold thy Son!  
(Thns said in few, as He had said thus much;)  
Behold his end, that at thyself 
* In respect of his manhood  begun;  
Behold his Body, that nor Filth could touch,  
Is now defil'd with Blood, and festered Sores,  
Both which (thou seest) that Body all begores!   

Behold thy Son! now nailed unto a Tree;  
Whom to thy Breast, of yore, thy Love did nail:  
Behold his Head, which oft was wound by Thee,  
Now Thorns, sharp set, do wonnd, and sore assail!  
Those Limbs, which thou hast milk-bathed on thy Lap.  
Are now allore besmeared with Bloody rap.   

Ah! see those Eyes, in which thou woont'st to pry,  
As if therein thou saw'st a World of grace!  
Now see them (sinking) stand, as Death stood by,  
Whose ghastly presence inserenes my face:  
Woman, behold thy Son! plagued thus for this,  
That He, for Man's dear love his JESUS is.   

O! Heartstrings hold, or rather Heartstrings break;  
What Heart can hold, all this to see and hear?  
Then can a Woman's Heart (by nature weak)  
The heavy weight of God's fell vengeance bear?  
The plagues he felt, God's wrath for sin inflicted,  
For which, she's fellow-feelingly afflicted!   

O blessed virgin Marie! (holy Mould  
That bore the blessed fruit of lesse-flow'r)  
Sith Grace, 'gainst Nature, made thy Heart to hold,  
That must be full of Grace, so full of Power!  
O let Eternity thy laud's enshrine  
Within all Mouths, or human, or Divine.   

And well may'st Thou be called full of Grace,  
Sith that the God of Grace thy Womb did fill!  
And blessed art Thou, for that blessed Case,  
Among all Men and Women of good will:  
For, they must ever bless Thee, that believe  
Thou gav'st him Flesh, by which their Spirits do live.   

O Star! giving light, for light, to Jacob's star,  
Shine Thou with light translucent in that Sphere  
His Sphere surrounds, and moveth without jar;  
In that immediate Orb to His appear  
A glorious Lamp, to lend all Women light,  
That walk, or wander in this world's dark Night.   

Let never Mouth be found so full of Gall,  
As to exaugurate thy blessed Name;  
But be Thou blest with praise perpetual;  
And let both Heaven and Earth sound out the same:  
Sith Thou bar'st Him, that on his Body bore  
The Penance of our Sin, thy cause of care.   

My Mother, and thine own (quoth He again)  
O john behold; and, take thou mine as thine;  
Be thou Her son, in all that doth pertain  
To all those blessed Sons, whose Sire is mine:  
In love, in care, in diligence and duty,  
Be thou Her Son, sith this to Sons is sutie.   

Comfort Her Heart, Her woe-crosse-wounded Heart;  
She is a Woman, Man assuage Her Woe  
With Manly Comforts; thou more cheerful art,  
Although thy Gall be full of grièfe, I know;  
Yet being strong thou better mayst sustain It,  
And help Her Heart, with Grief split, to contain It!   

You that pass by this place, 
* Lam. 1. 12.  behold me too,  
And see if any pains be like to mine!  
Read on my Head what I was borne unto;  
ACROWNE: and yet my Crown my Head doth pine:  
Witness the Holes the same makes in my Erowes,  
And witness That, that from those Fountains flows.   

See, see, ah see, how I, that made this All,  
Am made (far worse than All!) A mere Offence!  
Look in my face, if thou canst for thy Gall,  
And seest ought there, like me, but patience?  
For, there thou seest (bathed in sanguine streams)  
Where Pain, and Patience sits in highest extremes!   

O you that pass by me, see how I hang  
In torment such, as no flesh ere did feel;  
As if all pains, in one, were in each pang;  
As if the Serpent more than stung my Heel:  
The ease I have, is Worlds of all disease;  
Sith Man shall sure the better, far, for These.   

Number my Bones; for, now they may be so,  
(Sith bare they be) and tell how many must  
Make up the true Anatomy of Woe;  
For, in me you shall find that figure just:  
Sith PAINE was never proud of her degree,  
Vnull, in Purple, she was crowned in me!   

You that do pass by me, see how my Palms  
For you are rend, and all their sinews cracked;  
O give me then, at least, your Pities Alms;  
Sith for your Treasons (ah) I thus am Racked:  
Then, sith this Rack, from wracks doth set you free,  
Can you do less than love the Rack for me?   

My Pains not only free you, from annoy,  
(Yea, such annoy, as no thought can conceive)  
But make you owe, withal, all endless joy,  
Which, for your love, in'pangs of Death I give:  
Then, O dear Pilgrims, pity you my pain,  
And love, O love me, lest I die in vain.   

You that do pass by me, my Feet behold,  
(That in the way of Sinners never stood)  
How they my Body bear, not as they should,  
Yet as they should they bear It, for your good:  
Then, wash my Feet (with Marie) with one Tear,  
Sith all your sins, they, with my Body, bear!   

And see if you can any place espy  
About that Body, free from Wounds, or Blows;  
If not, then pity me, for whom I die,  
Pity, O pity, my unpitied woes:  
But, if you cannot, woe be to me then;  
For, I had near felt woe, but for you Men.   

The Fountain of my Blood (my liver's) dry;  
In vain my thirsty Veins do suck the same:  
No burning Coal can be more hot than I;  
For, vehement pain, doth all my parts inflame:  
In every Nerve, like wild fire, it doth rage,  
Without one drop of Mercy It to suage.   

See, see how Anguish makes my Soul to beat  
My panting sides, for holding her in pain;  
Who seeks (poor Soul) to shift her weary Seat,  
Which plagues her more, the more she toils, in vain:  
Sith thus in Love, for Man, sh'endures this doule,  
Then, in love, pity (Man) my painful Soul.   

And let it grieve thy Soul, my Soul to grieve,  
That thus doth languish for the love of thee:  
O let not thine, with mine unkindly strive;  
But that, but one Soul betwix thee, and me:  
And let true Love, in Deed, One, both us, make;  
That am thus more than broken, for thy sake!   

The time hath been (as knows ETERNITY)  
I rid upon the glorious Cherubins;  
And in my Hand held all Felicity;  
That now am made a Packhorse for thy Sins!  
I was, as God doth know, high as the Highest,  
Till I, for thee, took on me to be Christ.   

There was a Time, I was; what was I not  
That was not more than infinitely blest?  
But now thy Curse is fallen unto my Lot,  
And all to turn thy Curse unto the best.  
I give my life for thine (as thou dost prove)  
Nay, Heaven for Hell, and all but for thy love!   

The Time hath been when Angels compassed me,  
Still chanting Hymns in honour of my name;  
But, now am compassed with a company▪  
Of wretched Worms, that gnaw mine Honour's fame:  
Which fame to me, (witness my woes) is dear;  
Then, judge what 'tis such blasphemies to hear!   

No Sense, Power, Part, in Body, or in Soul,  
Nor parts of those Parts, but, in all extremes;  
Tormented are, in part, and in the whole;  
And quite o'erwhelmed with divine-furies streams!  
Sith then, O Love, I am thus plagued for Thee,  
Pity, O pity (Dear Love) pity me.   

Sith God hath jest me, as I Heaven have left;  
And PAIN hath put me where her life doth lie;  
Nay, sith myself, am of myself bereft;  
Sith being LIFE, to give thee Life, I die:  
Sith, this, and more than this, is done for thee,  
Pity (Dear Love) in Love, O pity me.   

O! NATURE, careful Mother of us all,  
How canst thou live, to see thy God thus die?  
To hear his Pains, thus, thus for Pity call,  
And yet to find no grace in Pities Eye!  
Thy Frame, dear Nature, should be quite dissolved,  
Or thy whole Powers into Tears resolved!   

His Anguish having this, in silence, said,  
See, now, how He sore labours for the last;  
The last deneere of sins debt being defrayed,  
It now remains that Death the Reckoning cast:  
But, heavy Death, because the Sum is great,  
Takes yet some longer time to do the feat.   

But now, my Soul, here let us make a Station,  
To view perspicuously this sad aspect;  
And, through the jacobs-staff of Christ his passion,  
Let's spy, with our right Eye, his Pains effect:  
That in the labyrinth of his Languishment  
We may, though lost therein, find solagement.   

The Mind, still crossed with Heart-tormenting Crosses,  
Here, finds a Cross to keep such Crosses out;  
Here, may the Loser find more than his losses;  
If Faith believe, what, here, Faith cannot doubt:  
For, all his Wounds, with voice vociferant,  
Cry out they can, more than supply each want!   

This holy Cross is the true Tutament,  
Protecting all ensheltred by the same;  
And though Disasters face be truculent,  
Yet will this Engine set it fair in frame:  
This is the feeble Souls nere-failing Crouch,  
And grieved Bodies hard, but wholesom'st, Couch.   

Look on this Cross, when thou art stung with Care,  
It cures forthwith, like Moses mettled Snake:  
What can afflict thee, when thy passions are  
Patterned by His, that Pains, Perfections make?  
Wilt be so God unlike, to see thy God  
Embrace the Whip, and thou abhor the Rod?   

See, see, the more than all soul-slaying Pains  
Which more than all, for Thee and all he proved;  
What Man, excepta God he be, sustains  
Such Hells of pain for Man, with Mind unmoved:  
What Part (as erst was said) of all his Parts  
But tortured is with smarts, exceeding smarts!   

His Veins, and Nerves, that channellize his Blood,  
By violent Convulsions all confracted:  
His Bones, and joints, from whence they whilom stood,  
With Racking, quite disloked, and distracted:  
His Head, Hands, Feet, yea all from Top to Toe,  
Make but th'imperfect Corpse, of perfect Woe!   

O that mine Head, were Head of sevenfold Nile,  
That from the same might flow great Floods of Tears,  
Therein to bathe his bloodless Body, while  
His Blood effuzed, in sight confuzed, appears:  
Then should my Tears egelidate his Gore,  
That from his Blood founts, for me, flowed before.   

O burning Love! O large, and lasting Love!  
What Angels tongue thy limits can describe?  
That dost extend thyself all Love above,  
For which all praise, Love aught to Thee ascribe:  
Sith scarce the Tongue of God's Humanity,  
Can well describe this boundless Charity!   

Why do I live? alas why do I live?  
Why is not my Heart lovesick to the Death?  
But, shall I live, my loving Love to grieve?  
O no, O rather let my lose my Breath.  
Then take me to thee, Love, O let me die  
Only but for thy Love, and Sin to fly.   

Stay me with Flagons, with Fruit comfort me;  
Now I am sick, Heartsick of sweetest love:  
Then let me live (sweet Love) alone in Thee;  
For, Love desires in That, beloved, to move:  
I live, and move in Thee; but yet, O yet,  
I live to move; that is, to make Thee fret!   

Shall Fleshless frailty, O! shall ever Flesh  
Extercorate her filth Thee to annoy?  
Or shall the same be ever found so nesh  
As not t'endure Paine-temporall, that light Toy?  
The Heavens forefend that Flesh should so offend,  
Sith God, in Flesh, was wracked, Flesh, marred, to mend.   

Look Turks, and Pagans on this Spectacle;  
See, through the same, the errors ye are in:  
This is true Faith's entire Subtectacle;  
Propitiatory Sacrifice for Sin:  
This is God crucified, which ye despise,  
Because His Manhood's meekness hurts your Eyes.   

Tell me would ever Man but God, and Man,  
Freely, of self accord, accord to bear  
God's Angers plagues, for Man, which no Man can,  
That on this God and Man inflicted were?  
None but a God, whose Power is infinite,  
Can brook the pains that are indefinite!   

Let go his Works, mere Metaphysical,  
Which World will witness, though the World doth hate him,  
(That might suffice to prove Him God in All)  
And look but on the price his friends did rate him,  
With all the plagues his powers, for Foes, sustain,  
You must confess 'tis God that bides such pain,  
And that your faith is false, and Golpell vain.   

Who joy unmeasurable can bear, unjoyed,  
And Grief intolerable sustain, ungrieved,  
Must needs be God; that is with neither cloyed,  
And of his grace, by neither, is deprived:  
This is that God, that All-supporting Power,  
Our Faith's Foundation, and the Church's Tower!   

To thee my God, my Lord, my jesus Christ,  
Will I ascribe all Glory, Power, and Grace;  
Thee will I serve (say Pagans what they list)  
And, with the Arms of Love, thee still embrace:  
That for my love, in love, dost deign to die  
This death of shame, my life to glorify.   

O let the Sum of all, be all and some,  
Comprised in thy Heau'n-surmounting praise,  
That waist, that art, and shalt be, aye to come,  
The Subject of thy Subjects thankful Lays:  
Who, with advanced voice, do Carol forth,  
The praise of thine inestimable Worth!   

And sith thy Soul, for me, is so conflicted,  
My Soul, to thee, in griefs, shall be affected;  
And, for thy Flesh, through love, is so afflicted,  
My Flesh, for thy high love, shall be dejected:  
Soul, Flesh, and Spirit, for thy Spirit, Flesh, and Soul,  
Shall (longing) pine, in Flesh-repining Dole.   

Mine only School shall be Mount calvary,  
The Pulpit but the Cross; And Teacher none  
But the mere Crucifix to mortify;  
No Letters but thy blessed Wounds alone:  
No Commaes but thy Stripes; no Periods  
But thy Nails, Crown of Thorns, spear, Whips, & Rods.   

None other Book but thy unclasped Side  
(Wherein's contained all Skills Angelical)  
None other Lesson but Christ crucified  
Will I ere learn: for, that is all in all:  
Wherein Selfe-Curiositie may find  
Matter to please the most displeased Mind.   

Here, by our Master's Nakedness, we learn  
What Weeds to wear: by his Thorn, crowned head,  
How to adorn us: and, we may discern  
By his most bitter Gall, how to be fed:  
How to revenge, by praying for his foes;  
And, lying on his Cross, how to repose.   

For, when we read him over, see we shall,  
His Head with Thorns, his Ears with Blasphemies;  
His Eyes, with Tears; his honnied Mouth with Gall;  
With Wounds, his Flesh; his Bones with Agonics  
All full: and yet (withal) to hear him say,  
So Man might live, he would thus languish aye!   

O Work without Example! And O Grace  
Without deserving! Love! O largest love  
Surmounting measure! that for Worms so base  
And basely bad, such Hells of woes doth prove!  
Had we been friends, what would he then have done,  
That, being his foes, no woes for us doth shun?   

For, lo, he hangs in Torments most extreme,  
Wrapped in the entrails often thousand Evils;  
While (Christ) thy foes thy noble name blaspheme,  
And rave against thee like outrageous Devils:  
From out their baneful Bulks all spite they spew,  
Till PAIN did Hydra-headed Pain subdue!   

But now, begin the angry Heavens to scowl,  
And Phoebus hides from thee his golden Head:  
Now, Satan toils, to tempt thy sacred Soul:  
Now, sinks thy Body down, as it were dead:  
Now, quakes the Earth, now rends the Temple's vail,  
And now thy Senses do themselves assail.   

Now, frowns thy Father, with a dreadful look;  
Now, burns his wrath, which fire thy Soul doth fear:  
Now, gape the Graves of Saints, which now awoke  
From out the sleep of Death, wherein they were:  
Now roars the Thunder in the gloomy sky,  
Now Satan yells, because his foiles so nigh.   

Orion, now, doth muster misty Clouds,  
Wherewith the foggy Air is darkened quite:  
And now, thy Father's face from thee he shrouds,  
That whilom wont, on thee, to shine so bright:  
All which compel thy Manhood thus to cry,  
Ely, Ely, Lammasabacthanie!   

Now, down thy holy Head begins to sink;  
And now the Hand of Death doth close thine Eyes:  
Thy Tongue, inflamed with pain, now thirsts for drink;  
Which being revealed, that want, Spite strait supplies:  
Who gives thee (ah!) (to plague thy Taste withal,  
In gall of bitterness) the bitterest Gall▪   

But (by the way) here note, my mournful Muse,  
The great! (ah terms I want aright t'express)  
The monstrous malice of these cankered jews,  
Who not content his Corpse with Pains t'oppress,  
Do ne'ertheless his Senses seek to spill,  
And grieve because his Soul they cannot kill!   

O Sons of Sin, can ye see justice-sonne  
(So like the Son of all Impiety)  
Thus made a Chaos of Confusion,  
With Angels so to range you orderly,  
Yet live disordered? then (ah) what remains  
But lookt-for Worlds of all confused pains!   

Say, for his glory, he endures these Storms  
Without respect of your peculiar gain:  
Alas! what glory can GOD have of Worms,  
But such as he might loath, sith vile, as vain?  
Then, sith he for yours (not his glory) dies  
With shame, for shame die ye for his likewise.   

Sith He that's Lord of Bliss, and all Renown,  
Dives to the Ground of Shame, and sorrows Seas,  
To fetch up gems of joy, for Glories Crown,  
To place but on Man's Head, in Worlds of ease!  
Then Man should to the Ground of deep'st annoy  
Dive for like gems, his Lord, alike, to joy.   

Had we but Self-love in the kindest kind,  
This love alone would force us this to do:  
For, this Self-love (not like the other, blind,  
Seeing what joys such Woes do whaft us to)  
Makes us, for our own future endless ease,  
Love to be ducking still in sorrows Seas.   

Christ's bitter, and his latest draft thus drunk,  
The Pangs of Death begin each limb to Rack;  
Now picks his Soul, the Life's Lock of his Trunk;  
For now his dear Heartstrings begin to crack:  
Father, quoth he, to thee I give my Soul;  
For now is finished both my Life, and doule.   

And for the up-shoot, Longius, with a Spear,  
Doth pierce his side, and cleaves his Heart in twain;  
From which, as from an hallowed Fountain clear,  
Both Blood, and Water gusheth forth amain:  
Drink now an Health, my Soul; for, this is Wine,  
Will all thy faculties, with grace, refine!   

For, this is Christ, through whose sides (souls to save)  
All Men are crucified: with whose last Breath  
All Men gave up the Ghost: within whose Grave  
All buried be: by whose arise from Death  
All are reviv'd: for, he, as we believe,  
Did live to die, that we might die to live.   

In Paradise from one self head did flow  
Four Streams, of Earth, to bathe each droughty limb:  
From Christ (Faith's Paradise) Blood floweth foe;  
From whose Heart, through his Hands, and Feet, doth swim  
(On floods of gore) the Ark of grace, where in  
Th'elect are saved from being wracked through sin.   

And from his side (beside) came welling forth  
Both Blood and Water full of Mystery;  
Blood to purge sin, and Water of like worth,  
To note new birth in Christian Infancy:  
From all whose Bodies parts to parts, and whole,  
Blood streamed forth to cleanse each Body's Soul.   

The Blood of Beasts effuzed in sacrifice  
Were Typical; yet pleased the angry Highest:  
But that did this (most pure) Blood symbolise;  
Those Shadows were dispelled by jesus Christ  
True justice Sun, in whom no shadow is,  
Either of Change, or Sin, or aught amiss.   

Here, perpendicularly hangs the Line  
By which from out the World's Maze men do go  
Unto a World more ample, more divine,  
Without which all go wrong to rightest woe:  
Then go by this, you that would not be lost;  
For, hereby you go right, how ever crossed.   

And if foul Sins, glued fast to flesh, and Blood  
So closely cling that they will not away  
Unless unloosed with a sanguine flood,  
This working Deluge will not let them stay:  
noah's flood confounded all, save eight alone,  
But this saves all that it hath overflown!   

NOw hath the great CREATOR, for Man's sake,  
The second Adam cast into a sleep;  
Whiles of his Heartblood He his Spouse doth make;  
For whom His Heart doth Blood, and Water weep:  
Which compound Tears are turned to joy, entire,  
For his Heartblood effects his Hearts desire!   

Which dear desire, was one dear Spouse to have,  
To be copartner of his Griefs and joys;  
Which when he woke, his God unto him gave,  
To comfort him in comforts, and annoys:  
Which when n he saw, He held (most fair to see!)  
flesh, of his Flesh, Bone, of his Bones to be!   

Now hath the Monster Flesh-devouring Death  
Got him within his Bowels; but (thoughdead)  
Look how a woman, groaning, languisheth  
In Childbirth till she be delivered,  
So groaneth Death, who traveleth in pain,  
Till of his charge he be discharged again.   

And as the * Babylonian Dragon broke 
Bell, & Dragon.   
So soon as daniel's Lumps his Mouth had filled;  
So, Death, that of Life's Lord a Meal did make,  
In sunder broke, and utterly was spilled:  
His Maw could not digest that blessed Bit,  
Made most immortal by his eating it.   

Nor could he vomit up this Bread of Life,  
Which (Poyson-like, while it in him abides)  
Had with his nature such uncessant strife,  
That it broke forth the next way through his sides:  
Sending celestial Beams, not to the sky,  
But to the Throne of highest divinity.   

Nor could He (as some Beasts rechew their meat,  
To cause the same the better to digest)  
Rechew this Bread, so fast, and so complete  
Made by his chewing, that it now must rest  
As free from Passion, as from violence,  
Guarded with power, and Glories excellence.   

O! that all Spirits of high Intelligence,  
(By royal Armies) would themselves immure  
In my blunt Brains; that, by their confluence,  
I might express (with Nectared Phrases pure)  
The praise that to this Passion right pertains,  
Whose sacred virtue, sacred Virtue, stains!   

The virtue of this Passion is of power  
Revenges Red, to change to Mercies White;  
This Passions virtue is so passing pure,  
That Fowl to Fair it turns, and Dark, to Light:  
" The Landmark to true Rest, when Troubles toss  
" (In sorrows seas) is Christ upon the Crosse.   

Ye unconfused orders Angellick  
In order come to take this Blood effuzed:  
Bring forth Celestial Bowls, with motion quick,  
To which this precious blood may be infused:  
Let not one drop be lost of such rare Blood,  
That makes men passing bad, exceeding good!   

Cover this Aquavitae with your wings  
From touch of Infidels, and jews profane:  
They have no interest in this King of Kings;  
Whose blood they sucked, which blood will be their bane:  
Make much thereof, sith but the least drop of it  
Is worth ten thousand Worlds for price, and profit:   

Yet, let poor Spirited Converts, drink their fill;  
And I will their dry Souls, till with it they swell;  
Such divine surfeiting is wholesome still;  
For, noisome Humours it doth quite expel:  
Yea, though, with grief, they swell, and break with pain,  
Such grief brings joy, and makes them whole again.   

The Elephants, of yore enured to war,  
Before the Fight, some blood were used to see;  
Which them incensed, the more to make them dare;  
Then, if a Beast shall not our better be,  
Sith Christ we see quite drowned thus in his Blood,  
We must endure the Rack, as he the Rood.   

Five Founts he opens; whence, do (gushing) flow  
Red Seas, to drown our black Egyptian sins;  
That they no more may seek our overthrow:  
Then, should we go, like Israel's Denizins,  
Though Wastes of Woes, orethrowing every Let,  
Till we into the Land of Promise get!   

NOw, to this Lifeless, yet Life-giving Body  
Return my Soul; see, see, how like a Clod  
He hangs, with gastly-grimme aspect, all bloody;  
Ah who would ween this Man should be a God?  
And yet what Man can doubt it, sith He died  
As Man, for Men, that this God crucified?   

What cheer O holy Marie, God's dear Mother?  
How fares thy Heart, transpierced with sorrows sword?  
Thy Son is slain; yet sure there is none other  
That kills, and strait reviveth with a Word!  
If He alone hath this almighty power,  
Doubt not but He himself, Himself will cure!   

What! do I doubt that thou a doubt dost make  
Of his revival? O! I wrong thee much  
Ifso I should; for, thy Faith cannot shake,  
Sith it is staid by God's unshaken Touch:  
Then, that thou shouldst be thus, so woe-begon,  
I see no cause, save Nature's course alone.   

Nature will yearn, when monstrous minded Men  
Prodigiously do violate Her Laws:  
But when they wrack herself, what will she then?  
Will she not mourn? to grieve, hath she no cause?  
She were unlike herself, and herself foe,  
If (touched so near) she were not touched with woe.   

Then, sacred Saint, thou must have leave to mourn:  
Thy loss is great, although thy gain be more:  
Thy Heart must rend, to see thy dear Heart torn;  
It needs must bleed, when It's so full of Gore:  
If it be dry, through bleedings great excess,  
Would Mine, for Thine, might bleed, and never cease.   

ANd sith twixt you is such proximity,  
That thou dost thoroughly taste the smart he feels,  
I'll turn my speech a while alone to thee,  
To comfort thee with joy which Faith reveals:  
And though thou now triumph in endless joy,  
This might be said to thee in thine annoy.   

Thine Eyes that see (engulpht in seas of Tears)  
Griefs Objects, greater than they are indeed,  
Dissolve in Brine to season so thy Cares,  
That Sorrow may thereon with pleasure feed:  
" When Sorrows swellings burst out of the Eyes,  
" The Heart doth hold to give them fresh supplies.   

Thine Ears believe all Sounds (how sweet so ere)  
Are but the Accents of a Tragic voice;  
The Angel's Notes do seem but parts to bear  
In the Confusion of an irksome noise:  
" For, when the Body is without the Head,  
" What Music makes the Trunk but dull, or dead.   

The Echoes of thy Plaints do seem to thee  
The mournful cries of Rivers, Rocks, and Hills;  
As though their Maker them had made to be  
True feelers of his Pains, thy Griefs, their Ills:  
" For, when as Nature's God feels violence,  
" Nature makes nought that hath not feeling sense!   

Each glimpse of joy to thee is like the Spoils  
Of some rich Kingdom to her conquered Prince;  
Which are the marks of her recureless foils,  
And, without war, his warring Thoughts convince:  
" For, others mirth doth then become our moan,  
" When they make merry with our loss alone.   

What ere delights the Ear than renovat'st  
The woeful want of thy Sons sugared Words;  
For, Angel's voice but recapitulates  
The miss of That which sweeter voice affords:  
" And to be minded of the loss of joy  
" Doth make us find, in old loss, new annoy.   

As Love (that highly prizeth priceless Things)  
Trebles the price of those of highest rate;  
So, Reason and judgement (Faithless almighty Wings)  
Lifting thy Soul to see thy high estate,  
Makes his Cross thy Crosse-Crosse-let (treble crossed)  
Because so well thou knowst what thou hast lost.   

And all the Sweets thy Senses apprehend,  
Are but as Crumbs of thy late royal cheer;  
Which thy erst full-fed Soul do but offend,  
And make thy Look more hunger-pined appear:  
" The palate used to ful-disht dainty Cates,  
" The homely crumms of course Crusts deadly hates.   

Worlds-glorie is to thee a Lightnings flame,  
Which doth but light to see calamity:  
For, out it goes when it hath showed the same,  
And Hell doth leave behind, t'affront the Eye;  
For, Glory, in his Grace, did so excel,  
That Heanu'n with it compared is worse than Hel.   

For, killing in his own Life-giving Death  
The sacred life of lives; it doth ensue  
All livings Things died, with his yielding breath;  
So made Death victor, and did Death subdue!  
" But, by Death to subdue Life's conquering Foe,  
" Is Life in Death though Flesh, and Blood say no.   

No, no, sayst Thou (dear Saint) as Flesh thou art,  
Whose Blood doth boil, in passion, for thy loss:  
For, through his Death thy Life feels mortal smart;  
So, his Cross, Tree of Life, is thy Life's Cross:  
" For, Grace, and Nature being opposite,  
" Doth breed an endless bate twixt Flesh and Spirit.   

When Faith doth Reason into Love transmute,  
Then Faith, through Love, surmounteth Reasons reach:  
And scorns with Flesh and Blood once to dispute:  
But in the Metaphy sicks reason doth teach:  
Yet now thy Faith, and Love, and reason conspire  
To reave thy rest in quest of thy desire.   

Thy Love, by reason of thy miseries,  
Engulphs thy Memory in grief so deep,  
That thou forgett'st thy forepast promises,  
Remembering but (thy heart's ease) still, to weep:  
" For, when hearts-ease doth from the heart depart,  
" Nature enforceth Tears to ease the Heart.   

But, yet the inward presence of thy Son,  
His outward absence (dear Saint) may supply:  
Who from thy Womb into thy Heart is gone,  
That thou may'st feel him much more vitally:  
Then, in thy Heart (which Sorrows Sword doth wound)  
Hemakes his Tent, to Tent and make it sound.   

But, if thou feelest not yet this Lord of Life  
Stir in that liueli'st feeling part of Thee,  
It is sith Passions there are yet in strife,  
Sprung from his Passions which Perfections be:  
But kept he not the peace in so great strife,  
No, force of Nature could maintain thy life.   

Thy Tears do (quenching) feed the sacred fire  
That Nature's Lead transmutes to Grace's Gold:  
Zeal blows the coals of thy divine desire  
To have (as erst thou hadst) thy Son in hold:  
But since thou hast him in thy better Part,  
As sure thou hast him, as thy Soul, or Heart.   

Yet, for his sight thy thirst is so extreme  
(The Ocean of which comfort swells so high)  
That though into thy Parts the Whole should stream,  
Yet could it not their sore Thirst satisfy:  
" For, that which is beloved, without annoy,  
" The Senses severally would stillenjoy.   

Then having Him but in thy Heart, thy Heart  
Hath so much Sorrow, with that boundless bliss,  
That Grace, by Nature, is perplexed in part;  
So the whole Heart thereby perplexed is:  
" For, till Flesh puts on immortality,  
" It cannot shake off Nature's Quality.   

Yet wert thou by his mouth forbid to weep,  
Whose Bid and Forbiddings are such Laws,  
As all are bound religiously to keep,  
Sith, to infringe them, doth Perdition cause:  
And, sith the union twixt you Two is such,  
Thy weeping for thyself, himself doth touch.   

took He not Flesh of Thee? then is the same  
Thine, by the law of Nature, which is His:  
For, Nature nearer union cannot frame,  
Which makes thine Eyes to fashion Tears amiss:  
And, sith true Love doth make you most entire,  
Then must thy Tears fall cross to his desire.   

But yet thou sayst, but for thyself thou weep'st,  
When thou weep'st for Him, being one with Thee:  
And so thou ween'st his holy Heast thou keep'st,  
Who, for thyself to weep, gave liberty:  
Nay, rather gave command, which to transgress  
Must be most damnable, or little less.   

The fault therefore, herein, (if any be)  
Must be (thou ween'st) in being one with Him:  
Which Sin, thou sayst, proceeds of Grace in Thee;  
Both which, in both thine Eyes, thou mak'st to swim  
Out of Election; so, presumptuously  
Thou sinnest thus by Grace's regency:   

For, if the Sun in Sable him involved  
When Lights inlight'ner quenched was in his Blood;  
If Nature's frame was like to be dissolved,  
To see her Maker marred in likelihood:  
Then O! who cannot weep for such a loss,  
His heart's more hard than (heart of oak) the Crosse.   

Thine Heart, and Eyes (for, both alike do move,  
Sith Heart and Looks are one in Deed, and Show)  
Do pay him Tribute of religious Love,  
Which He hath paid, and thou to Him dost owe:  
For, what He paid thou ow'st by double Band  
Which Grace, and Nature sealeth with thy Hand.   

This dew of Grace near falls but strait the Sun  
Of justice doth exhale It to his Sphere:  
And if the foulest face It over run,  
In Mercies Eyes It makes It Crystal clear:  
For Eyes that so oreflowe, are Wells of Grace,  
Wherein God loves to look, to see his face!   

For, this imperial Water thy poor Heart  
The Limbeck is, to Still it through thine Eyes;  
From Herb of Grace (called Rue) by sorrows Art;  
And, made, by quenchless flames of Love, to rise:  
Wherein the Angels love themselves to plunge,  
And joy to drain these drops becomes the Sponge.   

Upon this Water-streames, with winds of strife,  
Thy Soul doth sail unto the Port of Peace:  
To reign for ever in the Land of Life,  
With him for whom these Surges never cease:  
For sith these Waves do whaft from Sin to Grace,  
From Grace to Glory then, they pass apace.   

Thy Sun is set, and at his going down,  
These brackish Seas did rise to meet his fall;  
That Tethis of thy true love, to thine own,  
In her moist Lap receives this Light of all:  
But sith thou knowst, by Nature, he must rise,  
Let Grace with comfort clear thy cloudy Eyes.   

No doubt thou wouldst (by force of that strong Tie)  
Ensue his Steps, though glutted with his Gore:  
And couldst a Death, with Hells of Torment, die,  
So thou mightst live with Him, that dies no more:  
" Then to be barred of what Love doth desire,  
" Turns Love to Langor, and her frost, to fire.   

How lively were that Death, whose deadest Mean  
The dead'st Cadaver, with a Touch, revives:  
And makes immaculate Souls most unclean,  
Being Death of Deaths that giveth life of lives:  
" And honnied were the death of such a life,  
" Where Sin and Grace are still at mortal strife.   

For thou yet liv'st as many Deaths to feel  
As thou liv'st hours; and, no less grief to taste  
Then was thy welfare in his only weal;  
Which, being extreme, then extreme woe thou hast:  
But, cheer thee (Saint) sigh nought, so violent  
Can (though it perfect were) be permanent.   

Live out thy living Death then, in such peace,  
As to thy dying life may yield repose;  
Let woes increase, past, present joys increase;  
For, they do win, at length, that long do lose:  
" And when as grief's enthroned in greatest grace,  
" Then down it must, and joy possess her place.   

And though thy Soul lives more by force, than choice  
Within thy dying Corpse, her living Tomb,  
Yet, being there interred, she may rejoice  
It did, and doth both God and her enwombe:  
Then O how blessed is that Earth of Thine,  
That two such spirits of life doth still enshrine!   

That Sepulchre of Death, and Seat of Life  
Thy blisfull-blislesse-blessed Body, O  
I want fit words (while Words are all at strife,)  
Thy Bodies ten-times blessed state to show:  
For, that staunch Chest those precious jewels keeps  
That keep the Chest secure in Dolours Deeps.   

Then melt not, O melt not thy Heart away  
In flames of Love, but love to love him still:  
For, if thou heartless be, where shall he stay?  
And if thou killest thy heart, thou his dost kill:  
For, thine is His, then for Him tender It,  
With love that is, for lasting, only fit.   

Thou think'st (perhaps) so well he loveth Thee,  
That if thy Soul for that dear love should die,  
He would give Thee his Soul, thy Soul to be,  
Sith Soulless, now, his Body, yet, doth lie:  
But sith from Death to Life he will remove,  
He His must use; then keep Thine for his love   

Thou canst not fear his loss that all relives,  
For, ardent love quite kills the Ague Fear:  
He can revive himself, that All revives;  
And can make All, as if they never were:  
Then sith Faith holds, he is omnipotent,  
Hold thee, by Faith almightily content.   

Let those whose Faith begins but now to sprout,  
Or senseless things that feel the force he felt,  
Themselves unto their Maker's fortune suit,  
While their kind Bowels, in compassion, melt:  
But be thou joyful, as thou faithful art,  
" Sith Faith sucks comfort out of holy smart.   

The Place that held him, erst, thou held'st an Heaven;  
The Time thou him enjoyd'st, a merry May:  
Comforts divine, the duties to him given;  
The Air wherein he breathed, eternal Day:  
If these seemed thus, whiles yet he lived to die,  
What are they now he lives immortally?   

Then let not Fear doubt more than Faith confirm,  
Sith doubts are Grounds for Grief to descant on:  
And each mishap our hopes do make infirm;  
Though It we meet not, with Suspicion:  
" To force our friendship on a mortal foe,  
" Makes Folly triumph in our overthrow.   

But, Love that hath in Fears and Hopes no measure,  
The more It longs her Object to possess,  
The more it doubts thereof, the dire displeasure;  
And being disseised thereof, doth hope the lsse:  
But O! this Love is human, not divine,  
For Faith will not let Fear true love decline.   

Christ, to thy longing-love, is as the River  
Unto the chased Hart, which still he seeks;  
And as Men thirsty, mind but moisture ever,  
So love doth think on nought, but what it likes:  
If That Be not, It seeks no more to Bee,  
But Being, It would Be That, bond, or free.   

Love cannot live without her Object long,  
Sith she then (longing;) lives a dying life:  
Who weens her Right, then, to her offers wrong,  
As doth the Husband that forsakes his Wife:  
" For, in our deeds, which Reason might reprove,  
" We scape unshent, if they were done in love.   

While love doth lack the oil that makes it flame,  
It is all Ear, or Eye, to hear, or see  
Who can bewray, or where abides the same,  
That there she may in loy, or Sorrow be:  
And listens unto News with longing-heed,  
In hope thereby to find her longingsmeed.   

If It be good, she hopes it's without peer;  
If bade it be, she fears it's worse than ill:  
But be it good or bad, she it must hear,  
Although the joy or sorrow her may kill:  
" Desire doth never rest till that be had,  
" Which, like to that Desire, is good or bad.   

Cloth him with Diamonds that quakes for cold,  
Or cram his purse with crowns that's hunger-pined:  
That, for a freeze Gown give his jewels would,  
This, all his Crowns for Crusts of coarsest kined:  
" As each supply supplies not each defect,  
" So, nought contents Desire, but his Elect.   

They that have most, are held most rich to be;  
And they that have their wish, held most to have:  
Then, as in Him is all that's wished of thee,  
So he's the Sum of all that thou canst crave:  
" It is the greatest gain that can be made,  
" To get eternal good, for goods that fade.   

But rest these Thoughts which Thee of rest deprive,  
In Paradise where he (thou knowst) do the est;  
For there, he said, the Thief should, with him, live,  
That day that he of life was dispossessed:  
" Then, when the life of Love is dead to Grief,  
" And lives to joy, joy is dead loves relief.   

He, for us, captived our captivity;  
And, what is that but death, the due of Sin?  
Which now he triumphs over, in victory,  
That we might still rejoice, not grieve, therein▪  
" When Grief is slain, it is a wrong to joy  
" Our Powers, in sorrows service to employ.   

Yet greater cause of grief Grief cannot give:  
But greater cause of joy, joy cannot yield:  
Grief, joy resists, and joy, with Grief, doth strive;  
Thus, twixt these two, still doubtful is the field:  
But joy, at last, (as true Grief doth presage)  
Shall Victor be, and no more Battle wage.   

For, this is He (who though thus skarrified,  
Tormented, slaughtered, and thus vilipended:  
That is, indeed, the first Man deified,  
Whom Men-of-God, as-God, to Men commended:  
To Him the Prophets gave this Testimony,  
That, He should Live, as Man to die for Many:   

His Skin, the Whips; his Flesh, thorns made unsound;  
The Nails, his Nerves; the cruel Spear, his Heart:  
Sharp Woes, his Soul; God's wrath, his Mind did wound;  
So, wounded was, in all and every Part!  
Thus, his Soules-Soule was sacrificed for Sin,  
That so our Souls might, their lost glory, win.   

His hand of Power, at first did figulate  
The Belsire of Man's most unconstant kind:  
And shall those Hands, that Hand did figurate,  
This Hand-almightie, by their frailty bind?  
No, no (alas) the sceptre's in that Hand  
That doth both Heaven and Hell, of right, command!   

He, like the glorious, rare Arabian Bird,  
Will soon result from his incinderment,  
(Which flaming Love, and Charity had fired)  
Of sole selfe-pow'r, and own arbitrement:  
And though his Toils be (silk-worm like) his Tomb,  
Yet shall his active Spirit his Flesh untombe!   

Divinely then, with Triumph Caesared,  
He shall reblesse Thee with ten Thousand Blisses;  
Whereby thy Soul shall aye be ravished  
With many millions of sweet Comforts kisses!  
Whose Sweets shall be so supernatural,  
That they, perforce, thy Cares shall cordial.   

Then cheer thee sacred Virgin, mourn no more:  
The worst is past, the best is now to come:  
Thy blessed Womb, his blessed Body bore,  
To die accursed, for which, He blessed thy Womb:  
The Curse we caused, for which, He Death endures,  
Then mourn no more, but let the Grief be Ours.   

Fraile-Fleshes signiorizing Tyrant, fell,  
(Usurping Monarchy in her Effects  
Stern Hydra-headed SIN, with Death, and Hell)  
He by his Death, to free our Flesh, subjects:  
Then let Life's Death, that Life's Death doth relive,  
Kill thy quick woes, and thy dead joys revive.   

Serene thy Woe-adumbred Front, sweet Saint;  
Let joy transluce thy Beauty's blandishment:  
Thy Son feels not (for Death is Sense restraint)  
Yet sees, though dead, thy living languishment:  
Which well he wots (though it of Love proceed)  
Avails Him not, nor mends His Killers Creed.   

Thou knowst thy charge, thy Master thee imposed,  
Sacred Evangelist, His Souls dear Love;  
To thee her Son, as to her Son disposed;  
O then discharge thy charge, for her behove:  
And like a Son, yield her sad Heart relief  
With words that flow from fellow-feeling grief.   

Come, come, O joseph, Nichodemus come,  
Make haste, post haste, to take his Body down:  
He yet craves pity, though He yet be dumb:  
Yet, by your ruth, your love may yet be shown:  
Though fear of Men, did make ye God forsake,  
Yet God, sith ye are Men, will mercy take.   

You did none other than his Minions did,  
Whom, of base Grooms, his Grace did Minnionize▪  
Yet, in his Troubles all their Heads they hid,  
And left him for their Sins a Sacrifice:  
Yet sith his Arms are spread, them to embrace,  
Ye may be sure he'll take you too to grace.   

Then sith in love, ye have obtained leave  
To take him down that, humbled, so was raised,  
Then down retake him, and withal believe,  
He shall (in Heaven remounted) aid be praised:  
Up with your Scala-Coeli to the Tree,  
To take down Heaven; for, Heaven of Heavens is He!   

NOw, Soul suppose thou see'st these worthy Men  
Laden with Linen, and with costly Gumbes,  
Unto the blessed-cursed Cross to ren,  
T'interre his Corpse which DEATH now overcomes:  
Where being arrived, the Ladders up they rear  
To take Him down, with care, surmounting Care!   

See how the Infant Church (whose feeble force,  
Hath scarce the strength to lift up Hand to Head)  
Unites her powers, to take down his Corpse,  
That is alive, and yet is perfect dead:  
See with what fearful care, the Nails they draw,  
As if his Flesh yet felt, or them He saw.   

What providence they use, with Linen large,  
Crossing his dead Corpse, that to Death was Crossed,  
That so they may the better wield that Charge,  
And not, by poise, to let him fall be forced:  
See how the Body doubles in their Arms,  
While Faith their love, with fervour, double warms.   

For, Martyrs Deaths, give life to Martyrs more,  
Till DEATH be tired, with reaving Them of Life;  
This God did die, as near did Man before;  
For, He by yielding meekly, conquered Strife:  
His Patience in such Passions, and such Spites,  
Doth Life-inspire the faith of Proselytes.   

It is in vain, therefore, with Sword, or Fire,  
To seek to plant a Faith which cannot grow;  
For, Saints blood chokes It ere It can aspire;  
And, like a Deluge, doth It overflow!  
" For, when the Church is bathed in Her own blood,  
" she's cured of all Diseases, in that Flood!   

Who will not run into an Hell of Pain  
For His Hope's sake; when he sees some therein  
(For that same cause) to seem in bliss to reign;  
And by that Bliss, eternal Glory win?  
" It's sport to die, when Life, and Death conspire,  
" Fear to exclude, and satiate the Desire!   

WEll, now, those Women, that were fled him fro  
(When Tempests raged) are come, the Coast being clear,  
To pay him their last Duty, sith no more  
They shall not (as they doubt) Him see, nor hear:  
Now every one is busied, busily,  
To grace Him, Dead, that for their grace did die.   

Now, down they have this dead Life-giving Lord,  
And now, their zeal, with divine adoration,  
Performs loves compliments in deed and word:  
Now, He hath suffered, now, they suffer Passion:  
They spice Him sweetly, with salt tears among,  
And, of sad Sighs, they make their Obiit-Song.   

O cruel hands (quoth one) that pierced these Hands;  
But, far more cruel heart, that gored this Heart;  
Cursed (quoth another) be their feet, that stand  
In Sinners Way, who did these Feet endart:  
O (quoth a Third) Pain, still that Head suround,  
That, with these cruel Thorns, this Head hath crowned.   

Infernal Furies, whip them, that have torn  
This blessed Flesh, thus whipped, accursedly;  
And be their Flesh, with Wants, to nothing worn,  
That thus have worn the Flesh of Deity:  
O worm of Conscience, gnaw their Souls to nought,  
That still did plague his Soul, and vex his Thought.   

Let never Sun recheere them with his Rays,  
That justice Son have thus in purple clouded;  
Let near Mouth open, but spit in their dispraise,  
That have these Lips in Death's pale Liu'ry shrouded:  
" Thus all like Honny-Bees sweet murmur make,  
" Against those Wasps, that spoiled their honey Cake.   

Now, draw they forth their Aromatic Gumbes,  
His Flesh, most sweet, to make most oderous;  
See, see, how, now, His Train (late scattered) comes,  
Trooping, with drooping Hearts, most dolorous,  
To help t'embalme Him, and condole His death,  
And to consort His Carcase to the Earth.   

See how, in Peace, they strive, in Love, contend,  
To kiss, and rekisse, his gore-crusted Face;  
And, with each kiss, Tears Floods their force extend  
Which shall anticipate the others pace:  
Lo, how they hug Him, with lowd-shaking cries,  
Some, hug his Arms, and others Legs, and these.   

But, blest is He that hath his Head in hold,  
He holds his hold till crowd enforce him thence;  
Yet ere he parts, his kisses millifold,  
Bewray his love, and loving diligence:  
And, as the Babe is loath to leave the Dug  
Forepined with thirst; so, at his Lips they tug.   

Sweet jesus, give me leave, in strong conceit,  
Among these holy Ones, to kiss thee once;  
I, as unworthy, will their leisure wait,  
With vigilant attendance for the nonce:  
Though they, in love, are not myself above,  
" For, who hath most forgiven, most doth love.   

If not thy Lips, (for, I confess (dear Sweet)  
I am unworthy such pre-eminence!)  
Yet give me leave to kiss thy sacred Feet;  
And wash them with my sad Tears confluence:  
Let me, with Marry, who had much forgiven,  
(Yet I much more) make Them my highest Heaven.   

For, I (ay me) I am that Lump of Sin,  
That made thy Soul so heavy to the death!  
ay, every day, afresh thy woes begin,  
Breathing out Death, to thee, with my Life's breath:  
far worse than he that (blind) thy Heart did gore,  
For, I do see, and yet do wound it more!   

O Christ, with thy Rod, strike my Rocky Heart,  
That it may flow for Thee, as Thine for me;  
O let it bleed, in pity of thy smart,  
And leave to think on aught that grieveth Thee:  
Bleed Heart, weep Eyes, that Blood and Water may  
Wash Blood, and Water, which I spilled, away.   

Sweet, Honnied Sweet! look, look into my Heart,  
See what Desires thy Love doth power therein,  
Touching thy Love; I know thou hast the Art  
To make the same, in Deed, thy Love to win:  
Sith thy grace makes the Will, and Deed, entire,  
O give me grace to Do, as I Desire.   

And as it's written of the Elephant,  
That he is fierce, to see Grapes blood diffused:  
So let me (Wretch) become most valiant  
'Gainst Death, and Hell, to see thy Blood effused:  
Who art the Grape, which pressed on the Cross,  
Yields wine of Life, and makes us live by loss.   

When I behold thy still-fresh-bleeding Wounds,  
I see the Deed, to work with the Desire  
Of my Redemption; which, my Soul confounds  
With shame, though It the same doth life-inspire:  
Whose good Deeds, by Desire, are only done,  
Though good Deeds end, what good Desires begun.   

When, when, dear Lord, O when shall I, (frail I!)  
Resist to Blood, thy bloody foes resist?  
When, for thy sake, shall I desire to die?  
And in that dear Desire, in Deed, insist?  
Till when, I hold my dearest Desires to be  
Unworthy of thy Cross, much less of Thee.   

Can I behold thy Gore rough-casted Corse,  
Thine, Head, Heart, Hands, Back, Side, Feet, wounded all,  
And all to free me from thy Father's Curse;  
And all I do, is but therein to fall!  
I'll trust Thy Secrecy; Hark, in thine Ear,  
I am the worst redeemed with Blood so dear!   

Then, good Desires can near repay the Debt  
Which thee I owe, by Deeds, sealed with thy Blood;  
Myself, thy Due, I should too much forget,  
To seek to pay Thee with none other good:  
For, I am Thine, Thou dearly paid'st for me,  
Then both my Life and Death should honour Thee.   

This World, this Hellish World, doth dim mine Eyes,  
(My judgements Eyes) that they but darkly see  
The way to work, by love, as work the wise,  
(The godly wise) whose works tend all to Thee:  
Then help me, Love, to work for Thee alone;  
Mean while let me thy Passion think upon.   

Now doth this loving sacred Synaxie  
(With divine Orisons, and devout Tears)  
Ensindon Him with choicest drapery;  
And to the Sepulchre his Body bears:  
And as they bear him step, by step, they pour  
Down showers of Tears, which winds of Sighs procure.   

But ah (alas) his Mother, all this while,  
Like Niobe (as Poets feign) still sits:  
All as she did her Senses reconcile  
To senseless Death, and were in Tranced fits:  
Without or Sp●ite or Life, or Heart, or Soul,  
Her violent woes her Senses so control!   

Now, Love, to his last Home hath Him conveyed,  
That had no Hole, in Life, to hide his Head;  
This Hole, in Death, shall do what Life denayed,  
Yet shall it not long hold Him being dead:  
For, Heavens his Home, Earth's but the Babylon,  
Upon whose Rivers banks, He still did moan.   

Here Love contends with Custom; Love would keep  
His Corpse without, Custom, within the Grave:  
But Tyrant Custom, swaying Love doth weep,  
That Her dear LOVE she may no longer have:  
And, for a Farewell, Volleys forth her Voice,  
In Groans, and Sighs, and Lachrimable Noise.   

NOw he's interred that all the World entombs,  
But in the Centre of his Court divine;  
Yet lest Point of that Centre, now, enwombes  
This Lord, whose greatness nothing can contain!  
God's Peace be with Him, sith he's God of Peace,  
Till by his power He makes his Death decease,   

Vnheau'n yourselves, ye holy Cherubins,  
And give attendance on your Lord, in Earth:  
Cover his Corpse with your Celestial wings,  
From all that naturally annoys beneath:  
Descend sweet Angels (Legionized in Ranks)  
And make your Heaven on his sepulchres Banks.   

There warble forth your Hymns of highest praise,  
In highest honour, of your highest Lord:  
And Lullaby asleep his Watchers Eyes,  
With secret Soule-enchanting sweet concord's:  
Whiles with Eie-blinding Beams of Glory dight,  
He fair amounts, ●o frolic his Saint's sight!   

But tell me, O thou fairest Fair of Men,  
Where dost thou lodge? at Noonday, where dost sleep?  
O tell my Soul, and She will find Thee then,  
And, as her Soul, Thee found, will safely keep:  
For, Thou more clear than Springs of Esebo●  
Hast made Her, with thy more clear, Blood 〈◊〉!   

Thy Wintry-* Woes are past, Spites storms are ceased;  
Now flowers of Comfort, burgeon every where:  
Then rise my Love (thou canst not be diseased)  
Out of the * Rocks Holes rise, to me appear:  
And, in the Holes of Thee, her refuge Rock,  
My Soul from from deadly Sin, and Shame up-locke.   

Out of this Rock (as out of Paradise)  
Run (through the Moss of my most feeble Flesh)  
Unto my Soul (all soiled with Sin, and Vice)  
Gihons of golden streams, her to refresh:  
So, may it run, O still so may it run,  
Till it hath made her, black, as bright as sun.   

O Gates of Heaven! oriental, glorious Gates!  
O Wounds! no Wounds, but Hau'ns of Heaven secure!  
Nests of clean Doves, and Forts from fellest Fates!  
Blessed Balme-Boxes, that all sores recure!  
O let me living die, and dying live,  
In these most holy Wounds that Life do give!   

O let these Wounds, these Wounds indepravate,  
Be holy Sanctuaries for my whole Man;  
That though sins sores It oft coninquinate,  
Yet, there, It may be made as white as Swan!  
O holy Wounds! Wounds holier than all Holies,  
Still let your Bloods, be Floods, t'ingulph my Follies.   

When Woes do wound me, wind me in thy Wounds  
Sweet jesus, that for me, with Woe, wast wounded;  
When Foes, by Wounds, my Body's life confound,  
Then let my Soul in thy Wounds be surrounded:  
There let Her rest securely, till she may  
By thy high Grace, resume, in Bliss, her Clay.   

When carnal Lust, my Flesh, (frail Flesh) inflames,  
Then quench the same in thy Wounds, bleeding still:  
When Fury, with strong hand, my Mind unframes,  
Then in thy Wounds reform It to thy Will:  
In few, by this most bloody Immolation,  
Let my by parted self have whole Salvation.   

And thou, O just commander of this All▪  
To please whose justice, justice Death endured;  
Thou, that I hat death mad'st most pathetical,  
Inspire me with Love, Hope, and Faith assured:  
That while I breathe this air, my voice may be  
No light vain Air, but voice advancing Thee.   

And deeply die each object of my Sense,  
In tincture of thy Sons all saving Blood:  
By which Aspect my Minds reminiscence  
May ruminate the virtue of that good  
That is our Summum bonum and the rate  
Of Sin, God's wrath, and just, though heavy hate.   

O holy God then look, O look on me  
Through the through wounded Sides of thy dear Son;  
O let my Scarlet Sins, pure purple be  
In his dear Blood, my sins Purgation:  
For e'en as through red Glass, Things red do seem,  
So, through that Blood, my Works thou good wilt deem!   

The kingdom of the Flesh is swayed by Sin;  
In Christ, that kingdom, thou hast crucified:  
Then, let me dwell that faultless Flesh within;  
Sith Sin subdues all human Flesh beside:  
Then, there, O there! let me both live, and die,  
Sith Life, by Death, there lives immortally!   

The Devil, and the World (two Worlds of Strife,  
With whom my Flesh conspires) my Soul assail:  
Who, to destroy herself gives them a knife;  
And so with them conspires, herself to spoil:  
Then, if thou flesh her not with Christ, she dies;  
For, she in my Flesh, lives none otherwise.   

But, shall I make long Furrows on his Back?  
Or still make Him but soap my Sins to scour?  
Shall He supply the Power my soul doth lack?  
Yet shall she still be idle with his power?  
O no (Lord) no, that's not the way to win,  
But, th'only way to live, and die in sin.   

Then help me; Lord, to help his helping might;  
And, give me of thy goods, to grace his Grace:  
Let not my sloth but clog your active Spirit;  
Although it do the Same, in Love, embrace:  
" For, sith in Action, Virtue doth consist,  
Help me to work together, with my Christ.   

Had I all Faith, and Mountains could remove,  
And though I gave my Body to the Fire;  
All this were nothing, if I had not Love;  
Then, lively Faith, mere Love doth Life-inspire:  
Sith then, without Love, Faith doth nought but die,  
" Give me that Faith that lives by Charity.   

Had I, of Men, or Cherubins the Tongues,  
Knew I all Secrets, or all prophesy;  
Fed I the poor, with all to me belongs,  
All these, without Love, do but, living, die:  
And, sith on Love depends the Royal Law,  
O let my faith (Lord) work in Love, and awe.   

Christ is a Rock of Refuge but to those  
That fight thy Battles; then needs must I fight  
Against both Thy, and My still-fighting Foes,  
And, ever fly to Him, in want of might:  
Let me rest on this Rock; but yet, so rest,  
As, by my sloth, He may not be oppressed.   

I long (sweet God) to see thy unseen Face;  
Then put me in this Rocks most holy Rifts;  
That I, with Moses, there may see thy Grace,  
Sith It cannot be seen, but through these Cliffs:  
But, if I be unmeet thy Face to ken,  
" Show me thy backparts; kind Lord! say, Amen.   
God forbid that I should glory, saving in the Cross of our Lord jesus Christ: by whom the World is crucified to me, and I to the World. JOHN DAVIES of Hereford.   

SONNETS.  

1.  

THe ofter sin, the more grief, shows a Saint;  
The ofter sin, the less grief, notes a Fiend:  
But oft with grief to sin, the soul doth taint;  
And oft to sin with joy, the soul doth rend.  
To sin on Hope, is sin most full of Fear;  
To sinew of malice, is the devils sin:  
One is, that Christ may greater burden bear;  
The other, that his Death might still begin.  
To sin of Frailty, is a sin but weak;  
To sin in strength, the stronger makes the blame:  
The first, the Reed Christ bare, hath power to break;  
The last, his thornie-Crowne can scarce unframe:  
But, finally, to sin maliciously,  
Reed, Crown, nor Cross, hath power to crucify!    

2.  

ALthough we do not all the Good we love,  
But still, in love, desire to do the same;  
Nor leave the fins we hate, but hating move  
Our Soul and Bodies Powers, their Powers to tame;  
The Good we do, God takes as done aright;  
That we desire to do, He takes as done:  
The sin we shun, He will with Grace requite;  
And not impute the sin we seek to shun.  
But, good Desires produce no worse Deeds;  
For, God doth both together (lightly) give:  
Because he knows a righteous Man must needs  
" By Faith, that works by Love, for ever live:  
Then, to do nought, but only in Desire,  
Is Love that burns, but burns like painted Fire.    

3.  

A Righteous man still feareth all his Deeds,  
Lest done for fear, or in hypocrisy:  
Hypocrisy (as with the Corn do Weeds)  
Still grows up with Faith, Hope, and Charity.  
But it bewrays they are no Hypocrites,  
That most of all Hypocrisy do fear:  
For, who are worst of all in their own sights,  
In God's dear sight do best of all appear.  
To fear that we nor love, nor fear aright,  
Is no less perfect fear, than rightest love:  
And to suspect our steps in greatest light,  
Doth argue God our Hearts and steps doth move:  
But right to run, and fear no whit at all,  
Presageth we are near a fearful fall.    

4.  

COme, follow me, as I do follow Christ,  
Is the persuasiu'st speech the Priest can use;  
This Conjuration Fiends can scarce resist;  
For, shame will quite confound them that refuse.   

When Pastors show what should be done in Deed,  
Their flock will follow them, though nought they say;  
Sith they the hungry souls and bodies feed;  
And teach the rightest Truth, the readiest way.   

Thus, worthy Priests get Reverence, Love, and Fear,  
While wordy Ones scorn, hate, and shame do find:  
For, Winds of Spite their highest sails do tear,  
Who make themselves nought else but subtle Wind:  
For, though a Football mounts oft by the same,  
Yet is It spurned and made the People's game.    

5.  

IT's not so blessed to receive as give:  
Yet Men abounding in all Blessings take  
Relief from All, yet they will Some relieve,  
Sith they see Riches here, Men blessed make.   

Then, this World's blest in Show, but cursed in Deed:  
Christ's BODY in the Earth grows less and less:  
Whose Members, that should one another feed,  
Let one another pine through wretchedness.   

Yet, seed is not the soils wherein It's sown,  
But his that sowed It: so, the Alms we sow  
Is not so much the Beggars, as our own;  
Sith It in Them for our Souls gain doth grow:  
Then, of all Soils that yield most Interest,  
" The Belly of the Beggar is the best.    

6.  

Prayer, if it be complete, is of power  
To overrule almighty Power and Grace:  
For, It can their Omnipotence procure  
To do what not? (if good) in any Case.   

But as Queen Hester came before her King,  
Two Maids attending, to support her port,  
Leaning on one, the other carrying  
Her Princely Train, in most majestic sort.   

So, Prayer must attended be with Two,  
Fasting, and Almesdeeds, coming to her King!  
Then, what She will have done, that will He do;  
Though She His Kingdom crave, or any Thing:  
But when She comes not thus, the Act of Sin  
Is readier than Temptation to begin!    

7.  

IN th'Act of sin the guilt of Conscience  
Doth spoil our sport, sith our Souls (fainting) bleed:  
For, that Worm feeds upon our inward sense,  
More than sins Manna outward sense doth feed.   

But he on whom God's glorious face doth shine,  
The more his Griefs, the more his joys abound:  
For, who are drunk with divine Pleasure's Wine,  
Can feel no Torments which the senses wound.   

Then 'tis a Torment near to be tormented  
In virtues cause; nor, for sins fowl default:  
And, no worse Tempting, than near to be tempted;  
For, we must peace attain by sins assault:  
Then blessed is the Cross that brings the Crown,  
And glorious is the Shame that gains Renown.    

8.  

Virtue consists in Action; which consists  
In doing That which Virtue doth command;  
But this injurious World the same resists,  
Whose Actions are performed by Vices Band.   

Then, hardly can the Willing, weak in Act,  
Show forth the virtue of their active Will;  
But that the World their virtue will co-act  
To act the Part of Vice with greater skill.   

Then, let the Willing-weake the World forego,  
And act the parts of Virtue, where, alone,  
God, and his Angels, may their Actions know;  
So shall they be beloved, praised, and known:  
" For, clear is muddy water standing still,  
" But being stirred, it look like Puddle will.   

And, hide me in the wildest Waste or Wood,  
Yet Fame will find me out if I be good.    
FINIS.   

LONDON. Printed by John Windet for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be sold in Paul's Churchyard, by Saint Augustine's Gate. 1609.