Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
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A05085
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Salue deus rex iudæorum containing, 1. The passion of Christ, 2. Eues apologie in defence of women, 3. The teares of the daughters of Ierusalem, 4. The salutation and sorrow of the Virgine Marie : with diuers other things not vnfit to be read / written by Mistris Æmilia Lanyer ...; Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum
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Lanyer, Aemilia.
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1611
(1611)
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STC 15227; ESTC S123202
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48,865
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111
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may he grieue well may he sigh and groane Vnder the burthen of a heauy crosse He faintly goes to make their gaine his losse The sorrow of the virgin Marie ¶ His woefull Mother wayting on her Sonne All comfortlesse in depth of sorow drowned Her griefes extreame although but new begun To see his bleeding body oft shee swouned How could shee choose but thinke her selfe vndone He dying with whose glory shee was crowned None euer lost so great a losse as shee Beeing Sonne and Father of Eternitie Her teares did wash away his pretious blood That sinners might not tread it vnder feet To worship him and that it did her good Vpon her knees although in open street Knowing he was the Iessie floure and bud That must be gath'red when it smell'd most sweet Her Sonne her Husband Father Saviour King Whose death killd Death and tooke away his sting Most blessed Virgin in whose faultlesse fruit All Nations of the earth must needes reioyce No Creature having sence though ne'r so brute But ioyes and trembles when they heare his voyce His wisedome strikes the wisest persons mute Faire chosen vessell happy in his choyce Deere Mother of our Lord whose reuerend name All people Blessed call and spread thy fame For the Almightie magnified thee And looked downe vpon thy meane estate Thy lowly mind and vnstain'd Chastitie Did pleade for Loue at great Iehouaes gate Who sending swift-wing'd Gabriel vnto thee His holy will and pleasure to relate To thee most beauteous Queene of Woman-kind The Angell did vnfold his Makers mind The salutation of the virgin Marie ¶ He thus beganne Haile Mary full of grace Thou freely art beloued of the Lord He is with thee behold thy happy case What endlesse comfort did these words afford To thee that saw'st an Angell in the place Proclaime thy Virtues worth and to record Thee blessed among women that thy praise Should last so many worlds beyond thy daies Loe this high message to thy troubled spirit He doth deliuer in the plainest sence Sayes Thou shouldst beare a Sonne that shal inherit His Father Dauids throne free from offence Call's him that Holy thing by whose pure merit We must be sau'd tels what he is of whence His worth his greatnesse what his name must be Who should be call'd the Sonne of the most High He cheeres thy troubled soule bids thee not feare When thy pure thoughts could hardly apprehend This salutation when he did appeare Nor couldst thou judge whereto those words did tend His pure aspect did mooue thy modest cheere To muse yet joy that God vouchsaf'd to send His glorious Angel who did thee assure To beare a child although a Virgin pure Nay more thy Sonne should Rule and Raigne for euer Yea of his Kingdom there should be no end Ouer the house of Iacob Heauens great Giuer Would giue him powre and to that end did send His faithfull seruant Gabriel to deliuer To thy chast eares no word that might offend But that this blessed Infant borne of thee Thy Sonne The onely Sonne of God should be When on the knees of thy submissiue heart Thou humbly didst demand How that should be Thy virgin thoughts did thinke none could impart This great good hap and blessing vnto thee Farre from desire of any man thou art Knowing not one thou art from all men free When he to answere this thy chaste desire Giues thee more cause to wonder and admire That thou a blessed Virgin shoulst remaine Yea that the holy Ghost should come on thee A maiden Mother subiect to no paine For highest powre should ouershadow thee Could thy faire eyes from teares of joy refraine When God look'd downe vpon thy poore degree Making thee Seruant Mother Wife and Nurse To Heauens bright King that freed vs from the curse Thus beeing crown'd with glory from aboue Grace and Perfection resting in thy breast Thy humble answer doth approoue thy Loue And all these sayings in thy heart doe rest Thy Child a Lambe and thou a Turtle doue Aboue all other women highly blest To find such fauour in his glorious sight In whom thy heart and soule doe most delight What wonder in the world more strange could seeme Than that a Virgin could conceiue and beare Within her wombe a Sonne That should redeeme All Nations on the earth and should repaire Our old decaies who in such high esteeme Should prize all mortals liuing in his feare As not to shun Death Pouertie and Shame To saue their soules and spread his glorious Name And partly to fulfil his Fathers pleasure Whose powrefull hand allowes it not for strange If he vouchsafe the riches of his treasure Pure Righteousnesse to take such il exchange On all Iniquitie to make a seisure Giuing his snow-white Weed for ours in change Our mortall garment in a skarlet Die Too base a roabe for Immortalitie Most happy news that euer yet was brought When Pouerty and Riches met together The wealth of Heauen in our fraile clothing wrought Saluation by his happy comming hither Mighty Messias who so deerely bought Vs Slaues to finne farre lighter than a feather Toss'd to and fro with euery wicked wind The world the flesh or Deuill giues to blind Who on his shoulders our blacke sinnes doth beare To that most blessed yet accursed Crosse Where fastning them he rids vs of our feare Yea for our gaine he is content with losse Our ragged clothing scornes he not to weare Though foule rent torne disgracefull rough and grosse Spunne by that monster Sinne and weav'd by Shame Which grace it selfe disgrac'd with impure blame How canst thou choose faire Virgin then but mourne When this sweet of-spring of thy body dies When thy faire eies beholds his bodie torne The peoples sury heares the womens cries His holy name prophan'd He made a scorne Abusde with all their hatefull slaunderous lies Bleeding and fainting in such wondrous sort As scarce his feeble limbes can him support Now Simon of Cyrene passeth them by Whom they compell sweet IESVS Crosse to beare To Golgatha there doe they meane to trie All cruell meanes to worke in him dispaire That odious place where dead mens skulls did lie There must our Lord for present death prepare His sacred blood must grace that loathsome field To purge more filth than that foule place could yield Christs death ¶ For now arriu'd vnto this hatefull place In which his Crosse erected needes must bee False hearts and willing hands come on apace All prest to ill and all desire to see Gracelesse themselues still seeking to disgrace Bidding him If the Sonne of God he bee To saue himselfe if he could others saue With all th'opprobrious words that might depraue His harmelesse hands vnto the Crosse they nailde And feet that neuer trode in sinners trace Betweene two theeues vnpitied vnbewailde Saue of some few possessors of his grace With sharpest pangs and terrors thus appailde Sterne Death makes way that Life might giue him place His eyes with teares his
to liue in Shame And drinke that poyson with a cheerefull heart That could all Heavenly grace to her impart To the Ladie of Cumberland the Introduction to the passion of Christ. ¶ This Grace great Lady doth possesse thy Soule And makes thee pleasing in thy Makers sight This Grace doth all imperfect Thoughts controule Directing thee to serue thy God aright Still reckoning him the Husband of thy Soule Which is most pretious in his glorious sight Because the Worlds delights shee doth denie For him who for her sake vouchsaf'd to die And dying made her Dowager of all Nay more Co-heire of that eternall blisse That Angels lost and We by Adams fall Meere Cast-awaies rais'd by a Iudas kisse Christs bloody sweat the Vineger and Gall The Speare Sponge Nailes his buffeting with Fists His bitter Passion Agony and Death Did gaine vs Heauen when He did loose his breath A preamble of the Author before the Passion ¶ These high deserts inuites my lowely Muse To write of Him and pardon craue of thee For Time so spent I need make no excuse Knowing it doth with thy faire Minde agree So well as thou no Labour wilt refuse That to thy holy Loue may pleasing be His Death and Passion I desire to write And thee to reade the blessed Soules delight But my deare Muse now whither wouldst thou flie Aboue the pitch of thy appointed straine With Icarus thou seekest now to trie Not waxen wings but thy poore barren Braine Which farre too weake these fiely lines descrie Yet cannot this thy forward Mind restraine But thy poore Infant Verse must soare aloft Not fearing threat'ning dangers happening oft Thinke when the eye of Wisdom shall discover Thy weakling Muse to flie that scarce could creepe And in the Ayre aboue the Clowdes to hover When better 't were mued vp and fast asleepe They 'l thinke with Phaeton thou canst ne'r recover But helplesse with that poore yong Lad to weepe The little World of thy weake Wit on fire Where thou wilt perish in thine owne desire But yet the Weaker thou doest seeme to be In Sexe or Sence the more his Glory shines That doth infuze such powrefull Grace in thee To shew thy Love in these few humble Lines The Widowes Myte with this may well agree Her little All more worth than golden mynes Beeing more deerer to our loving Lord Than all the wealth that Kingdoms could afford Therefore I humbly for his Grace will pray That he will give me Power and Strength to Write That what I haue begun so end I may As his great Glory may appeare more bright Yea in these Lines I may no further stray Than his most holy Spirit shall giue me Light That blindest Weakenesse be not over-bold The manner of his Passion to vnfold In other Phrases than may well agree With his pure Doctrine and most holy Writ That Heavens cleare eye and all the World may see I seeke his Glory rather than to get The Vulgars breath the seed of Vanitie Nor Fames lowd Trumpet care I to admit But rather strive in plainest Words to showe The Matter which I seeke to vndergoe A Matter farre beyond my barren skill To shew with any Life this map of Death This Storie that whole Worlds with Bookes would fill In these few Lines will put me out of breath To run so swiftly vp this mightie Hill I may behold it with the eye of Faith But to present this pure vnspotted Lambe I must confesse I farre vnworthy am Yet if he please t' illuminate my Spirit And giue me Wisdom from his holy Hill That I may Write part of his glorious Merit If he vouchsafe to guide my Hand and Quill To shew his Death by which we doe inherit Those endlesse Ioyes that all our hearts doe fill Then will I tell of that sad blacke fac'd Night Whose mourning Mantle covered Heavenly Light Here beginâ—… the Passion 〈◊〉 Christ. ¶ That very Night our Saviour was betrayd Oh night exceeding all the nights of sorrow When our most blessed Lord although dismayd Yet would not he one Minutes respite borrow But to Mount Oliues went though sore afraid To welcome Night and entertaine the Morrow And as he oft vnto that place did goe So did he now to meete his long nurst woe He told his deere Disciples that they all Should be offended by him that selfe night His Griefe was great and theirs could not be small To part from him who was their sole Delight Saint Peter thought his Faith could neuer fall No mote could happen in so cleare a sight Which made him say Though all men were offended Yet would he never though his life were ended But his deare Lord made answere That before The Cocke did crowe he should deny him thrice This could not choose but grieue him very sore That his hot Loue should prooue more cold than Ice Denying him he did so much adore No imperfection in himselfe hespies But saith againe with him hee 'l surely die Rather than his deare Master once denie And all the rest did likewise say the same Of his Disciples at that instant time But yet poore Peter he was most too blame That thought aboue them all by Faith to clime His forward speech inflicted sinne and shame When Wisdoms eyes did looke and checke his crime Who did foresee and told it him before Yet would he needs auerre it more and more Now went our Lord vnto that holy place Sweet Gethsemaine hallowed by his presence That blessed Garden which did now embrace His holy corps yet could make no defence Against those Vipers obiects of disgrace Which sought that pure eternall Loue to quench Here his Disciples willed he to stay Whilst he went further where he meant to pray None were admitted with their Lord to goe But Peter and the sonnes of Zebed'us To them good Iesus opened all his woe He gaue them leaue his sorows to discusse His deepest griefes he did not scorne to showe These three deere friends so much he did intrust Beeing sorowfull and ouercharg'd with griefe He told it them yet look'd for no reliefe Sweet Lord how couldst thou thus to flesh and blood Communicate thy griefe tell of thy woes Thou knew'st they had no powre to doe thee good But were the cause thou must endure these blowes Beeing the Scorpions bred in Adams mud Whose poys'ned sinnes did worke among thy foes To re-ore-charge thy ouer-burd'ned soule Although the sorowes now they doe condole Yet didst thou tell them of thy troubled state Of thy Soules heauinesse vnto the death So full of Loue so free wert thou from hate To bid them stay whose sinnes did stop thy breath When thou wert entring at so straite a gate Yea entring euen into the doore of Death Thou bidst them tarry there and watch with thee Who from thy pretious blood-shed were not free Bidding them tarry thou didst further goe To meet affliction in such gracefull sort As might mooue pitie both in friend and foe Thy sorowes