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
to the meanest most vnworthy hand that will vndertake to write thereof neither can it receiue any blemish thereby for as a right diamond can loose no whit of his beautie by the blacke foyle vnderneath it neither by beeing placed in the darke but retaines his naturall beauty and brightnesse shining in greater perfection than before so this most pretious diamond for beauty and riches exceeding all the most pretious diamonds and rich jewels of the world can receiue no blemish nor impeachment by my vnworthy hand writing but wil with the Sunne retaine his owne brightnesse and most glorious lustre though neuer so many blind eyes looke vpon him Therefore good Madame to the most perfect eyes of your vnderstanding I deliuer the inestinable treasure of all elected soules to bee perused at conuenient times as also the mirrour of your most worthy minde which may remaine in the world many yeares longer than your Honour or my selfe can liue to be a light vnto those that come after desiring to tread in the narrow path of virtue that leads the way to heauen In which way I pray God send your Honour long to continue that your light may so shine before men that they may glorifie your father which is in Heauen and that I and many others may follow you in the same tracke So wishing you in this world all increase of health and honour and in the world to come life euerlasting I rest ¶ To the Ladie Katherine Countesse of Suffolke ALthough great Lady it may seeme right strange That I a stranger should presume thus farre To write to you yet as the times doe change So are we subiect to that fatall starre Vnder the which we were produc'd to breath That starre that guides vs euen vntill our death And guided me to frame this worke of grace Not of it selfe but by celestiall powres To which both that and wee must needs giue place Since what we haue we cannot count it ours For health wealth honour sickenesse death all Is in Gods powre which makes vs rise and fall And since his powre hath giuen me powre to write A subiect sit for you to looke vpon Wherein your soule may take no small delight When her bright eyes beholds that holy one By whose great wisedome loue and speciall grace Shee was created to behold his face Vouchsafe sweet Lady to accept these lines Writ by a hand that doth desire to doe All seruices to you whose worth combines The worthiâ—st minds to loue and honour you Whose beautie wisedome children high estate Doe all concurre to make you fortunate But chiefly your most honorable Lord Whose noble virtues Fame can ne'r forget His hand being alwayes ready to afford Help to the weake to the vnfortunate All which begets more honour and respect Than Croessus wealth or Caesars sterne aspect And rightly sheweth that hee is descended Of honourable Howards antient house Whose noble deedes by former times commended Do now remaine in your most loyall Spouse On whom God powres all blessings from aboue Wealth honour children and a worthy Loue Which is more deare to him than all the rest You being the louing Hinde and pleasant Roe Wife of his youth in whom his soule is blest Fountaine from whence his chiefe delights do flow Faire tree from which the fruit of Honor springs Heere I present to you the King of kings Desiring you to take a perfit view Of those great torments Patience did indure And reape those Comforts that belongs to you Which his most painfull death did then assure Writing the Couenant with his pretious blood That your faire soule might bathe her in that flood And let your noble daughters likewise reade This little Booke that I present to you On heauenly food let them vouchsafe to feede Heere they may see a Louer much more true Than euer was since first the world began This poore rich King that di'd both God and man Yea let those Ladies which do represent All beauty wisedome zeale and loue Receiue this iewell from Iehoua sent This spotlesse Lambe this perfit patient Doue Of whom faire Gabriel Gods bright Mercury Brought downe a message from the Deitie Here may they see him in a flood of teares Crowned with thornes and bathing in his blood Here may they see his feares exceed all feares When Heauen in Iustice flat against him stood And loathsome death with grim and gastly look Presented him that blacke infernall booke Wherein the sinnes of all the world were writ In deepe Characters of due punishment And naught but dying breath could cancel it Shame death and hell must make the attonement Shewing their euidence seizing wrongful Right Placing heau'ns Beauty in deaths darkest night Yet through the sable Clowdes of Shame Death His beauty shewes more clearer than before Death lost his strength when he did loose his breath As fire supprest doth shine and flame the more So in Deaths ashie pale discoloured face Fresh beauty shin'd yeelding farre greater grace No Doue no Swan nor Iu'rie could compare With this faire corps when 't was by death imbrac'd No rose nor no vermillion halfe so faire As was that pretious blood that iuterlac'd His body which bright Angels did attend Waiting on him that must to Heauen ascend In whom is all that Ladies can desire If Beauty who hath bin more faire than he If Wisedome doth not all the world admire The depth of his that cannot searched be If wealth if honour fame or Kingdoms store Who euer liu'd that was possest of more If zeale if grace if loue if pietie If constancie if faith if faire obedience If valour patience or sobrietie If chast behauiour meekenesse continence If iustice mercie bountie charitie Who can compare with his Diuinitie Whose vertues more than thoughts can apprehend I leaue to their more cleere imagination That will vouchsafe their borrowed time to spend In meditating and in contemplation Of his rare parts true honours faire prospect The perfect line that goodnesse doth direct And vnto you I wish those sweet desires That from your perfect thoughts doe daily spring Increasing still pure bright and holy fires Which sparkes of pretious grace by faith doe spring Mounting your soule vnto eternall rest There to liue happily among the best ⧠To the Ladie ANNE Countesse of Dorcet * ⎠* TO you I dedicate this worke of Grace This frame of Glory which I haue erected For your faire mind I hold the fittest place Where virtue should be fetled protected If highest thoughts true honor do imbrace And holy Wisdom is of them respected Then in this Mirrour let your faire eyes looke To view your virtues in this blessed Booke Blest by our Sauiours merits not my skil Which I acknowledge to be very small Yet if the least part of his blessed Will I haue perform'd I count I haue done all One sparke of grace sufficient is to fill Our Lampes with oyle ready when he doth call To enter with the Bridegroome to
the truth vntruths they seeke to frame Now al their powres their wits their strengths they bend Against one siely weake vnarmed man Who no resistance makes though much he can To free himselfe from these vnlearned men Who call'd him Sauiour in his blessed name Yet farre from knowing him their Sauiour then That came to saue both them and theirs from blame Though they retire and fall they come agen To make a surer purchase of their shame With lights and torches now they find the way To take the Shepheard whilst the sheep doe stray Why should vnlawfull actions vse the Light Inniquitie in Darkenesse seekes to dwell Sinne rides his circuit in the dead of Night Teaching all soules the ready waies to hell Sathan coms arm'd with all the powres of Spight Heartens his Champions makes them rude and fell Like rau'ning wolues to shed his guiltlesse blood Who thought no harme but di'd to doe them good Here Falshood beares the shew of formall Right Base Treacherie hath gote a guard of men Tyranny attends with all his strength and might To leade this siely Lamb to Lyons denne Yet he vnmoou'd in this most wretched plight Goes on to meete them knowes the houre and when The powre of darkenesse must expresse Gods ire Therefore to saue these few was his desire These few that wait on Pouerty and Shame And offer to be sharers in his Ils These few that will be spreaders of his Fame He will not leaue to Tyrants wicked wils But still desires to free them from all blame Yet Feare goes forward Anger Patience kils A Saint is mooued to reuenge a wrong And Mildnesse doth what doth to Wrath belong For Peter grieu'd at what might then befall Yet knew not what to doe nor what to thinke Thought something must be done now if at all To free his Master that he might not drinke This poys'ned draught farre bitterer than gall For now he sees him at the very brinke Of griesly Death who gins to shew his face Clad in all colours of a deepe disgrace And now those hands that neuer vs'd to fight Or drawe a weapon in his owne defence Too forward is to doe his Master right Since of his wrongs hee feeles so true a sence But ah poore Peter now thou wantest might And hee 's resolu'd with them he will goe hence To draw thy sword in such a helpelesse cause Offends thy Lord and is against the Lawes So much he hates Revenge so farre from Hate That he vouchsafes to heale whom thou dost wound His paths are Peace with none he holdes Debate His Patience stands vpon so sure a ground To counsell thee although it comes too late Nay to his foes his mercies so abound That he in pitty doth thy will restraine And heales the hurt and takes away the paine For willingly he will endure this wrong Although his pray'rs might have obtain'd such grace As to dissolve their plots though ne'r so strong And bring these wicked Actors in worse case Than Aegypts King on whom Gods plagues did throng But that foregoing Scriptures must take place If God by prayers had an army sent Of powrefull Angels who could them prevent Yet mightie IESVS meekely ask'd Why they With Swords and Staves doe come as to a Thiefe Hee teaching in the Temple day by day None did offend or give him cause of griefe Now all are forward glad is he that may Give most offence and yeeld him least reliefe His hatefull foes are ready now to take him And all his deere Disciples do forsake him Those deare Disciples that he most did love And were attendant at his becke and call When triall of affliction came to prove They first left him who now must leave them all For they were earth and he came from above Which made them apt to flie and fit to fall Though they protest they never will forsake him They do like men when dangers overtake them And he alone is bound to loose vs all Whom with vnhallowed hands they led along To wicked Caiphas in the Iudgement Hall Who studies onely how to doe him wrong High Priests and Elders People great and small With all reprochfull words about him throng False Witnesses are now call'd in apace Whose trothlesse tongues must make pale death imbrace The beauty of the World Heauens chiefest Glory The mirrour of Martyrs Crowne of holy Saints Loue of th' Almighty blessed Angels story Water of Life which none that drinks it faints Guide of the Iust where all our Light we borrow Mercy of Mercies Hearer of Complaints Triumpher ouer Death Ransomer of Sinne Falsly accused now his paines begin Their tongues doe serue him as a Passing bell For what they say is certainly beleeued So sound a tale vnto the Iudge they tell That he of Life must shortly be bereaued Their share of Heauen they doe not care to sell So his afflicted Heart be throughly grieued They tell his Words though farre from his intent And what his Speeches were not what he meant That he Gods holy Temple could destroy And in three daies could build it vp againe This seem'd to them a vaine and idle toy It would not sinke into their sinful braine Christs blessed body al true Christians joy Should die and in three dayes reuiue againe This did the Lord of Heauen and earth endure Vniustly to be charg'd by tongues impure And now they all doe giue attentiue eare To heare the answere which he will not make The people wonder how he can forbeare And these great wrongs so patiently can take But yet he answers not nor doth he care Much more he will endure for our sake Nor can their wisdoms any way discouer Who he should be that proou'd so true a Louer To entertaine the sharpest pangs of death And fight a combate in the depth of hell For wretched Worldlings made of dust and earth Whose hard'ned hearts with pride and mallice swell In midst of bloody sweat and dying breath He had compassion on these tyrants fell And purchast them a place in Heau'n for euer When they his Soule and Body sought to seuer Sinnes vgly mists so blinded had their eyes That at Noone dayes they could discerne no Light These were those fooles that thought themselues so wise The Iewish wolues that did our Sauiour bite For now they vse all meanes they can deuise To beate downe truth and goe against all right Yea now they take Gods holy name in vaine To know the truth which truth they doe prophane The chiefest Hel-hounds of this hatefull crew Rose vp to aske what answere he could make Against those false accusers in his view That by his speech they might aduantage take He held his peace yet knew they said not true No answere would his holy wisdome make Till he was charged in his glorious name Whose pleasure t was he should endure this shame Then with so mild a Maiestie he spake As they might easly know from whence he came His harmelesse tongue doth no exceptions
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
wisedome which saluation brings The Sonne of righteousnesse that giues true joyes When all they sought for were but Earthly toyes No trauels ought th' affected soule to shunne That this faire heauenly Light desires to see This King of kings to whom we all should runne To view his Glory and his Majestie He without whom we all had beene vndone He that from Sinne and Death hath set vs free And ouercome Satan the world and finne That by his merits we those joyes might winne Prepar'd by him whose euerlasting throne Is plac'd in heauen aboue the starrie skies Where he that sate was like the Iasper stone Who rightly knowes him shall be truely wise A Rainebow round about his glorious throne Nay more those winged beasts so full of eies That neuer cease to glorifie his Name Who was and will be and is now the same This is that great almightie Lord that made Both heauen and earth and liues for euermore By him the worlds foundation first was laid He fram'd the things that neuer were before The Sea within his bounds by him is staid He judgeth all alike both rich and poore All might all majestie all loue all lawe Remaines in him that keepes all worlds in awe From his eternall throne the lightning came Thundrings and Voyces did from thence proceede And all the creatures glorifi'd his name In heauen in earth and seas they all agreed When loe that spotlesse Lambe so voyd of blame That for vs di'd whose sinnes did make him bleed That true Physition that so many heales Opened the Booke and did vndoe the Seales He onely worthy to vndoe the Booke Of our charg'd soules full of iniquitie Where with the eyes of mercy he doth looke Vpon our weakenesse and infirmitie This is that corner stone that was forsooke Who leaues it trusts but to vncertaintie This is Gods Sonne in whom he is well pleased His deere beloued that his wrath appeased He that had powre to open all the Seales And summon vp our sinnes of blood and wrong He vnto whom the righteous soules appeales That haue bin martyrd and doe thinke it long To whom in mercie he his will reueales That they should rest a little in their wrong Vntill their fellow seruants should be killed Euen as they were and that they were fulfilled To the Laâ—â— dowager of Cumberland ¶ Pure thoughted Lady blessed be thy choyce Of this Almightie euerlasting King In thee his Saints and Angels doe reioyce And to their Heau'nly Lord doe daily sing Thy perfect praises in their lowdest voyce And all their harpes and golden vials bring Full of sweet odours euen thy-holy prayers Vnto that spotlesse Lambe that all repaires Of whom that Heathen Queene obtain'd such grace By honouring but the shadow of his Loue That great Iudiciall day to haue a place Condemning those that doe vnfaithfull proue Among the haplesse happie is her case That her deere Sauiour spake for her behoue And that her memorable Act should be Writ by the hand of true Eternitie Yet this rare Phoenix of that worne-out age This great maiesticke Queene comes short of thee Who to an earthly Prince did then ingage Her hearts desires her loue her libertie Acting her glorious part vpon a Stage Of weaknesse frailtie and infirmity Giuing all honour to a Creature due To her Creator whom shee neuer knew But loe a greater thou hast sought and found Than Salomon in all his royaltie And vnto him thy faith most firmely bound To serue and honour him continually That glorious God whose terror doth confound All sinfull workers of iniquitie Him hast thou truely serued all thy life And for his loue liu'd with the world at strife To this great Lord thou onely art affected Yet came he not in pompe or royaltie But in an humble habit base deiected A King a God clad in mortalitie He hath thy loue thou art by him directed His perfect path was faire humilitie Who being Monarke of heau'n earth and seas Indur'd all wrongs yet no man did displease Then how much more art thou to be commended That seek'st thy loue in lowly shepheards weed A seeming Trades-mans sonne of none attended Saue of a few in pouertie and need Poore Fishermen that on his loue attended His loue that makes so many thousands bleed Thus did he come to trie our faiths the more Possessing worlds yet seeming extreame poore The Pilgrimes trauels and the Shepheards cares He tooke vpon him to enlarge our soules What pride hath lost humilitie repaires For by his glorious death he vs inroules In deepe Characters writ with blood and teares Vpon those blessed Euerlasting scroules His hands his feete his body and his face Whence freely flow'd the riuers of his grace Sweet holy riuers pure celestiall springs Proceeding from the fountaine of our life Swift sugred currents that saluation brings Cleare christall streames purging all sinne and strife Faire floods where souls do bathe their snow-white wings Before they flie to true etern all life Sweet Nectar and Ambrosia food of Saints Which whoso tasteth neuer after faints This hony dropping dew of holy loue Sweet milke wherewith we weaklings are restored Who drinkes thereof a world can neuer moue All earthly pleasures are of them abhorred This loue made Martyrs many deaths to proue To taste his sweetnesse whom they so adored Sweetnesse that makes our flesh a burthen to vs Knowing it serues but onely to vndoe vs. His sweetnesse sweet'ned all the sowre of death To faithfull Stephen his appointed Saint Who by the riuer stones did loose his breath When paines nor terrors could not make him faint So was this blessed Martyr turn'd to earth To glorifie his soule by deaths attaint This holy Saint was humbled and cast downe To winne in heauen an euerlasting crowne Whose face repleat with Maiestie and Sweetnesse Did as an Angel vnto them appeare That sate in Counsell hearing his discreetnesse Seeing no change or any signe of a feare But with a constant browe did there confesse Christs high deserts which were to him so deare Yea when these Tyrants stormes did most oppresse Christ did appeare to make his griefe the lesse For beeing filled with the holy Ghost Vp vnto Heau'n he look'd with stedfast eies Where God appeared with his heauenly hoste In glory to this Saint before he dies Although he could no Earthly pleasures boast At Gods right hand sweet IESVS he espies Bids them behold Heauens open he doth see The Sonne of Man at Gods right hand to be Whose sweetnesse sweet'ned that short sowre of Life Making all bitternesse delight his taste Yeelding sweet quietnesse in bitter strife And most contentment when he di'd disgrac'd Heaping vp joyes where sorrows were most rife Such sweetnesse could not choose but be imbrac'd The food of Soules the Spirits onely treasure The Paradise of our celestiall pleasure This Lambe of God who di'd and was aliue Presenting vs the bread of life Eternall His bruised body powrefull to reuiue Our sinking soules out of the pit infernall