to change to Mercies White This Passions vertue is so passing pure That Fowle to Faire it turnes and Darke to Light The Land-marke to true Rest when Troubles tosse In Sorrowes seas is Christ vpon the Crosse. Ye vnconfused orders Angellick In order come to take this Blood effuz'd Bring forth Celestiall Bowles with motion quick To which this pretious blood may be infuz'd Let not one drop be lost of such rare Blood That makes men passing bad exceeding good Couer this Aqua-uitae with your wings From touch of Infidels and Iewes prophane They haue no int'rest in this King of Kings Whose blood they suck'd 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 poore Spirited Conuerts drinke their fill And I will their drie Soules till with it they swell Such diuine surfetting is wholesome still For noysome Humors it doth quite expell Yea though with griefe they swell and breake with paine Such griefe brings ioy and makes them whole againe The Elephants of yore inur'd to warre Before the Fight some blood were vs'd to see Which them incenst the more to make them dare Then if a Beast shall not our better be Sith Christ wee see quite drown'd thus in his Blood We must endure the Racke as he the Rood Fiue Founts he opens whence doe gushing flow Red Seas to drowne our blacke Egyptian sinnes That they nomore may seeke our ouerthrow Then should we goe like Israels Denizins Though Wasts of Woes orethrowing eu'ry Let Till we into the Land of Promise get NOw to this Lifelesse yet Life-giuing Body Returne my Soule see see how like a Clod He hangs with gastly-grimme aspect all bloody Ah who would weene 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 cheere O holy Marie Gods deere Mother How fares thy Heart transpierc'd with Sorrowes sword Thy Sonne is slain yet sure there is none other That kils and straight reuiueth with a Word If He alone hath this almightie pow'r Doubt not but He himselfe Himselfe will cure What! doe I doubt that thou a doubt do'st make Of his reuiuall O! I wrong thee much Ifso I should for thy Faith cannot shake Sith it is stai'd by Gods vnshaken Touch Then that thou should'st be thus so woe-begon I see no cause saue Natures course alone Nature will yerne when monstrous minded Men Prodigiously doe violate Her Lawes But when they wracke her selfe what will shee then Will shee not mourne to grieue hath shee no cause Shee were vnlike her selfe and her selfe foe If toucht so neere she were not toucht with woe Then sacred Saint thou must haue leaue to mourne Thy losse is great although thy gaine be more Thy Heart must rend to see thy deere Heart torne It needs must bleed when It s so full of Gore If it be drie through bleedings great excesse Would Mine for Thine might bleed and neuer cease ANd sith twixt you is such proximitie That thou do'st throughly taste the smart he feeles I le turne my speech a while alone to thee To comfort thee with ioy which Faith reueales And though thou now triumph in endlesse ioy This might be sed to thee in thine annoy Thine Eies that see engulpht in seas of Tears Griefes Obiects greater than they are indeed Dissolue in Brine to season so thy Cares That Sorrow may thereon with pleasure feed When Sorrowes swellings burst out of the Eies The Heart doth hold to giue them fresh supplies Thine Eares beleeue all Sounds how sweet so ere Are but the Accents of a Tragicke voyce The Angels Notes doe seeme but parts to beare In the Confusion of an irkesome noyse For when the Body is without the Head What Musicke makes the Trunke but dull or dead The Ecchoes of thy Plaints doe seeme to thee The mournfull cries of Riuers Rockes and Hills As though their Maker them had made to be True feelers of his Paines thy Griefes their Ills For when as Natures God feeles violence Nature makes nought that hath not feeling sense Each glimpse of Ioy to thee is like the Spoiles Of some rich Kingdome to her conquer'd Prince Which are the markes of her recurelesse foiles And without warre his warring Thoughts conuince For others mirth doth then become our mone When they make merrie with our losse alone What ere delights the Eare then renouates The woefull want of thy Sonnes fu gred Words For Angels voice but recapitulates The misse of That which sweeter voice affoords And to be minded of the losse of Ioy Doth make vs find in old losse new annoy As Loue that highly prizeth pricelesse Things Trebles the price of those of highest rate So Reason and Iudgement Faithlesse almightie Wings Lifting thy Soule to see thy high estate Makes his Crosse thy Crosse-Crosse-let treble crost Because so well thou know'st what thou hast lost And all the Sweetes thy Senses apprehend Are but as Crummes of thy late royall cheere Which thy erst full-fed Soule doe but offend And make thy Looke more hunger-pin'd appeare The Pallat vs'd to ful-disht daintie Cates The homely crumms of course Crusts deadly hates Worlds-glorie is to thee a Lightnings flame Which doth but light to see calamitie For out it goes when it hath show'd the same And Hell doth leaue behind t' affront the Eie For Glorie in his Grace did so excell That Heāu'n with it compar'd is worse than Hel. For killing in his owne Life-giuing Death The sacred life of liues it doth ensue All liuings Things died with his yeelding breath So made Death victor and did Death subdue But by Death to subdue Lifes conquering Foe Is Life in Death though Flesh and Blood say no. No no sai'st Thou deere Saint as Flesh thou art Whose Blood doth boile in passion for thy losse For through his Death thy Life feeles mortall smart So his Crosse Tree of Life is thy Lifes Crosse For Grace and Nature beeing opposite Doth breed an endlesse bate twixt Flesh and Sp'rite When Faith doth Reason into Loue transmute Then Faith through Loue surmounteth Reasons reach And scornes with Flesh and Blood once to dispute But in the Metaphy sicks Reas'n doth teach Yet now thy Faith and Loue and Reas'n conspire To reaue thy rest in quest of thy desire Thy Loue by reason of thy miseries Engulphs thy Memorie in griefe so deepe That thou forgett'st thy fore-past promises Remembring but thy hearts ease still to weepe For when hearts-ease doth from the heart depart Nature enforceth Teares to ease the Heart But yet the inward presence of thy Sonne His outward absence deere Saint may supply Who from thy Wombe into thy Heart is gone That thou mai'st feele him much more vitally Then in thy Heart which Sorrowes Sword doth wound Hemakes his Tent to Tent and make it sound But if thou feel'st not yet this Lord of Life Stirre in that liueli'st feeling
hide his Head This Hole in Death shall doe what Life denai'd Yet shall it not long hold Him beeing dead For Heau'ns his Home Earth's but the Babylon Vpon whose Riuers bankes He still did moane Here Loue contends with Custome Loue would keepe His Corps without Custome within the Graue But Tyrant Custome swaying Loue doth weepe That Her deere LOVE shee may no longer haue And for a Fare-well Volleys forth her Voice In Grones and Sighes and Lachrimable Noise NOw Hee 's interr'd that all the World intombes But in the Center of his Court diuine Yet least Point of that Center now enwombes This Lord whose greatnesse nothing can containe Gods Peace be with Him sith Hee 's God of Peace Till by his pow'r He makes his Death decease Vnheau'n your selues ye holy Cherubins And giue attendance on your Lord in Earth Couer his Corps with your Celestiall wings From all that naturally annoyes beneath Descend sweet Angels Legioniz'd in Rankes And make your Heau'n on his Sepulchers Bankes There warble forth your Hymnes of highest praise In highest honour of your highest Lord And Lullabie asleep his Watchers Eies With secret Soule-enchanting sweet concords Whiles with Eie-blinding Beames of Glory dight He faire amounts â—o frolicke his Saints sight But tell me O thou fairest Faire of Men Where do'st thou lodge at Noone-day where do'st sleep O tell my Soule and Shee will find Thee then And as her Soule Thee found will safely keep For Thou more cleere than Springs of Eseboâ— Hast made Her with thy more cleere Blood 〈◊〉 Thy Wintry-* Woes are past Spights storms are ceas'd Now flowres of Comfort burgen eu'ry where Then rise my Loue thou canst not be diseas'd Out of the * Rockes Holes rise to mee appeare And in the Holes of Thee her refuge Rocke My Soule from from deadly Sinne and Shame vp-locke Out of this Rocke as out of Paradise Runne through the Mosse of my most feeble Flesh Vnto my Soule all soil'd with Sinne and Vice Gihons of golden streames her to refresh So may it runne O still so may it runne Till it hath made her blacke as bright as sunne O Gates of Heau'n orientall glorious Gates O Wounds no Wounds but Hau'ns of Heau'n secure Neasts of cleane Doues and Forts from fellest Fates Blessed Balme-Boxes that all sores recure O let me liuing die and dying liue In these most holy Wounds that Life doe giue O let these Wounds these Woundes indeprauate Be holy Sanctuaries for my whole Man That though sinnes sores It oft coninquinate Yet there It may be made as white as Swanne O holy Wounds Wounds holier than all Holies Still let your Bloods be Floods t'ingulph my Folies When Woes doe wound me wind me in thy Wounds Sweet Iesus that for me with Woe wast wounded When Foes by Wounds my Bodies life confound Then let my Soule in thy Wounds be surrounded There let Her rest securely till shee may By thy high Grace resume in Blisse her Clay When carnall Lust my Flesh fraile Flesh inflames Then quench the same in thy Wounds bleeding still When Furie with strong hand my Mind vnframes Then in thy Wounds reforme It to thy Will In few by this most bloody Immolation Let my by parted selfe haue whole Saluation And thou O iust commander of this All To please whose Iustice Iustice Death endur'd Thou that I hat death mad'st most patheticall Inspire me with Loue Hope and Faith assur'd That while I breath this ayre my voice may be No light vaine Ayre but voyce aduancing Thee And deepely die each obiect of my Sense In tincture of thy Sonnes all sauing Blood By which Aspect my Mindes reminiscence May ruminate the vertue of that good That is our Summum bonum and the rate Of Sinne Gods wrath and iust though heauy hate O holy God! then looke O looke on me Through the through wounded Sides of thy deere Sonne O let my Scarlet Sinnes pure purple be In his deere Blood my Sinnes Purgation For eu'n as through redde Glasse Things red do seeme So through that Blood my Workes thou good wilt deeme The kingdome of the Flesh is swaid by Sinne In Christ that kingdome thou hast crucifi'd Then let me dwell that faultlesse Flesh within Sith Sinne subdues all humane Flesh beside Then there O there let me both liue and die Sith Life by Death there liues immortally The Diuell and the World two Worlds of Strife With whom my Flesh conspires my Soule assaile Who to destroy her selfe giues them a knife And so with them conspires her selfe to spoile Then if thou flesh her not with Christ shee dies For shee in my Flesh liues none otherwise But shall I make long Furrowes on his Backe Or stil make Him but soape my Sinnes to scowre Shall He supply the Pow'r my soule doth lacke Yet shall shee still be idle with his pow're O no Lord no that 's not the way to winne But th' onely way to liue and die in sinne Then helpe me Lord to help his helping might And giue me of thy goods to grace his Grace Let not my sloth but clogge your actiue Sp'rit Although it doe the Same in Loue embrace For sith in Action Vertue doth consist Helpe me to worke together with my Christ. Had I all Faith and Mountaines could remoue And though I gaue my Body to the Fire All this were nothing if I had not Loue Then liuely Faith meere Loue doth Life-inspire Sith then without Loue Faith doth nought but die Giue me that Faith that liues by Charitie Had I of Men or Cherubins the Tongues Knew I all Secrets or all Prophesie Fed I the poore with all to me belongs All these without Loue do but liuing die And sith on Loue depends the Royall Law O let my faith Lord worke in Loue and awe Christ is a Rocke of Refuge but to those That fight thy Battailes then needs must I fight Against both Thy and My still-fighting Foes And euer flie to Him in want of might Let me rest on this Rocke but yet so rest As by my sloath He may not be opprest I long sweet God to see thy vnseene Face Then put me in this Rocks most holy Rifts That I with Moses there may see thy Grace Sith It cannot be seene but through these Clifts But if I be vnmeet thy Face to ken Shew me thy back-parts kind Lord say Amen God forbid that I should glorie sauing in the Crosse of our Lord Iesus Christ by whom the World is crucified to me and I to the World IOHN DAVIES of Hereford SONETS 1. THe ofter sinne the more griefe shewes a Saint The ofter sinne the lesse griefe notes a Fiend But oft with griefe to sinne the soule doth taint And oft to sinne with ioy the soule doth rend To sinne on Hope is sinne most full of Feare To sinue of malice is the Diuels sinne One is that Christ may greater burden beare The other that his Death might still beginne To sinne of Frailtie is a sinne but
one silly Teare O Aire and Earth why doe ye not conspire To burne this Turfe that Water wants with Fire Aswell the Crosse the Hammer Nailes and Speare Did crucifie thy Iesus as the Iewes No no thy sinnes his Crucifiers were That by his death they might their life excuse O Synne how sinnefull art Thou sith thou must Excuse thy Crymes by crimes much more vniust I st not enough the Soule quite to subuert Wherein Thou liu'st but must thou spoile Him too Through whome the Soule doth liue by whom Thou Art And so do That that doth thy selfe vndoo Then blame not Faith thy foe to spoile thy State When thou thy selfe thy selfe dost dissipate Thinke Man whose Feete are swifter faâ—re then Thought To doe what ere is opposite to Good Thinke that thou seest him on his face longe straught In Praier and in Passion sweating Bloud Sith from al parts for Thee his bloud out flies Giue Him one Drop of Water from thine Eyes A Birde there is as Pliny doth report That in the time of treading sweateth bloud That Birde Ciconia height sweates so in sport But this kinde Pellican in maestiue moode So That in pleasure sweats begetting young But This in Paine with sanguine sweate among This kinde most kinde Soule-sauing Emperick His owne blood broacheth so our Soules to saue And for our Healths He maks his owne Heart sick Yea dyes that by his Death wee life might haue Then sith this blest by-parted Man-god dies For Mans loue Mans loue should be like likewise Thinke now thou seest O ioy-griefe-breeding sight Ioy for his merit griefe for his annoy Perditions child with Men Swords Staues and Light The Lord of Light to catch and so destroy Now thinke thou seest that Reprobate by birth With kisse betray the Lord of Heau'n and Earth Then see ah see how They Limbes of that Lord That Lords it in Deaths gloomie Continent His tender hands bind with a boist'rous cord So strait that straight with rigour violent It seemes to cut in two those tender hands For soft flesh yeelds when such rough force commands And canst Thou see O Thou thou carelesse Man Thou worme thou insect slaue to base Contempt Freedome thus bound for thee if so thou can And yet liue loosly th' art from grace exempt O that the God of grace as Man should die For man whose grace in loosenesse most doth lie Now thinke O thinke thou seest those hounds of hell That yelp out blasphemies about their pray With vngraue gate to runne doe him compell And with tumultuous noyse him lead away Ah see how He that staid the Sunnes swift course Through thicke and thin doth staâ—lesse run perforce Ierusalem O faire Ierusalem Figure of Heau'n built on celestiall soyle Yet wast beheau'nd through blessed Bethelem Shall yet her heau'ns blisse in thee suffer foyle O be thou not ingrate but dash to dust With thine owne downfall thine owne folke vniust Thinke now thou seest the sonnes of Babylon Infernall furies furiously present Meekenesse it selfe this harmelesse holy One To Annas high Priest low hels President Where he with armes and hands meeke lambe stands bound To heare what sense of hearing might confound Here Truth it selfe with Falshood fowle is charged To which for making mild and iust replies A cursed Fist on his blest face discharged A furious buffer that enflam'd his eies Ah see thy God how he doth reeling stand With blood-shot eine by force of hellish hand O damned hand fell engine of reproach How dar'st thou strike that awfull sacred face Before whose dread aspect the Heauens crouch Before whose Maiesties most glorious grace The Seraphins with reuerend feare doe quake And all th' infernal Legions trembling shake What franticke fit what rage did thee incense What fiend what desperat furie made thee dare To offer him that barb'rous violence That is of God the liuely Character Why didst not dread lest his high hand of powre Vpon thy pate would suddaine vengeance powre Saw'st thou not Iustice sitting in his Front As well as Mercie in his eies to sit Did both at once thy cruell eies afront And yet thy heart and hand not staid by it Did Deitie in his face make a stand Yet That not make thee Diuell hold thy hand Then is it cleere thy Hand is none of thine Much lesse thy Heart that did thy Hand direct But it is Hels and wrought Hels damn'd designe Or els that Grace that Face might well protect Nere durst the Diuell tempt him with such force Then though the Fiend be selfe ill thou art worse Canst thou O tell me tell me canst thou Man With th'eie of Thought behold this drierie sight With dried eies Those eies that whilome ran With blood for thee wilt not one drop require Why should the Sunne and Moone the Heau'ns bright eies Then looke on thee but as thine enemies Now thinke O thinke thou see'st O sauage sight His foes inhumane hale him thence in haste Along the streetes with clamour rage and spight To Caiphas house where he was so disgrac't As neuer Man much lesse a God could be Yet neuer God more good to man than he Bound as before he stands in whom we rest Afront the face of that pernitious Priest Who with the Scribes and Elders there are prest In their reproachfull slaunders to persist Meane while meeke Soule though he from guilt be cleare Yet stands he mute as though he guiltie were See the coniuring proud remorcelesse Priest Rend in fell rage too like a furious fiend The pompous vestures of this Pithonist When Christ doth vrg'd aright his cause defend Whereat the rest in depth of scorne and hate His diuine Truth with taunts doe deprauate And to expresse the rancor of their spight They blindfold him and make his face as t' were A Drumme to call his Foes against him to fight For still a tab'ring on his face they are So fast their fists doe fall as Drum-sticks while The Drumme doth sound Alarum to the broyle But that which doth all credit farre exceed But that all credit to this Truth is due They in his louely Face O loathsome deed Doe spitting spall or rather spalling spue O Heau'ns can ye endure to see your King More vilely vs'd than Toad or vilest thing O wonder farre surmounting wonderments O more than most profound humilitie Doe they fiends varnish with fowle excrements That Face whose grace the Heau'ns doth glorifie And he endure it what should we endure When he most pure for vs was made s'impure Men if they spit doe choose the fowlest place VVhere to bestow their eie-offending fleame Is no place fowler than his heau'nly face To cast that filth that reaketh hellish steame O dongue O dust O heire of rottennesse VVilt ere be proud seeing such humblenesse God silent is whiles Diu'ls doe spit on him The heau'ns are whist whiles hell reuiles their Lord The measure of abuse vp to the brimme These hellish furies fill in deed and word VVhat could Gods
friends what would he then haue done That beeing his foes no woes for vs doth shunne For lo he hangs in Torments most extreame Wrapt in the Intrals often thousand Euils While Christ thy foes thy noble name blaspheme And raue against thee like out-ragious Diuels From out their banefull Bulkes all spight they spue Till PAINE did Hydra-headed Paine subdue BVt now begin the angrie Heau'ns to scoule And Phebus hides from thee his golden Head Now Sathan toyles to tempt thy sacred Soule Now sinkes thy Body downe as it were dead Now quakes the Earth now rends the Temples Vaile And now thy Senses doe themselues assaile Now frownes thy Father with a dreadfull looke Now burnes his wrath which fire thy Soule doth feare Now gape the Graues of Saints which now awooke From out the sleepe of Death wherein they were Now roares the Thunder in the gloomy skie Now Sathan yelles because his foile's so nie Orion now doth muster misty Cloudes Wherewith the foggie Aire is dark'ned quight And now thy Fathers face from thee he shrouds That whilome woont on thee to shine so bright All which compell thy Manhood thus to crie Ely Ely Lammasabacthanie Now downe thy holy Head begins to sinke And now the Hand of Death doth close thine Eies Thy Tongue enflam'd with paine now thirsts for drinke Which beeing reueal'd that want Spight straight supplies Who giues thee ah to plague thy Taste withall In gall of bitternesse the bitter'st Gall But by the way here note my mournefull Muse The great ah tearmes I want aright t' expresse The monstrous malice of these cankred Iewes Who not content his Corps with Paines t' oppresse Doe nerethelesse his Senses seeke to spill And grieue because his Soule they cannot kill O Sonnes of Sinne can ye see Iustice-Sonne So like the Sonne of all Impietie Thus made a Chaos of Confusion With Angels so to range you orderly Yet liue disord'red then ah what remaines But lookt-for Worlds of all confused paines Say for his glorie he endures these Stormes Without respect of your peculiar gaine Alas what glorie can GOD haue of Wormes But such as he might lothe sith vile as vaine Then sith he for yours not his glory dies With shame for shame die ye for his likewise Sith He that 's Lord of Blisse and all Renowne Diues to the Ground of Shame and Sorrowes Seas To fetch vp Iemmes of Ioy for Glories Crowne To place but on Mans Head in Worlds of ease Then Man should to the Ground of deep'st annoy Diue for like Iemmes his Lord alike to ioy Had we but Selfe-Loue in the kindest kind This loue alone would force vs this to doe For this Selfe-Loue not like the other blind Seeing what Ioyes such Woes doe whaft vs to Makes vs for our owne future endlesse ease Loue to be ducking still in Sorrowes Seas Christs bitter and his latest draught thus drunke The Pangs of Death begin each limbe to Racke Now picks his Soule the Lifes Locke of his Truncke For now his deere Heart-strings begin to cracke Father quoth he to thee I giue my Soule For now is finish'd both my Life and doule And for the vp-shoot Longius with a Speare Doth pierce his side and cleeues his Heart in twaine From which as from an hallowed Fountaine cleere Both Blood and Water gusheth forth amaine Drinke now an Health my Soule for this is Wine Will all thy faculties with grace refine For this is Christ through whose sides soules to saue All Men are crucifi'd with whose last Breath All Men gaue vp the Ghost within whose Graue All buryed be by whose arise from Death All are reuiu'd for he as we beleeue Did liue to die that we might die to liue In Paradise from one selfe head did flow Foure Streames of Earth to bathe each droughtie limbe From Christ Faiths Paradise Blood floweth fo From whose Heart through his Hands and Feet doth swimme On floods of gore the Arke of grace where in Th'elect are sau'd from beeing wrackt through sinne And from his side beside came welling forth Both Blood and Water full of Misterie Blood to purge sinne and Water of like worth To note new birth in Christian Infancie From all whose Bodies parts to parts and whole Blood streamed forth to clense each Bodies Soule The Blood of Beasts effuz'd in sacrifice Were Typicall yet pleas'd the angrie High'st But that did this most pure Blood symbolize Those Shadowes were dispell'd by Iesus Christ True Iustice Sunne in whom no shadow is Either of Change or Sinne or ought amisse Here perpendicularly hangs the Line By which from out the Worlds Maze men do goe Vnto a World more ample more diuine Without which all goe wrong to rightest woe Then goe by this you that would not be lost For hereby you goe right how euer crost And if foule Sinnes glu'd fast to flesh and Blood So closely cling that they will not away Vnlesse vnloosed with a sanguine flood This working Deluge will not let them staie Noes flood confounded all saue eight alone But this saues all that it hath ouerflowne NOw hath the great CREATOR for Mans sake The second Adam cast into a sleepe Whiles of his Heart-blood Hee his Spouse doth make For whom His Heart doth Blood and Water weepe Which compound Teares are turn'd to Ioy intire For his Heart-blood effects his Hearts desire Which deere desire was one deere Spouse to haue To be co-partner of his Griefes and Ioyes Which when he wooke his God vnto him gaue To comfort him in comforts and annoies Which when n he saw He held most faire to see filesh of his Flesh Bone of his Bones to be Now hath the Monster Flesh-deuouring Death Got him within his Bowels but thoughdead Looke how a woman groaning languisheth In Child-birth till shee be deliuered So groaneth Death who trauelleth in paine Till of his charge he be discharg'd againe And as the * Babylonian Dragon brake So soone as Daniels Lumpes his Mouth had fill'd So Death that of Lifes Lord a Meale did make In sunder brake and vtterly was spild His Mawe could not digest that blessed Bit Made most immortall by his eating it Nor could he vomit vp this Bread of Life Which Poyson-like while it in him abides Had with his nature such vncessant strife That it brake forth the next way through his sides Sending celestiall Beames not to the skie But to the Throne of highest diuinitie Nor could He as some Beasts rechew their meat To cause the same the better to disgest Rechew this Bread so fast and so compleat Made by his chewing that it now must rest As free from Passion as from violence Garded with Powre and Glories excellence O! that all Spirits of high Intelligence By royall Armies would themselues immure In my blunt Braines that by their confluence I might expresse with Nectar'd Phrases pure The praise that to this Passion right pertaines Whose sacred vertue sacred Vertue staines The vertue of this Passion is of pow'r Reuenges Red
they may the better wield that Charge And not by poize to let him fall be forc't See how the Body doubles in their Armes While Faith their loue with feruor double warmes For Martyrs Deaths giue life to Martyrs more Till DEATH be tir'd with reauing Them of Life This God did die as nere did Man before For Hee by yeelding meekely conquer'd Strife His Patience in such Passions and such Spightes Doth Life-inspire the faith of Proselites It is in vaine therefore with Sword or Fire To seeke to plant a Faith which cannot growe For Saints blood chokes It ere It can aspire And like a Deluge doth It ouerflow For when the Church is bath'd in Her owne blood Shee 's cur'd of all Diseases in that Flood Who will not runne into an Hell of Paine For His Hopes sake when he sees some therein For that same cause to seeme in blisse to raigne And by that Blisse eternall Glorie winne It 's sport to die when Life and Death conspire Feare to exclude and satiate the Desire WEll now those Women that were fled him fro When Tempests rag'd are come the Coast being cleare To pay him their last Dutie sith no mo They shall not as they doubt Him see nor heare Now eu'ry one is busied busily To grace Him Dead that for their grace did die Now downe they haue this dead Life-giuing Lord And now their zeale with diuine adoration Performes Loues complements in deed and word Now He hath suffred now they suffer Passion They spice Him sweetly with salt teares among And of sad Sighes they make their Obiit-Song O cruell hands quoth one that pierc'd these Hands But farre more cruell heart that gor'd this Heart Curst quoth another bee their feet that stand In Sinners Way who did these Feet endart O quoth a Third Paine still that Head suround That with these cruell Thornes this Head hath crown'd Infernall Furies whip them that haue torne This blessed Flesh thus whipt accursedly And be their Flesh with Wants to nothing worne That thus haue worne the Flesh of Deitie O worme of Conscience gnaw their Soules to nought That still did plague his Soule and vexe his Thought Let neuer Sunne recheere them with his Raies That Iustice Sonne haue thus in purple clowded Let nere Mouth ope but spit in their dispraise That haue these Lips in Death's pale Liu'ry shrouded Thus all like Honny-Bees sweet murmure make Against those Waspes that spoil'd their honny Cake Now draw they forth their Aromaticke Gumbes His Flesh most sweet to make most oderous See see how now His Traine late scatt'red comes Trooping with drooping Hearts most dolorous To helpe t'embalme Him and condole His death And to consort His Carcasse to the Earth See how in Peace they striue in Loue contend To kisse and rekisse his gore-crusted Face And with each kisse Teares Floods their force extend Which shall anticipate the others pace Loe how they hug Him with lowd-shaking cries Some hugge his Armes and others Legges and Thies But blest is He that hath his Head in hold Hee holds his hold till crowd enforce him thence Yet ere he parts his kisses millifold Bewray his loue and louing diligence And as the Babe is loath to leaue the Dugge Forepin'd with thirst so at his Lips they tugge Sweet Iesus giue me leaue in strong conceit Among these holy Ones to kisse thee once I as vnworthy will their leisure waite With vigilant attendance for the nonce Though they in loue are not my selfe aboue For who hath most forgiuen most doth loue If not thy Lips for I confesse deere Sweete I am vn worthy such preheminence Yet giue me leaue to kisse thy sacred Feet And wash them with my sad Teares confluence Let me with Marie who had much forgiu'n Yet I much more make Them my highest Heau'n For I aye me I am that Lumpe of Sinne That made thy Soule so heauie to the death I eu'ry day afresh thy woes begin Breathing out Death to thee with my Lifes breath Farre worse than he that blind thy Heart did gore For I doe see and yet doe wound it more O Christ with thy Rod strike my Rockie Heart That it may flow for Thee as Thine for me O let it bleed in pittie of thy smart And leaue to thinke on ought that grieueth Thee Bleed Heart weepe Eies that Blood and Water may Wash Blood and Water which I spilt away Sweet Honnied Sweet looke looke into my Heart See what Desires thy Loue doth pow'r therein Touching thy Loue I know thou hast the Arte To make the same in Deed thy Loue to winne Sith thy grace makes the Will and Deed intire O giue me grace to Doe as I Desire And as it 's written of the Elephant That he is fierce to see Grapes blood diffus'd So let me Wretch become most valiant Gainst Death and Hell to see thy Blood effus'd Who art the Grape which pressed on the Crosse Yeelds wine of Life and makes vs liue by losse When I behold thy still-fresh-bleeding Wounds I see the Deed to worke with the Desire Of my Redemption which my Soule confounds With shame though It the same doth life-inspire Whose good Deeds by Desire are onely done Though good Deeds end what good Desires begun When when deere Lord O when shall I fraile I Resist to Blood thy bloody foes resist When for thy sake shall I desire to die And in that deere Desire in Deed insist Till when I hold my deer'st Desires to be Vnworthy of thy Crosse much lesse of Thee Can I behold thy Gore rough-casted Corse Thine Head Heart Hands Backe Side Feet wounded all And all to free me from thy Fathers Curse And all I doe is but therein to fall I le trust Thy Secrecie Hearke in thine Eare I am the worst redeem'd with Blood so deere Then good Desires can nere repay the Debt Which thee I owe by Deeds seal'd with thy Blood My selfe thy Due I should too much forget To seeke to paie Thee with none other good For I am Thine Thou deerely paid'st for me Then both my Life and Death should honour Thee This World this Hellish World doth dimme mine Eies My Iudgements Eies that they but darkly see The way to worke by loue as worke the wise The godly wise whose workes tend all to Thee Then helpe me Loue to worke for Thee alone Meane while let me thy Passion thinke vpon Now doth this louing sacred Synaxie With diuine Orizons and deuout Teares Ensindon Him with choisest Draperie And to the Sepulcher his Body beares And as they beare him step by step they poure Downe showres of Teares which winds of Sighes procure But ah alasse his Mother all this while Like Niobe as Poets faine still sits All as shee did her Senses reconcile To senslesse Death and were in Tranced fits Without or Spâ—ite or Life or Heart or Soule Her violent woes her Senses so controule Now Loue to his last Home hath Him conuai'd That had no Hole in Life to