# The Song of Mary the Mother
of Christ: Containing the Story of
his life and passion.

FAine would I write, my minde aſhamed is,
My verſe doth ſeare to do the matter wrong:
No earthly muſique good enough for this,
Not *Dauids* harpe, nor *Hieroms* mourning ſong.
Nor *Eſaies* lippes are worthy once to mooue,
Though *Zeraphins* fire hath kindled them with loue

An Angels Trompe is not so lowde and ſhrill,
As fitting were, much leſſe this verſe of mine:
Pull backe thy hand, thy too preſumptuous quill,
And pray to finde a writer more diuine.
Eternall God which ſhall be, wert, and art,
Imprint my Sauiours paſſion in my heart.

Write it within the table of my minde,
Engraue thy Loue in laſting letters there:
And giue me grace to caſt all ſinne behinde,
And quite contemne thoſe fading pleaſures heere.
And euer ſeeke the honour of thy name,
And publish eke the glory of the fame.

A 2

To

To publish it vnworthy art thou found,
Yet I accept the proffer of thy will:
With all thy force, my glory foorth then found,
Such as they be, imploy thy tongue and quill.
For though thou see it thy talents are but small,
Yet I am great, and to be prais'd in all.

So David with his harpe, my law des did sing,
And Hieroms long lamented hath my paine:
Esay foretolde that I should be your King,
The Zeraphins still extoll their Soueraigne,
Angels and men, young, olde, both great and small,
Doe honour me, which did create them all.

Amongst the rest, though least, yet moft in debt,
I joy to be admitted to this song:
I would it were in better Mufique fet,
Then this of mine, which doth the matter wrong.
You Saints which have entuned it before,
Lend me your notes, if now you sing no more.

No, thinke not so, our song for euer is,
And yet the notes seeme euery day a new :
Such is the taste of neuer ending bliffe,
To Jesus name such hermony is due.
We neuer cease, but euer will to sing,
Our ioyes increafe, in praying of our King.

O that my song, were muſique fet to yours,
That I with you might come to beare a part:
Then would I spend my idle waſted hours,
In heavenly mirth and muſique of the heart.
But I diſtune all notes, both flat and harpe,
I haue no skill in meeter, song or harpe.

Let

3

Let it suffice, thou haſt a ready will,
Chrift doth accept the meaſure of the minde
And not aboue the compaffe of thy skill,
Exacteth ought, then take thy part affign'd,
And ſing with vs, he doth thy note approue,
All is entun'd, that tempered is with loue.

O'bleſſed Quire! yet ere I doe begin,
Teach me the Ditty of this Sacred ſong:
That I may know, where as my part comes in,
And end in time, for feare I be too long.
For though I hope to ſing, in time by loue,
Yet feare I too, my paſſions may me mooue.

Feare not at all, but marke how we doe ſing,
And follow vs, thy time ſhall so be right:
Our Ditty is the tryu[mph of our King,
His cruell foes, and bloudy martiaſ fight,
His conquſt gain'd, of all that did re[bell],
Of ſubtill Sathan, trembling death, and hell.

The loue he ſhewed to the vngratefull Iewes,
The zeale he had to doe his Fathers will;
The griefe he tooke, for such as should reſuſe
The mercy bought, while he his bloud did ſpill.
The venome lurking in the traytors kiffe.
His mildenes pardoning all that was amiffe.

Th' Apostles flight, the Virgins mourning woe,
The wondrous mallice of the wicked route:
Against the Lambe, like Wolues which raged so,
And like to dogges, did compaffe him about.
His patient minde, and paines he tooke for thee,
And euery ſoule which shall this ſtory see.

A 3

Then

4

Then sing to Saints, to holy heauenly quire!
And I shall striue to follow on your song:
This sacred Ditty is my chiefest desire,
My soule to heare this Mufique now doth long,
And longing thus, all whilft, there was no din,
They silent stood, to see who should begin.

For none did thinke him worthy to be one,
And euery one to other there gaue place:
But bowing knees to Iesus euery one,
They him besought for to decide the case.
Who said to me, most fit for this appeares
My mothers plaint, and sacred Virgins teares.

Straight all agreed, the Virgin ready preft
To doe the will of her eternall Sonne:
With heauenly cheare and most melodious breft,
Her sacred song and Ditty thus begunne.
Bowing her selfe vnto the glorious Throne,
Where Three did fit adored all in one.

All glory, honour, bleffing, praisef, renowne,
Be giuen to him that fitteth on the Throne:
On whom all Kings and Princes holde their crowne
One God in three, and persons three in one.
The first and last, and euer ſtill the fame,
Without all change, Iehouah is his name.

Thou Soueraigne Lord, the fountaine of our bliffe,
Our end, our ioy, our ſupreme Maieſty :
In whom our life, our breath, and being is,
Most ſimple one and perſeſt Trinitie.
The Father, Sonne, and sacred holy Ghoſt,
We praisè them all, thy glorious heauenly hoaſt.

And

And still as they the Virgin singing heare,
In selfe fame time, so ecchued all the quire.

Thy wondrous works our knowledge doth furmount,
Thy mercies great our Iudgement doth exceede:
Who can thy goodnes towards vs recount,
And shew by words, what thou haft done by deed?
For onely this pertaineth to thy name,
Meruailesto worke, and thou declare the fame.

The pondrous earth, the salt and foming sea,
The suttle ayre, the light and burning fire;
The changing Moone, the starry moouing skye,
The Orient Sunne, the heauen and earthes desire.
Each liuing thing within them, great or small,
Declare thy wisedome, power and goodnes all.

They all doe cry, performe our makers will.
Beholde in vs the greatnes of his hand:
She hath preſcrib'd, we keep his order still,
In his commaund our caufe and order stand.
Then learne (O man) for whom he made vs all,
Vpon his wondrous name with vs to call.

Farre more in thee, the end of all the reſt
His glory ſhines and brightness of his face:
He hath inſul'd a ſoule into thy breſt,
Adorn'd with reaſon in an Angels place.
And ſtampt his holy Image in thy minde,
And for this end his Maieſty aſſign'd.

But thou forgetfull of thy greateſt good,
Didst fowly fall to diſobedient finne:
Subieſt to hell, if that the ſacred bloud

Of

Of Christ our Lord and Sauour had not bin.
O ransome deare, for such as were accurst!
O second mercy, greater then the first!

The King, to pay the ransome of his flaue !
The Lord of Lords, his vassals faultes to beare !
The Sonne of God the finning foules to faue !
And with his death, to buy their hues so deare !
This is a fire, that flinty hearts may mooue,
This is exceſſe, and extaſies of loue.

But yet in me, farre more then all the reſt,
Thy loue a Lord and glory doth appeare:
Extolling her, that was the very leaſt,
Thy onely Sonne our Sauour for to beare.
And lodge within so lowe and ſtraite a roome,
The Iudge of all, in dreadfull day of doome!

This sacred meſſage Gabriell thou didſt bring
From Gods owne mouth vnto my filly Cell,
How I a Virgin, ſhould conceiue a King
And Lord, whom all the Prophets did foretell.
O what a meſſage ſeemed this to me?
Vnworthy once a Hand-mayde for to be.

Thou holy Ghoſt, a God in Maiety,
the third of Three, didſt shaddow me in power:
And thus by vertue of the Trinitie,
I did conceiue euen in that inſtant howre,
My Lord, my God, my Sauour and my King,
Myne onely Sonne, a Saints and Angels ſing.

And ſtill as they the Virgin ſinging heare:
In ſelfe fame tune, so ecchued all the Quire.

Thou

7

Thou onely Sonne of God, Father of might,
Maker of me and all, the well of grace:
Fountaine of loue, eternal Sonne of light,
Because my Sonne; and falling on her face,
Repeating this full oft (with muſique sweet)
She did adore and kisse our Sauiours feete.

Thou Lord of joy, within my wombe didst dwell
Nine monthes, enriched with so great a guest:
No heart can thinke, much leſſe my tongue can tell,
How in my Lord, my minde and ſoule was bleſt.
And how my ſpirit with gladnes did abound,
Whilft in my wombe, the well of joy was found.

The time expyr'd, in Bethlem thou wert borne,
Where, in a Crib vpon a locke of hay,
Twixt Oxe & Aſſe, thou Lord didst thinke no ſcorne
Swadled in cloutes, thy mother ſhould thee lay.
O ſacred Lord! ſweet Sonne, what ſhould I call?
My God, my babe, my bliffe, and all in all.

Learne heere, ô learne the ſteps that he did treade,
And follow men the footings of your Lord:
Who with the firſt did crush the Serpents head,
Pompe, riches, pride, and fleſhlines abhor'd.
And from the Crib that ſtandes without the door,
He bids you be obedient, chafte and poore.

O lowly place, for him that was so hye!
O happy ſtable, pallace of the King!
You Angels there, did make vs melody,
The filly ſhepheards ſayd, they heard you ſing.
The ſhining ſtarre, from th'Eaſt did goe before,
And ſhew the Kings, the place for to adore.

B

They

8

They layde their scepters at my Sauiour feete,
And killing them, his God-head did adore:
Offring their gifts, Mirhe, Golde, & Incence sweet,
A precent, rich to the m that seem'd so poore,
But they infamyed, did these offrings bring,
For Christ their prieft, their Sauiour and their King.

O princes, here come learne your Christian parts,
O Christians all, let these your patterns be:
They were the first, beholde their bounteous hearts,
Their faith, their loue, vnto my lonne and me.
And all by shining of a blasing starre,
Your calling is more cleare and bright by farre.

After, my Lord according to the law,
Within the Temple I did thee precent:
Where Simeon asoon as he vs law,
And in his armes thy little body hent:
To bleſſe our God within, he did not ceaſe,
Deſiring leaue for to depart in peace.

For now (quoth he) my aged eyes haue seene
The fauing health most pleasant to my sight;
Which, of thy Saints hath long expected been,
The glory of Iewes, and Heathen nations light.
Who yet by mallice shall be much gaine-fayd,
O worthy babe! ò happy mother maide!

All this was ioy, and comfort vnto me,
Who did conferre these ſayings in my minde;
Wherein ſuch truth and light I still did see,
But Simeon added further; I doe finde,
That though thou Christes elected mother art,
The ſwoord of sorrow shall transpierce thy heart.

O

9

O saying true in me, full many an houre,
Such is the way, that God doth vse with his:
With comforts croffe, with sweet to mixe the soure,
Twixt weale and woe, to weild them vnto bliffe.
The one doth shew, his goodnes and his loue,
The other doth our gratefull patience prooue.

If comfort cleane did want, we were dismaide,
If all were ioy, our tryall were the leffe:
When daunger comes, we run to him for ayde,
We try his grace, and feele our feeblenes.
God prooueth his, the which appeareth true,
In all the sacred song that doth enfue.

For cruell Herod set on worldly pelfe,
The Bethlem babes did butcher for thy sake :
My childe moft sweet, enquiring for thy selfe,
Which cauſed vs our ſecret flight to take.
Iofeph in haſt awaking vs from reſt,
While thou did ſucke (my Sauiour) on my breſt.

So didt thou then, thy glorious warre begin,
And learne to ſuffer in thine infant yeares :
And teach thy ſeruants ſoone to flye from ſinne,
And not abide where daunger once appears.
For truth thou cam't, thy country was no loſſe,
Euen from the Crib, thus haſtning to the croſſe.

Seauen yeares in Egipt liuing in exile,
Iofeph his Axe, my needle in my hand,
In poore eſtate we paffed all the while,
Amongst the ſimple people of the land.
For all was heau'n, for comfort we did ſing,
To lull our babe and reuerence our King.

B 2

O how

10

O how my croffe was euer mixt with sweet!
My paine with ioy, mine earth with heauenly bliffe!
Who alwaies might adore my Sauiours feete,
Imbrace my God, my louing infant kiffe.
And giue him sucke, who giues the Angels foode,
And turne my milke, into my Sauiours bloud.

Sometimes he caft his hand about my necke,
And fmyling, lookt his mother in the face :
Some ioy or skill, I found in euery becke,
Each day difcouered wifedome, loue and grace,
I cannot viter what I did eſpye,
When I beheld his little glorious eye.

At feauen yeares end we did returne againe,
And brought the Arke into his wonted place :
For he was dead that would my Lord haue flaine,
Thus worldly things doe turne & change their face.
But they which Jefus keep, and doe his will,
In all euentes be one, and happy ſtill.

Yearely we went with others, to adore
Within the Temple, as the law doth bid:
A holy place, but how doth he much more,
Who being Lord a ſubieſtes duety did.
O Chriſtians then, how ought you for to liue?
Obedient to the lawes the Church doth giue.

And Chriſt my Sonne, now being twelue yeares old,
Thou didſt bewray thy heauenly wifedome there :
And midſt the Doctors, treaſures didſt vnſolde,
Jofeph and I, meane while affright with ſeare,
For eyther weening, other had my childe,
Each truſting other, ey ther was beguilde.

My

II

My soule, remember what thy thoughts were then,
What griefes and feares, did lodge within my breft:
Who now had left the joy of God and men,
My sacred Sonne, in whome my soule was bleft.
What reares could ferue to wayle so great a loffe?
Loe thus we still approached to the croffe.

Thus three daies spent in wayling, teares and woe,
Beholde my Sauiour in the Temple still :
Of whom I askt, my Sonne why did you so?
MUST I not doe (quoth he) my Fathers will?
And so you see, I learned by my griefe,
Amongst all duties, that to God is chiefe.

Till thirty yeares, my Lord at home did dwell,
Joseph and I enioyed his preſence still :
Where I my ſelfe abashed am to tell,
How he in all, obeyed to my will.
How doe you thinke I mooued was, to see
The Prince of Angels ſubieſt vnto me?

Learne heere obedience, learne heere young & olde,
A Soueraigne God, a patterne drawne from Chriſt:
A leſſon worthy to be ſet in golde,
The which ſo precious ſeemed to the higheſt,
That all his life he neuer ſwaru'd thereſtro,
And euen his death he did accomplish ſo.

What ſhould I heere his holy life recount,
Which he with me the ſe thirty yeares did ſpend?
This ſtory would vnto a volume mount,
My ſong doth to his ſacred paſſion tend.
And all doe know his piety needs muſt paſſe,
Who, of all Saintes, the Lord and Sauiour was.

B 3

But

12

But I indeed was witnesses with mine eye,
I saw his deeds and wrote them in my breft:
His modelt cheare, his deep humility,
His heauenly talke, deuoyd of idle iestes.
His inſtant prayer and contemplation hye,
Declaring well his God-head was ſo nye.

What flames of loue appeared in his face?
What great compaſſion in his holy teares?
His ſacred eyes were meſſengers of grace,
His countenance bright, our cloudy paſſions cleares.
Comfort and ioy were written in his brow,
Thus bleſt with him, we had our heauen below.

The morning ſtill in lamentation ſpent,
The day diuided into equall ſpace:
What prayer miſt, to humble worke was bent,
Who made the heauens and earth a wondrous cafe.
And hard for haughty mindeſ to vndeſtand,
Doth worke with *Jofeph*, with his Axe in hand.

Thus muſt they learne, of ſoules that will haue care,
By flowly deeds, and ſilence many yeares:
To make a way vnto thy lofty chayre,
Enflam'd in prayers, and bath'd in humble teares,
For they who proudly to the pulpit haſte,
Of words and ſoules, doe make a woſull waſt.

Thus muſt they arme themſelues, that meanes to war
With ſlesh, the world, the deuill, or ſuttle foe,
Our ſwoord and target, ſpeciall weapons are,
These thirty yeares our Lord did arme him ſo,
Not for becauſe himſelfe had any need,
But leauing vs a rule in euery deed.

O

13

O Saujour sweet, thou my louing Sonne,
What should I sing of all thy mercies? then
If I should count, I neuer should haue done,
It would exceede capacity of men;
Yea Saints and Angels would aftonied stand,
(Thou onely Lord doft all them vnderstand.)

How didst thou teach me to increafe in loue?
To know thy will, to follow all thy wayes?
By feruent prayer, affections to remoue,
My Soueraigne God, in all his workes to prieſe.
In euery creature, ſtill my Lord to finde,
And haue his preſence printed in my minde.

In weale, and woe, euer to be the ſame,
Neuer but alwaies what he ſhould diſpofe:
In euery thought to laude his holy name,
And all my deeds before him to diſcloſe.
In doubts, demaunds, counſailes, what euer beſt,
His will once knowne, therein wholy to reſt.

Sometimes thou toldſt me of thy holy croſſe,
Thy loued ſpouſe, and glory of thy raigne:
The Idols fall, and ſtraels wofull loffe,
And of thy Church which alwaies ſhould remain?
And vnto nations knowle the ſacred bell,
Preuailing ſtill againſt the gates of hell.

Then thou beganſt to ſhew the powers diuine,
Thy ſacred baptrisme, and ſtupendious ſaſt:
At my requeſt he turn'd water to wine,
In wondrous workes, & preaching three yeares palt.
But all theſe things are ſweetly written on:
By Mathew, Marke, Luke, and diuine S. Iohn.

Now

14.

Now change your notes, his passion draweth nye,
This story craues a graue and dolefull ftile:
Though ioy haue wipte all water from mine eye,
And we in heauen all forrow heere exile.
And therefore Saints and holy Angels all,
Take lower notes, and let your Trebles fall.

Come chriftians come, beholde and learne to loue:
Follow his fteps, be thankfull for his grace:
Admyre his forrows, let compaffion mooue
Your hardned harts, to plaine your Soueraignes cafe,
Let penance now appeare vpon your face.
Bewaile your finnes, bring inward listening eares,
And bath your cheekes, with warme and trickling
(teares).

The night before his holy passion day,
Shewing his loue to his Apostles deare:
He caufed them, the table for to lay,
And eate the Lambe as vfe was euery where,
A figure of more fweet and heauenly cheere.
Which he him ſelfe did inſtitute and giue,
Whereby his Church ſhould euer eate and liue.

His holy Loynes with linnen towell girt,
He humbly waſhed his Apostles teete:
With heauenly fingers wiping off the dirt,
An office farre (as Peter thought) vnmeete,
But lowly Lord, and louing Maſter fweet,
Thou didſt commaund, Saint Peter, be content,
And learne by this the leſſon that was meant.

O learne, then learne, what God himſel ſe doth teach,
A lowly minde, and humble vnto all:
Let no ambition once your ſoules appeach,

Or

15

Or pride, whom Chrift doth to his table call,
For lowe grow high, and pride doth catch a fall,
Loe *Jesus* downe at *Iudas* feete he fell,
He chiefe in heauen, to lowelt impe in hell.

*Iudas* doth caft within his wicked head,
His Soueraigne Lord and Mafter to betray:
*Jesus* in the meane while, doth bleſſe the brea d,
And giues himſelfe a laſting foode for aye,
O heauen and earth! cry out, exclaime and ſay,
O monſtrous mallice, matcht with wondrous loue!
O poyſoned toad, and patient ſimple Doue !

His holy life, his heauenly lowly cheare,
His doctrine pure, and moſt ſtupendious workes:
His loue not thought, nor heard of euery eare,
Could all not pierce the heart where poyſon lurkes?
Thou worthily whom grace and goodnes vrkes,
Thou didſt exclude his preſence with thy ſinne,
And let thy Lord and Maſter Sathan in.

There was the table furniſhed that night,
With heauenly Manna, holy Angels foode:
The Paſchall Lambe, the honny, giuing light,
The Teſtament, the holy ſprinckled bloud,
The tree of life, which midſt the garden ſtood.
The meale and oyle, which eaten laſteth ſtill,
*Elias* loaſe, to walke from crib to hill.

The memory of all his wonders wrought,
The monument and ſruite of all his loue;
The price it ſelfe, wherewith our ſoules was bought,
Yet could not all this (monſter *Judas*) mooue,
Yea, though our Lord his treaſon did reprocue.

C

And

16

And tolde it John, who leaning on his breft,
His mallice choof'd the deuill, and was poſſeſt.

As Foone as mallice thus had caſt a clowde,
Vpon a planet which was once so biright:
The force of truth, which driueth downe the proude,
Would not abide the darke to dwell in light,
Judas went out from truth, for it was night:
And sliding downe into the depth of finne,
To worke his couert treaſon doth begin.

Then was that ſacred Senate of eleauen,
Purged of crime, made perfect golde and fine:
More apt to take the influence from heauen,
Veffels of grace, for ſweet and ſpirituall wine,
Diſpoſ'd to heare that DoCTRine moſt diuine,
Which wifedome then in plenty did inſtill,
When ſacraments haue ſalu'd and heal'd their will.

Then loe they learne to haue a faſt belieſe,
And anchored hope, a whole enflamed loue:
With Soueraigne duty to adore the chieſe,
Who doth in patience oft his choſen prooue,
That all their hearts and helps may be aboue.
And walke in Chrift, the high and ready way,
Vnto the ioy of his eternall day.

They haue the promiſe of the holy gholt,
The Sonne and Father, all a like in one:
The vnity of all the holy hoaſt,
With Chrift their captaine, head and corner ſtone.
In whom no member euer liues alone.
But in him (being quicke by charity, )
Is made a Temple of the Trinitie.

Meane

17

Meane while the Iewes,in vproare all are seene,
Arming themselues with lights and weapons rude :
Jesus our Lord,as he had wonted been,
Seuers himselfe by silent solitude,
Prostrate with seare,and reuerence all endu'd
Doth pray for ayde,with inſtant reſting ſtill,
Reſigned all vnto his Fathers will.

A combat then he felt within his ſelh,
With ſierce encounters,which in him was tryed;
Both ſeare and grieſe doth ſet on him a freſh,
And all this,for our loue he did abide,
And for our ſinnes,for which he after dy'd,
And all the ſorrows which were voyde of ſinne,
Tooke natures part to keep the ſpirit in.

In which conflict,an Angell downe did bring,
From heau'nly Court to iudgement there aſſign'd:
It is the will of the eternall King,
That Iesus ſhould reſolue his ready minde
To ſuffer death, a Father wondrous kinde !
To ſinfull ſonnes,which doth his deareſt giue
And onely Sonne to death,that we may liue.

Then ſtraight our Lord,did giue his whole conſent,
His will was preſt,withouten any way :
His minde and ſoule was wholy ſet and bent,
Nature exclaym'd,but needs ſhe muſt obay,
And grace by force,did beare the Soueraigne ſway.
And ſelh did ſeare,and bloud did make retreate,
And iſſued out in bloudy watry ſweate,

All Chriſtian ſoules,come ſee this agony!
Come count the drops,which trickles down his face

C 2

Bring

18

Bring thankfull hearts this bloudy sweat to dry.
Lay finne a side, which puts him in such caſe,
Learne heere of him, to ayme that happy race.
In prayer, patience, lowlines and loue,
To endleſſe bliffe, and happines aboue.

Learne how to pray alone with humble minde,
And body both, with instant knocking ſtill;
Till anſwere comes from heauen, alwaies reſign'd
And preſt to doe our heauenly Fathers will,
Againſt what motion comes, account it ill.
Let fleſh and bloud, and all that nature likes,
Yeeld to the ſtroke that grace and ſpirit ſtrikes.

For loe, when all his foes approached neere,
Then Iefus boldly meeteth them in ſhew;
It was the fleſh alone which fraile, did feare,
The liuelſ spirit to all that did enſue,
So midſt the throng, and curled helliſh crew.
He doth proteſt himſelfe, in deed to be
Jefus they ſought for; ſaying, I am he.

(ground,

Which words, did throw them proſtrate on the
Such was his might, if loue had left him free:
But zeale of ſoules, his force and might hath bound,
Sinner amend, he needes will dye for thee,
His thraldome is to get thee liberty.
Your weaknes makes his power become a pray,
Sampſon is thrall for loue of Dalila.

O milde and patient Lambe ! ô Lyon ſtout !
O ſtrong ! ô weake ! ô loue ! ſubduing might,
Able with wordes, to conquere all the route,
And with a breath, to put them all to flight,

And

19

And yet againe,his loue renewes the plight,
And by his weaknes,working all our bliffe,
He yeilds his sacred mouth to Indas kiffe.

He healeth Malchus with his holy hands,
Refuſeth ayde,he will no ſword but loue :
Let mallice come,and caſt on loue his bands,
Let darknes now her feeble power procue,
Th'almighty now will not againſt her mooue.
Mercy in truth will conquer hell and ſinne,
Goodnes in loue,will force of mallice win.

Jefus beholde is bound,th' Apostles fled,
The Iewes doth rage,and tryumph in theyr ill:
The Lyon of Iuda lyke a lambe is led,
Maieſty ſcorn'd and beaten,ſtandeth ſtill,
Loue of our ſoules doth take eternall will.
And for a ſpace,ô wonder moſt of all!
Euen God himſelfe to wicked men is thrall.

In Annas hall he ſtrucken was,as one
That did preſume t'offend in ſpeaking true:
Pride nere reſpectes th'eternall dreadfull throne,
When falſhood mult her monſtrous pride needs rue,
For what reproach to pryde and ſinne is due...
Which checketh God? for blynd reſpect of man,
O tremble now,and be not ſtrycken than.

The Lambe in patience,makes his progreſſe ſtill,
In ſilence,meeknes,loue,in word and peace:
His eyes on heauen,his minde his Fathers will,
The Iewes and Gentiles,fully doe encreafe,
To buffet,beat,and ſpit they doe not ceafe.
And laſt,all naked to a piller bound,

C 3

His

20

His Virgins flesh, with courages they doe wound.

With forced armes they teare his tender skin,
And empt his vaines of pure and precious bloud :
The stripes were fore,and many for my finne,
In force whereof the strength of mallice ftood,
O let this griefe attaine th'intended good,
And feele how pleasing finne (indeed) doth fmart,
Remembering finne, thus courged in thy heart.

The soldiers are affembled, in his fcorne
Doe cloath him in difdainfull purple weede :
And on his head they wrap a crowne of thorne,
Which pricking deep, doe make it guft and bleede,
And in his hands they put a rotten reed.
And in his face their filthy fleame they fling,
With Anticke kneeling, they cry : Hayle ô King.

Come marke thy Sauiours bloudy blowes, al wanne,
So whipped, crowned, cloathed like a coarſe;
When Pilate bids the Iewes: Beholde the man,
Hoping that this would mooue them toremorce,
But hardned hearts thereby did grow the worſe.
The fire of loue, did purge the golde from droſſe,
They boyle in rage, to nayle him to the croſſe.

Be thou no worſe faith Pilate, see the man.
Beholde him well, and marke his pittious hue:
Regard his eyes and minde, all they that can,
And render him all guerdon that is due,
Our finnes the price, whereof his grieues enfue.
And if thou takeſt pitty on his paine,
Now ceaſe by finne, to pierce his head againe.

If

21

Ifinne a corfiue in him so doth make,
And wounded confcience breed an inward feare:
Then see thy Lord thus haled for thy fake,
And then with hope, approach thy felfe more neere,
Before his Fathers face for to appeare.
Prefent thy Sauiour, bloudy, pale and wanne,
Befeech his Father to beholde the man.

Doubt not at all, if Pilates heathen heart
Did waxe more soft by such a pittious view;
The louing Father will regard the ſmart
Of his deare Sonne, in such a ruefull hew.
And grace and mercy will thereof enfue:
To them which humbly doe demaund the fame,
In Chriſt his Sonne, our crowned captaines name.

He doth beholde his Sonne with tender eyes,
His fores and woundes be alwaies in his fight;
And he againe to Chriſtians dayly cryes,
Beholde my Sonne your Sauiour, in this plight,
Retaine this patterne with you day and night.
Be like your King, reioyce in paine and ſcorne,
You being his mebers, who was prickt with thorne.

Ff Nf S.

22

The teares of our Sauiour in
the Garden.

The meeke and gentle pledge of mortall peace
Chrift Jesus, had receiu'd the pafchall Lambe:
His holy trayne (vnto their ioyes encreafe)
Had reapt the fruites, and tafted of the faime.
The grace was fayd, the night approached on,
The fatall night, the night of care and moane.

When as kinde Chrift with his disciples went,
Vnto the Farme-houfe of Gethsemane:
And feeling heapes of sorrow, and lament
Afflict his heart, like to the troubled Sea:
Footh wends he with three followers for to pray,
The reft he wil'd them, there a while to ftay.

Along he walkes, and ſtill his woe encreaſeth,
Whiles Peter weepes, to ſee his Maſter ſory:
Yet matchleſſe Chriſt, his ſorrow nere ſurceaſeth,
So ſeruent grieſe, engiſtes the King of glory.
The Sonnes of Zebede, with teares be waile him,
Yet more & more, his moanes doe ſtill affaile him.

D

Oh

23
Oh reuerent browes with agony perplexed,
Loe bloud and gaftly fweate together mixed:
The heart with horrour, care and griefe is vexed,
The flefh is frayle, the eyes with feare is fixed.
O rent my foule, in thought of his diftreffe,
Who dain'd these griefes thy dangers to redreffe.

But when he felt no meafure of his moane,
My foule, faith he, is heavy onto death:
Then stay my friends for I will walke alone,
But watch and pray, whiles you inioy your breath.
So foorth he went, and flat vpon his face,
With pittious plaints, implor'd his Father grace.

And thus he prayed : ô Father God of light,
(If it may be) let this vnfeafoned cup
Of sorrow paffe, that doth my foule affright,
For why in griefe, my heart is fwallo wed vp.
Yet not my will, but euen thy will be done,
Through whom by me this worke was first begun.

Long lay he feeding on his wo fullanguifh,
And in his cryes redoubled oft the fame :
At laft forgetting of his balefull anguifh,
He roſe, and ſtraight to his Disciples came. (wept,
Who, through their cares and pittious teares there
Without ſulpect of harmes ſecurely ſlept.

But he, the carefull Shepheard of his flocke,
Seeing the day of daungers neere at hand :
The foe of man, prepar'd his ſheep to yoake,
With tender care, their miſchiefes did withſtand.
And waking them, he ſayd vpon that ſtoure,
What, can you not keepe Watch with me one houre?

24

O watch and pray, temptations are too nye,
The Spirit wills, and yet the flesh faies nay:
With that the teares of pitty foorth did flye,
O words and teares which mercy did bewray.
And now the second charge approacheth on,
And penfiue Chrift, alone to pray is gone.

As flurdy trees with murmuring noyſe lament,
The Northerne windes outragious blaſts, that's gone
As flowers doe waile, when Sommer daies are ſpent,
To ſee theyr pride bynipping froſtes vndone.
As day doth lowre, depriu'd of Sunnes delight,
And night complaines, when Moone reflectes no
(light).

As he laments, who neuer hopes for grace,
As lookse the man, that loathes his eyes haue fight.
As ſighes the woſuſt braunch of mortall race,
Compare their paines, their hope, their ſmal delight.
Yea, thinke more woes, the we haue wayes to wring
And thinke by them what cares did Jefus ſting.

And iudge thereby if any wit might wote it,
Oh no, but he that hath the grace to ſigh :
To thinke, to waile, to cry, to iudge and note it,
His ſoule ſhall rent, and crying out on high.
Say whiles his ſpirit doth Jefus terror view,
O bone pастor, O dulcis, dulcis Iefu.

His browes (the tables where our peace is written)
With purple bloud, and Amber ſweate were ſtain'd,
His heauy lookes, diſclos'd the heart was bitten,
His weeping eyes, his woſull ſtate complain'd.
His folded armes, his teuerent knees that bended,
His hydious harmes, and endleſſe cares intended.

D 2

Here

25
Here stands dispaire, that shold haue swallowed man
And threatneth him with death, for our offences:
Sinne, with recountlesse shapes afflictes him than,
Hell shewes the horror, Sathan his pretences.
Meane while our Lord (that neuer thought on ill)
Endurde those threatning plagues to faue vs still.

O were each thought, transformed to a pen,
And euery pen, of power to write an age:
And euery age, could take his forme agen,
And euery forme, did serve but for a Page!
All would not serve, then figh and say thou this:
Quid retribuam Domino pro omnibus beneficiis?

The hoftes of heauen, were moued with his moane,
Whilt he with teares, his Fathers grace implores:
And euery period was a bitter groane,
Euen thus the Sonne of God his Lord adores.
Father, if thou wilt remooue from me
This cup? if not, thy will fulfilled be.

Heerewith, th' imperiall gates of heauen, began
To open wide, and from the bright - some throane,
Of him who rul'd the world, and fashion'd man,
An Angell bright, with wauing wings is gone,
And there alights: whereas the God of light
Lay quite dismayed, and rob'd of all delight.

As Sea-men smiles, when after stormy blafts,
The radiant Sunne commaunds the warring win des
And trimmes his Tackles, and repayres his Mafts,
And mends each Leake, that he by ferching findes.
So fares diftreffed Chrift, when he did view,
The help of heauen, his onely sorrows dew.

He

He gathered his distempered sprites in one,
Whilft that the Angels whispered in his eare
His Fathers will: then liftes he vp anon
His reuerend head, that gan his eyes to cleare,
And foorth he walkes, and at the becke againe,
The Angell parts, and hafteth thence amaine.

Arriued there where his Disciples lay,
He found the sleeping, through their cares fore-paft:
And thus beſpake : *Why sleep you? rife and pray,
For why, temptations doe approach vs faſt.*
His penſiue traine were whilft, and could not tell,
How to excufe the ſlouth in them did dwell.

Againe from them, vnto his prayer he goes,
Loofing the fountaines of his eyes at large:
His reſtles limbes vpon the earth he throwes,
And thus with ſighes his prayers he doth diſcharge.

*O Father looke, looke Father on my ſheep,
That thou haſt lent thy penſiue Sonne to keep.*

O loue them Lord, for why the world diſdaines them,
And why? becauſe they are not worldly minded:
T'hard-hearted wolues, heereafter oft will paine the,
Oh help their wants, Lord let them not be blinded.
For them I weep, for them I ſhed my teares:
Father, regard my ſuite with open eares.

Let them whose ſinnes exceede the ſandy Seas,
Whose hope is drown'd, whose heart is ſtain'd with
Euen by my death, thy bitter wrath appeaſe,
(Feares: Father, for them I ſhed theſe brinſh teares.

O let my weeping, wound thine eares diuine,
And mooue compaſſion, for theſe flockes of mine.

D 3

Heere

27
Heere ceaſt his teares and prayers, for why the houre
Of grieſe and death approached neere at hand:
So foorth he haſtes vpon that hapleſſe ſtoure,
And found his followers ſleeping on the land.
Sleepe hardly, ſaith he, take your eafe at will,
The houre is come of ſorrow and of ill.

The Sonne of man, already is betrayed
To Sinners hands, arife and let vs goe:
With that, with hearts appal'd and quite dismayed,
They all aroſe to tend the houre of woe.
Whilt traiterous ſudas with his traine appeares,
Armed with ſtaues, with clubs and warlike ſpeares.

The curled out-ceaſt of the twelue, betray'd
His heauenly Maſter by a curled kiffe:
His foes to touch his perſon were affraide,
Short tale to tell, our Lord ſuppriſed is.
And bound with bonds, vnto the place is led,
Where all the high Priestes dwelt vpon that ſted.

FfNf S.

28

A heauenly Prayer in contempt
of the world, and the vanities
thereof.

O Heauenly God, that gouernes euery thing,
VVhose power in heauen and in the earth we know:
Thou God, from whom the giftes of grace doe spring,
Attend my suites who am opprest with woe.
O pitty God, sweet God some pitty take,
And clenſe my ſoule, for Ieſus Chrift his ſake.

If aile the life that I haue led before,
The daies ill spent that come into my minde:
Incense my ſoule with horrour very ſore,
And threaten death, vnles I fauour finde.
O pitty God, sweet God some pitty take,
And clenſe my ſoule, for Ieſus Chrift his ſake.

My graceles oathes, now fade before mine eyes,
My youth ill spent, and worne by womens guile:
My hidden sinnes, my Wofull ſoules suppris[e],
My want of grace once had, and in the while
Cry mercy Lord, that thou wouldſt pitty take,
And clenſe my ſoule, for Ieſus Chrift his ſake.

O way-wise