SONNET.
On the Picture of our LORD, represented on the Cross as Dead.
[_]
The Hint out of the Italian of Marino.
Pietoso quanto accorto, &c.
Something there was, Great Master, more than chance
That Thou the Pencils Wonders to express,
And therein Thy more wonderous Hands address,
Tookst my Dead Lord, the Colours to advance.
Pity directed Thee that Choice to make,
And (having in Thy Pious Brest design'd,
To shew how rude the Jews, Thy Self how kind)
His Pale and Lifeless Form resolve to take,
'Twas nobly done; for hadst Thou made him breathe,
Ever in Torment he had seem'd to live,
And from Thy Hands a greater Wound receive.
Than all their Cruelty contriv'd in his Death,
For such Thy Picture is, now he enclines his Head,
That he would Groan, and Speak, but that he's Dead.
