The Muses Sacrifice :: :: University of Virginia Library

When I excogitate the great Good-turnes
thou hast done for me, ô extreamest Good!
With heate of Zeale, my seathing Marrow burnes;
and, flames of feruent Louc doe boile my bloud!

Especially, for that when thou had'st form'd
my Soule and body, I deforming each,
Thou, with thine own diere wrack, hast me reform'd
and, with thy precious bloud becam'st my Leach.

Thou mightst, for e'er, haue banish'd me thy sight,
with the proud Angel, and his cursed Crue:
For, my fault was like his; but, more vnright:
then, to the same a greater Plague was due!

And, that thou hast not onely spar'd my Paine;
but, therewithall, bought endlesse blisse for me:
(So that my Fall doth fall out to my gaine!)
I am in straightest bonds oblieg'd to Thee.

And, for thou mad'st me, me to thee I owe;
sith thou redeem'd me, much more owe I thee:
And, would, ô would, I could my selfe bestow
to pay that More, that's lesse then due from me.

And, so much more thou ought'st to be belou'd,
by how much greater were thy griefes, and state;

And how much lesse then ought'st to be reprou'd,
whose life was more then most immaculate!

Who, What, and Wherefore, dost thou suffer, Lord?
and, who art Thou, that suffer'st for mans sake?
O tell me; for, I will diuulge thy Word
that all things made, men marred to re-make.

First, for thy selfe, with what rich tearmes of Art
shall I expresse Thee, inexpressable!
Ile say, as thou said'st, Thou art, what Thou art;
because, Thou know'st, Thou wert ineffable!

Thou art a Beeing more then infinite;
and, being of thy selfe, proceed'st of none:
Without thee, can no being chance to light;
for, Chance, and being light by Thee alone.

Thy matchlesse pow'r, of nothing, all things made;
thy Goodnesse saues all without other aide:
And, if thou wouldst, to nothing They should fade;
for, in, for, and by thee, they all are staid.

Thou onely art that art! and, nothing is
besides thee, in comparison of thee!
The Lamps of Heau'n their light before thee misse,
whose brightnesse bright'st Eyes are blinde to see!

All beautie's Foulenesse; Pow'r, infirmitie;
Wisedome, Grosse Folly; Goodnesse, worse then nought;

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Weigh'd with thy more then All sufficiencie:
more faire, strong, wise, and good, then can be thought.

More then most faire, sith selfe-Formositie;
and, more then pow'rfull, sith Omnipotent!
Much more then Wisedome, sith her Soules right eye;
exceeding Goodnesse, sith her Continent!

Yea, good thou art, both to the good and bad;
for good and bad sucke sweetnesse still from thee:
With good gifts, good Soules, thou dost ouer-lade;
and good'st the bad, to make them better be.

Without distraction, thou dost all in All;
Thou All contain'st, yet art in eu'ry place:
And yet, art all alike in great and small,
yet here then there much greater by thy Grace.

Thou euer work'st; yet, euer art at rest,
resting in endlesse dooing thy good Will:
Thou all vphold'st; and yet, art not supprest:
th'art Good alone; and yet, thou suffer'st ill.

Thou Cause of Causes art; yet caused art
to punish sinne; yet, didst for sinners die:
Thou art impassible; yet sufferd'st smart:
lower then Hell; yet, more then Heau'n hie.

What shall I say of thy dread Maiestie?
Thou Earth behold'st, and It doth trembling stand!

Touch but the Mountaines, and they smoke thereby,
then Seas and Windes doe rest at thy command.

The Sunne (with gloomy Clouds enueloped)
doth hide his head, whē thou (his head) dost frown:
The Moone and Stars, with Cloud-cloakes couered,
in their confusion (sham'd) doe, then, lye downe.

Thou spread'st the Heau'ns, & marchest on the deepe,
whilst her deepe Base yeelds dreadfull harmonie:
Thou mak'st the Spheares both Time & Tune to keep,
maugre their Discords, and varietie.

Thou call'st the Stars by name, who come at call,
and like true Sentinels keepe well their watch.
Hiperion, that guides the Capitall,
(to thee subordinate) doth key their Catch.

Thou anglëst for the huge Leuiathan;
and throgh his Nostrils, mak'st thy Hooke appeare:
Which being hang'd, thou playest with him than,
as with a Fish, that hangs but by an Haire.

Hell quakes when thou dost volly forth thy voice,
which Bandies Earth as twere a Racket-Ball:
The Heau'ns shall melt and passe away with noise,
when thou thy Creatures to account shalt call.

Vpon the Necks of Monarchs thou dost treade;
and pau'st the Pauement with their Diadems.

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The dreadfull Pow'rs of thy Pow'r stand in dread;
and Glory it selfe, is blinded by thy Beames.

The Seraphins (though glitt'ring-glorious Sp'rits)
in thy bright presence seeme but Butterflies:
Thou rid'st vpon the Cherubins, whose sights
thy Beautie blinds, with raies that thence arise.

To thee the Gates of Death lye open wide,
which, on their Hinges, play as thou dost will:
Nay, Death himself doth quake, whē thou dost chide
as if it would his Soule, immortall, kill.

The Heau'ns declare thy glory; Fire, thy brightnesse;
the Aire, thy subtiletie; the Sea thy Dread:
The flowers of the Field, thy Beauties brightnesse:
thus, all in All, thy praise abroad doe spread.

Such, and so great! such, and so great (quoth I)
nay, Lord much more then such, or so, Thou art:
For Words defectiue are; so, needs must lye;
but, thou (Lord) art deficient in no part.

And now, let me recount the wretched wronges
which so great Maiestie hath borne for mee;
And, whiles I count, let Men and Angels Tongues
sound endlesse Peales of Praises vnto Thee!

Who, being so sublime, in dignitie,
did'st from the height of Maiestie descend

Into this vale of deepest miserie;
and, cloath'd thee with my flesh, the same to mend.

Wherein thou suffer'dst, for my sinfull sake,
Hunger and Thirst, in famishing excesse:
With Plagues and Persecutions; which did make
to seeme accursed thy true blessednesse.

The Passions of the Aire, thou did'st abide,
as Prologus to thy PASSIONS Tragedie;
For, Heate, and cold thy Body damnifide,
(as needs they must) that hadst no where to lye.

Whose Pouerty was such, that Birds and Beasts
were much more rich, that Neasts, & Holes enioy'd
But thou (deare Lord) hadst neither Holes nor neasts,
nor ought besides, wherein thy Head to hide.

Borne in a Stable; Cradel'd in a Cratch;
begging the breath of beasts to keepe thee warme;
Wrapped in Rags, that coursest Clouts did patch;
which did thy tender flesh lesse warme then harme.

O sight of force to wonder-rap all Eyes!
Yee Angels all admire this Noueltie:
For lo, your Lord, in base Rags wrapped lyes,
to shew the riches of Humilitie!

And, eight dayes after, took'st a Sinners Marke,
that cam'st, indeed, to abrogate the same:

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Soone after, wast constrain'd to vse the Darke
to hide thy Flight, that fledd'st to hide thy Fame.

Therefore thou sought'st the silence of the Night
to be the Triton of thy Lowlinesse:
Yet, now the World began thy Fame to spight,
and in the rise did seeke It to suppresse.

Herod, thy Hunter, like a Bloud-hound fell,
did hunt for Thee, that He on Thee might pray:
For, what thou wert, he, by and by, did smell;
and, hunted after Thee a likely way.

But, to a Nation, most Idolatrous,
thou wast constraind, from his pursuite, to flye:
So, Innocencie Life preserued thus:
for which, deare Innocents were forc'd to dye.

Then, Innocencie, Innocencie slew:
how then could It therein be innocent?
For, both are innocent; yet both is true:
the first, in deede; the other, in euent.

They lost their bloud for Him; He, his for Them:
so, both did bleede; and for each other bled:
And, both, as Innocents, their blouds did streame;
He, as their Head; They, Members of that Head.

O! had I beene so blest, ere Sinne I knew,
t'haue di'd for thee, among those Innocents:

Or, that I could my sinnes, to death, pursue;
or, make them liue like banish'd male-contents.

Then would I dye for thee, an Innocent,
if curst Herodian hands would blesse me so:
O let me trie this deare Experiment,
(although it cost my Heart-bloud) ere I goe.

For when, before my Mindes Eye, thou dost come
in all thy Passions, my desire doth melt
My very Marrow, to taste Martyrdome;
and Sense feeles paine till it such paines hath felt!

It may be, that I doe but, now, desire
to doe that; then, I may desire to flye;
For, he that was thy bodyes hardiest Squire
so thought, and said; but did It, then, deny!

Flesh, is a Traitor, worse then hee that solde thee;
it will, for Meede, or Dread, the Soule betray:
Nor, in fire, is it willing to behold thee;
in fiery tryals then, it shrinckes away.

Therefore, when it a Champion, of such might,
betraid to feare, I dare not say, I will;
(No, that's Presumption) but I wish I might:
for, willing well, without thee, we doe ill.

Then, be with me, strong Pow'r, and I will say
I will; and will performe, that will, in Deed:

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For, where thou art, by Pow'r, it's but a play
in greatest torments (then) to burne, or bleed.

Now, as thy Body grew, so grew thy griefes;
for, who (deare Lord) can possibly expresse
Thy Persecutions, void of all reliefe,
saue Praying, Fasting, Watching, Wearinesse!

They spake against thee, who sate in the Gate;
and common Drunkards ballads made of thee:
That thou might'st say (in worse then Dauids state)
being poore, I labour from mine Infancie.

These were the griefs (dear Loue) thy life did brook,
but, in thy Death what Sense ere vnderstood
What paines thou felt'st; when (like a rising brooke)
thy body, more and more, o'erflow'd with bloud!

Freedome, made Captiue; Mercy, Miserie;
Grace, quite disgraced; beauty, vilifide;
Innocence, strooken; Iustice, doom'd to dye;
Glory, quite shamed; and, Life, crucifide!

O Heau'ns! what can amaze, with Wonderment,
the Sense of Man more then this? what shall I
Call this so strange vnheard of Loues extent,
that ouer-fils all Names Capacitie!

In few: now Grace, alone, seemes Sinne, alone;
Life, dyes; State's, whipt; and, Pow'r bound to a Poast

The Glory of the Father spet vpon!
and, in a word, God, seemeth to be lost!

In this Deepe, further, may my Soule not wade,
my strength is spent; for, my heart bleedes in me:
O glorious Grace! O Maiestie vnmade!
is this for me, O boundlesse Charitie!

If I, for my Redemption, am so tide
to loue, and honour thee; What shall I bee
For that thou did'st so many Deaths abide,
(when one wold serue) to make me more than free?

With what loue shall I quite this, more then, Loue?
with what life shall I imitate thy life?
With what teares shall I my repose reproue?
and, with what Peace shall I conclude my strife?

I owe thee more for my redeeming (Lord)
(sith in the same thou Death of deaths didst proue)
Then for my Making; (which was with a Word!)
for, more, much more, thy Passion showde thy loue!

For, if for Cherubins, or Seraphins
thou had'st thus di'd, t'had beene lesse meruellous:
But, thou hast di'd for me (a Sincke of sinnes!)
which, of all Wonders, is most wonderous!

What are we, Lord? or what our Fathers House,
(we Sons of wretched Men) that Gods deere Senne

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Doth in such loue and mercie visit vs,
as, through Death, to re-make vs quite vndone,

If in the ballance of thy Sanctuary
thou weigh our body, t'will be found more light
Than Vanitie; more graue then Misery:
as if It did consist in Natures spight!

And, if our Conuersation thou respect,
what is it but a Chaos of Offence!
The Goodnesse of whose All, is all Defect!
whose very Soul's but Hell of Conscience!

Dost thou, ô God, then for such Diuels die,
(the Sonnes of Sathan most oppos'd to thee!)
For the Subuerters of all Honestie!
for breakers of good Lawes that blessed be?

For thy Contemners, for thy Gloryes Clouds!
for thy Deprauers, for the worst of Ils!
For meere curst Thwarts, of all Beatitudes!
for thy Tormentors that thy Soule would kill!

Whose Hearts, no gifts, can once allure to loue,
much lesse, with Menaces, are terrifide!
Nor mou'd with heauy Plagues, that Rockes would moue;
nor yet, with sweet'st Indulgence, mollifide!

For Fiends, who not suffic'd with their owne vice,
the Earth doe compasse; so, to compasse more!

And, not contented others to intice
diue to the Diuels to augment their store!

Where, robbing those Egyptians of their wealth,
to weet, Pride, Enuy, Malice, blasphemie,)
Away they steale (so, all they doe by stealth)
to make them Idols for their Fantasie.

Who, when they haue rak't Hell for eu'ry Euill,
and, got as much as Hell can hold, or yeeld,
They then deuise, themselues (worse then the Diuel)
new kindes of sinnes, that Hell yet neuer held:

Adding thereto obduracie of Heart;
and, doe, their Conscience, more then cauterize:
Pleasing themselues (like Fiends) in others smart;
and, for that end, doe many meanes deuise:

Are these (deare Lord) the things for which thou diest?
the things (I say) for, (no Name is so ill
As they deserue;) What, onely must the Highest
dye for vile Vipers, that their Maker kill?

My Heart doth faile, my Spirit is extinct,
when thus I weigh thy Mercies with my Sinne:
And wert not for thy graces meere instinct,
I should despaire (deare Lord) and dye therein.

Yet, sith I haue begun to speake to thee,
O be not angry if I yet doe speake:

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Let Dust, and Ashes once so saucie be
to aske their God what He, hereby, doth seeke?

Seek'st thou the loue of such meere Lumps of Hate?
or else the seruice of such Vermine vile?
Alas (great Lord) it stands not with thy State,
sith where they come, by nature, they defile.

If thy desire of Marriage did so burne,
that Thou thy Creätures would'st needes espouse,
Why then did Seraphins not serue thy turne,
that are more Noble, and thee better vse?

Why of a prepuce Nation took'st a Wife,
which afterwards did Thee betray and kill?
So, marriedst, as it were, the very Knife,
that cut thy throate; so, seem'dst thy selfe to spill.

What answer'st (Lord) to these too high Demands?
I would haue this, because I would haue this:
This is thine Answere; and, the reason stands
vpon thy Will, which cannot will amisse.

Then be it (Lord) according to thy Will;
for, so it must be, be it how so ere:
By life, or death then, let me It fulfill;
that dost by both, thee, so, to mee endeere.

For, since Mans fall, none passe to Paradise
but by the dreadfull burning Cherubins;

To Canaan none, but by where Marah lies;
sith there th'inheritance of ioy begins.

And none vnto the happy Citie goes,
that goes not by the Babel-Riuers side:
And, none Ierusalem or sees, or knowes,
that through the vale of Teares nor goe, nor ride.

The way to Heau'n, is by the Gates of Hell;
and Wormwood-wine, thogh bitter, wholsome is:
Thy Crosse (ô Christ) doth Heau'ns strong Ports compell
to open wide; for, tis the Key of blisse!
And, sith for me, so well thou loud'st that Crosse,
Let me, for thee, count all things else but losse.