Christes Bloodie Sweat :: :: University of Virginia Library

Christes Bloodie Sweat

or the Sonne of God in his Agonie. By I. F. [by Joseph Fletcher]

Fletcher, Joseph (1577?-1637)

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[section]

CHRISTES Bloudy Sweat.

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CHRISTES Bloudy Sweat.

Downe from ye throane of euerlasting grace,
Where Host's of Angells guard eternall soules
The great Vice-gerent of his Fathers place,
Gods sonne discendes, from far aboue the Poles:
And gently yet againe attempt's to winne,
The Monarchy of hearts vsurp't by sinne.

Deare Ransome where the payment is in bloud,
Deare bloud where euery droppe out-values golde,
Deare dropes, in whom lyes more the creatures good,
Then selfe creations treasure can vnfolde:
Deare ransome, deerer bloud most deerest droppes,
Whose price is life, which life, death vnderproppes.

Death vnderpropp's that life which Frailty lost,
All Frailty liuing in the death of one,
Of one, all one with all, who freely crost,
The written booke of debt and Hell alone:
As, t'is a sad and lamentable story,
To view the passion of the Lord of Glory.

A Lord of Glory, Prince of Heauen and Peace,
An elder brother of the sonnes of rest,
An Heyre of promise, that with large encrease,
A Kingdome and an Empire hath possest:
Whereby those poore weake soules in earth cast downe,
Like Kings in Heauen shall all support a Crowne.

Such thoughts as those, whiles in a rauish't spirit,
Faire meditations Summoned to appeare,
Before the Arke, and mercie-seat of merrit,
A sacred flame mixt with an holy feare,
As if Gods voyce had spoke, seem'd to inuite,
My heart to prompt, my ready hand to write.

Thou (quoth it) that hast spent thy best of dayes,
In thirstlesse rimes (sweete baytes to poyson Youth)
Led with the wanton hopes of laude and praise,
Vaine shadowes of delight seales of vntruth,
Now I impose new taskes vppon thy Pen,
to shew my sorrowes to the eyes of Men.

Set then the tenour of thy dolefull song,
To the deepe accentes of my bloudy sweate?
Sweete straines of Musicke, sweetly mixt among,
The discord of my paines, the pleasure great,
The comforts lasting that the world hath got,
By the delightfull sound, of his sad note.

Here then vnclaspe the burthen of my woes,
My woes, distil'd into a streame of teares,
My teares, begetting sighes, which sighes disclose
A rocke of torment, which affliction beares:
My griefes, teares, sighes, ye rocke, seas, windes vnfain'd
Whence shipwrackt soules, the Land of safety gayn'd.

For whiles incompast in a fleshly frame,
A cloude of darke mortality I liu'd:
I liu'd the subiect both of scorne and shame,
Banisht from mirth, of comfortes all depriu'd:
Horrors with scandall, cares with cares did striue,
And euer as I liu'd, I died aliue.

Teares in mine eyes, diuision in my heart,
Disgrace vppon my name, plaintes in my breast,
Thirst in my sufferance, hunger in my smart,
Naked and cold, imprison'd and opprest:
Troubled within, tempted without, my Head
Vncertaine, where to lead me to my bed.

Poore and forsaken euer day in daunger
Of wrath and Treason, lesser pris'd then dust,
Of all abhor'd, enen to mine owne a stranger,
No man my friend, in any friend no trust:
My miracles tearm'd diuilish, and my prayer
Hipocrisie, my sorrowes held dispayer.

This entertaynment in the world I had,
Yet for the world expos'd my selfe to all:
All more then this though this be all to sad,
But hereto did my Fathers will me call:
Which most aboue the rest his with paine,
Did cleaue my soule, all woe-begon in twaine.

The charge of whose hot wrath so fearefull was,
As against Nature chang'd my sweate to bloud:
Which trickling downe my cheekes vppon the grasse,
Well tould the agony wherein I stood:
An agony indeed, whose trembling heate,
Powr'd out the wonder of a bloudy sweate.

Which bloudy Sweate, for that it is a theame,
(The happie matter of a mouing stile)
That now I challenge from thy sacred dreame,
And meditations (in that dreame) the while,
Thou vndertake, to Register that part,
And with my spirit, I will guide thy heart.

Remember first the sorrowes thou hast past,
The shame thou hast escap't, what thou hast felt,
How I haue euer succour'd thee at last,
How gently, with thee and thy sinnes I dealt,
Thinke on the griefes, haue made thy pride decline,
For by thine owne, thou mayst conceaue of mine.

For as the Sunne exceedes the smallest Starre,
In height of glory, in his goulden Spheres:
Whiles as I was with men, a man so farre,
And much more, did my horrors exceed theires:
But thou begin, and where thy sacred fires
Waxe dimme, my breath shall quicken thy desires.

Thus then I soone obayd the Heauenly voice,
And wrot; the weight of vengeance now increast,
From God the Father on his sonne, whose choyce
Would not from that iniunction be releast:
But he must feele, the curse and scourging rod,
Of our and his (through vs) offended God.

No sacrifice or incense could appease,
Or reconcile the Maiestie aboue:
No Customary Rites, no Tribute please,
No law redeeme the breach of his deare loue:
His most iust iustice, would no mercy giue,
But God as man must die, that men may liue.

The holy and inuiolate decree,
In his vnchaunging wisdome had appointed,
That the true way to happines should bee
Found out in bloud, and bloud of his annointed:
Whose pure Vermilion red, did fairely guild,
Sinn's blacke as night, for whō this lambe was kild.

Meeke and vnfriended to the world he came,
Lowly, sad, patient, in his humbled lookes
The Mirror of humility; so tame,
As if his forehead had bin sorrowes bookes:
Thus whiles the Iewes hopes, with ambition wing'd,
Flew through ye earth, their Sauiour came; vn-king'd.

Vn-king'd good man, so far from any grace
Of earthly maiestie, of Crownes of state:
As he was set much lower then the base,
Beneath the sight of pittie or of hate:
Yet this is that Messiah, he who brings
Life in his death, makes men saints, Saints as Kings.

What eye did euer see him laugh? what eares
Haue heard him speake the languages of pleasure?
But euery eye that saw him, saw his Teares,
All Eares that heard him, heard him speake in measure:
For still his wordes, with griefe such measure kept,
His speech was sighes, and as he spoke, he wept.

No hand did lend on little Cloth to drye,
The riuers on his cheekes, no thought bewail'd
His solitary Cares, but all past by
Those vnrespected griefes, his heart assail'd
Himselfe he seem'd, as if he meant to craue,
But of himselfe, to beare him to his graue.

His precious head, crown'd with a goodly fleece,
Of hayres more precious, then are goulden threedes,
Appeares but as an Artist's Maister peece
Scarce worth to view his lockes him ouer-spreads
vntrim'd: as if they ought that head no duety,
So much his dayly woes had chaung'd his beauty.

His face in which the Rose did with the lilly,
Striue curiously for chaunge in little space,
Through many vntaught sighes, appear'd so silly,
As t'was but like the ruins of a face:
Neuer was man, so excellently nam'd,
For shape, whom sadnesse had so soone vnfram'd.

And now the fulnesse of the time drew on,
When he should pay the ransome of his death,
To make oblation of his bloud alone,
Offring the last gaspe of a guiltlesse breath:
As if his onely arrant from the wombe.
Were but to run a race vnto his Tombe.

When with the small remainder of his stocke,
A remnant of the worldes vn-numbred son's,
A little remnant, a poore simple flocke,
This pastour with those sheepe together run's,
To sequester them and himselfe apart,
That he might offer vpp to God his heart.

Not far from the Holy Cittie stood,
The mount of Oliuet, at whose steepe Base
Ceadron the riuer, with a gentle flood,
Made Musicke to the silence of that place:
Neere which was Gethsemane, whereto say,
He often came and often vs'd to pray.

Retyr'd from out the clamours of the day,
Our Sauiour with his chosen thither came:
That with more leysure hee might freely pray,
Before the houre that must dissolue the frame
Of his mortallity, the curse and scourge
He was to beare, from sinners sinne to purge.

And feeling now th' approaching horrors neere,
Of God's inkindled wrath, the time at hand
Of coming vengeance, trembling in his feare,
(Which being man he knew not to commaund)
His soule was heauy to the death, his heart
Through wounded, ere he felt his woundes to smart.

Burst with the burthen of tormenting anguish,
Wasted with bitter throbbes, his hastning paine
Did make his Manhood quake, and sadly languish
In agonyes so heauy to sustaine,
As but the Iewish malice was to heady,
New death's were needlesse, he was dead already.

In terrors buried quicke, he stroue to hast
To the prepared Sepulcher of shame:
Dreading the iudgment, heauen had ouer past
Vppon his humaine frailty hell to tame:
His flesh and God-head stroue, but he the while,
Meeke in his suffraunce, did both weepe and smile:

His God-head smil'd to see his man-hood weepe,
Remembring what his Godhead had decreed:
His man-hood did a sure full reckoning keepe,
Of euery sorrow, that could sorrow breed:
And faine he would as man from death, be-los'd
which on himselfe as God, himselfe impos'd.

Father hee pray'd, and lifted vp his eyes,
(For in his eyes he had inthron'd his heart)
Father? ah that those terrors might suffize?
Ah that this deadly banquet might depart?
In which without thy wrath, I might not sup,
The health of sicke soules, in a poys'ned Cup.

And if it may be possible? But ôh?
Let not my prayers disanull thy will?
If thine eternall counsaile order so,
That I must thy, seuere decree fulfill?
Father, so it let bee? though death hath wonne
Gayne on my flesh, yet O thy, thy will be done.

Heere sincking downe, for being sore opprest,
With all the worldes innumerable sinnes,
Assaulted in that conflict, and distrest,
An Angell comforts him, and he begins
To shake of those his feares in which he stood,
Which from his passions drew a sweate of blood.

Deere eye what-soe're thou be that shall peruse,
The burthen of those lamentable lines?
An holy meditation may infuse,
A-mazement to thy soule by those faire signes:
Heere stay thy wandring gaze, and faintly heare
(Ere thou read more) thou mayst let fall a teare?

And thinke it not a labour all vn-meete,
To spend a sigh on this vnhappy view?
Wofull the subiect, but the gaine is sweete,
By which all serue no more, but raigne a new:
For euery teare of water thou canst shed?
The heart of Christ, a teare of bloud hath bled.

Hee sweat not droppes of bloud for his owne cause,
For hee vnblemish't lambe was innocent:
Hee had obai'd no God, hee broke no Lawes,
Hee harbourd no deceit, no falshood meant,
Hee neuer wrong'd his freind by secret stealth,
Nor by oppression sought to purchase wealth.

His tongue for gaine was neuer heard to lye,
Or tu'nd to sweare, or flatter, curse, or fawne,
Lust could not traine his heart, or loue his eye,
No wanton baites of pleasure could impawne
His chast desire, to forfet to delight
The lawelesse issues of a banefull night.

His meekenes thirsted not reuenge, his minde
Was neuer set on wrath, no fruitlesse pride
Trauail'd new fashions curiously to finde,
He onely car'd his naked wast to hide:
He neuer sought to be reputed braue,
So he had clothes, yet clothes could scarcely haue.

He lou'd not sloath (vnprofitable rest)
Which eates, and feedes, and onely feedes and eates:
Excesse of feeding he hath not profest,
To surfet in varietie of Meates:
His diet was not change, or choyse: his dish
Some-times a Barly loafe, sometimes a fish.

No Wines of mixture, or new drinkes to drowne
His soule he vs'd: he was, as Nature made him,
A drinker, but no drunkard: to vncrowne
His innocence no friendship should perswade him:
His voyce vn-fee'd, spoke to a Nation dull,
And fed the sheepe, but would not share the Wooll.

Hee did not stop his eares against the cryes
Of harmelesse suters, to doe iustice right;
Hee enui'd not the great, nor did despise
The broken hearted poore, borne downe by might:
But without doing euill, all to win
He lost his life; and yet he knew no sin.

He knew no sinne, then needed not to sweat
The liquid moysture of dissolued bloud,
For his owne faults, but ours; our faults so great,
As scant is one amongst a thousand good
And yet that one of thousands, if the letter
Of life were surely scand, might bee much better.

This was that Pellican indeed, retyr'd
Into the desert of a troubled breast,
Who for to pay the ransome long desir'd,
Consum'd himselfe to giue his people rest:
A Pellican indeed, that with her bloud
Pulls out her heart, to giue her Chickens food.

He like the Phaenix burning in the Sun,
That from his ashes may spring vp a younger,
Doth beate himselfe to death, and will not shun
The fire, that weake men may in him grow stronger:
A perfect Phaenix, that most gladly dyes,
That many in his only death may rise.

In euery sex, and some of all degrees,
He saw the mispent ryot of their Talent:
No sin escapt the eye of his decrees,
But he beheld how apt men were to fall in't:
For so is prone mortalyty accurst,
As still it striues to plot and woorke the woorst.

This man of men did in his troubled spirit
Into a streame of soft compassion melt
His Icye bloud, that frailty might inherit
The sun of comfort, by the griefes he felt:
Each drop of bloud he shed, he, shed it then
To wash a seuerall sin from seuerall men.

Here saw he Princes in the awfull throne
Of eminencie, how wantonly they stroue
For thirst of glory, to protect alone
Religious name, not for religious loue:
Graceing the gracelesse, in whom grace was lost,
Such Parasites as knew to flatter most.

For those he sweated bloud: that they whom Heauen
Created God's, on earth, should so prophane
By courses indirect and lawes vn-euen,
Of will and sensuall lust, the law first drawne
By that eternall royalty, who stood
To watch their faults: for Kings he sweated bloud.

Here saw he such, who vnder those were plac't
In seates of greatnesse and commaundes of state:
How fond in their madnesse they did wast
Their greatnesse in ambition and debate:
Ayming not to support, but scorne the good,
By vniust force, for such he sweated bloud.

Here saw he how in Moses chayre there raign'd
Scribes cloath'd in wool of Lambes, and speaking well,
But Wolues in nature, so coruptly stayn'd,
As if they were but messengers of hell:
Abusing vnlearn'd soules and Leuits power,
More ready, then to cherrish, to deuoure.

Those whom the breath of God at first inspir'd
To shine as Lampes, and speake the Heauenly sound,
With Angels tongues, were silent, if not hir'd,
More studying with the scriptures to compound
Their owne traditions, and for those indeed,
In heauy droppes the sweat of Christ did bleed.

Here saw he Lawyers soberly engoun'd,
Wanting the Robe of Iustice: not regarding
The poore mans right, nor where the case was sound,
But giuing Iudgment, as he felt rewarding:
Whose tongue was bought, against that side was weake,
Most times aswell to hold his peace, as speake:

For them he sweated bloud, and heere he saw
Intrused iurisdiction ouer-sway'd
By partiall fauour, aboue forme of Law,
Cold Conscience, by which Conscience was betray'd:
For those condemning, were condemn'd to much,
As they condemn'd, He sweated bloud for such,

Heere saw he Souldiers toyling in the heat
Of cruelty, not measuring the right,
Why they bore Armes, but to content the great,
And their owne lawlesse hate prepar'd to fight,
For prey and spoyle aduenturing to rent
Their liues & soules, for those his bloud Hee spent.

Heere saw he others that did keepe the sword
Of office and authority, in peace,
Compacted in a knot, not to accord
Or set at vnity strifes, but increase:
Wounding or sparing with a watchfull hand,
As some superiour person should commaund.

For them he sweated bloud: beere with much griefe
He saw how Schollers, train'd with strength of wit,
Inricht with knowledge, and of men the chiefe,
For knowing more then men, with straynes vnfit
Did boast their pride, which wisdome disallow'd,
For being still both needy and yet proud:

Schollers he saw, how foolishly they stroue,
With tearmes of Art and smooth beguiling rimes,
To paynt the grosenes of vnlawfull loue,
And proue the sinnes that did corrupt the times,
Mayntayning vp-start sectes which all with-stood
Truthes precious light: for those He sweated bloud.

Heere saw he some, whose seruile basenes waited
Vppon such vices as attend the great,
Whom Hell with all it's nimble turning bayted
To vsher lusts, by many a subtill feat,
Those make good cloathes their God, & pay the fees
Of lewdnes, with faire wordes and supple knees.

For those did Iesus sweate in bloud: with those
Heere saw he some, that were in nature skil'd,
Searching the rules of Phisicke, to disclose
The treasure that the helpe of Art could yeeld,
How Gold did prompt them, & the thirst of wealth,
To hasten death, or to recouer health.

Much mischiefe and abuse he saw in such,
How they would cocker lust, and stir vp heat
Of wanton bloud, concealing shame too much,
With many sinnes, too many to repeat:
For those and their iniquities, Christes griefe
Did sweate in bloud, to giue their soules reliefe.

Heere saw he men, whose winged vessels brought
From lands far off, the Marchandize of profit,
How by their factors, all the world was sought,
For Precious wares such as made plenty of it:
And yeelded to their greedy hopes such treasure,
As they had heap't, by subtill weight and measure.

Thus did they wast the poore, and purchase wealth
By falshood in extremityes retyring
As they pretend, for benefit of health,
To their full garners: greedily conspiring
How they might starue the hungry, and still keepe
Their gould, for those his bloudy sweate did weepe.

Heere saw he others, curst with large posessions
Hard Landlords, raysing rentes, who still would grutch
The bread of honest gayue, by sterne oppressions,
Wrangling for earth, till earth they had too much,
For those the Lord, now being man was driuen,
To sweat in bloud: that those might be forgiuen.

Heere saw he yet a woorser sort, prouoking
The wrath of God, who liuing still in plenty,
And cunning in Arethmeticke, lay soaking
The needy: gayning on the hundred twenty:
Vnconscionable vsurers, not contented
With ten to one? nor one of ten repented.

For them he sweated bloud, here saw he Creatures
In face as sweete as Angels, dy'd in grayne,
Of natures Art, fayre Miracle of features,
Wonder of beauty, loues delicious trayne,
Adorn'd with seeming graces that did shine
So glorious, as they were esteem'd deuine.

Women they were, Saintes to behold, in view
Chast Matrons, but (O frailtyes curst) in triall
More vaine then vanitie, and more vntrue
Then falshood: only; only cunning in deniall:
In whose deniall vertue was so scant,
As when they not deni'd, they most will graunt.

Wordes, wit, and fayrnesse, or the smiling ginnes
Wherewith they catch insnar'd men: whereto heauen
Bestow'd for blessings, are but bands to sinnes
Abus'd; whom God made straight, those make euen:
Of whom the most are worst, the fewer good,
The good not free, for all he sweated bloud.

No sex was vncorrupt, but all in all,
In euery fashion, and in each degree,
Drew comfort from the sower-bitter Gall
Of his afflictions, therein to set free
That soules from bondage, and to coole that heate
of iust damnation, in his bloudy sweate.

The tide of killing Sinnes was swollen high,
And could not be abated to an ebb,
Before the blessed Son of God must dye,
Vndoing by his death the painefull webb,
The web of endlesse paynes that Sathan lay'd,
In which the Soules of sinners were betray'd.

Euen as a man that treades a wearie pace,
In laborinthes, continually in doubt
To find the center of the curious trace,
Once entred, still vncertaine to get out,
Before some skillfull maister by a twist,
Doth guide him, in or out, or as he list.

Or as some Christian Marchant by a Turke
Surprisd, and chayn'd, is made a gally-slaue,
Whipt euery day, and forc't to toyle and worke,
Consum'd with griefe, still liuing in a graue,
Vntill some one more strong, doth free his payne,
And set's him in his wonted state agayne:

So men, that in a maze of deathfull errour
Did treade the pathes of miseries and woe,
Bound by that Turke the Deuill, slau'd to that terror
Of condemnation, labour'd to and fro:
Till Christ by death, did lead them out of sinne,
And free'd them from the bondage they were in.

The Deuill could not with his actiue might
Preuaile against the Lord, but he abates
His policy and strength; and skil'd in fight,
Conquer's the sting of Death, cast downe hell gates,
Triumphes on sinne, kept darke confusion vnder,
Breaking the cursed Dragons head a sunder.

Captiuitie, led Captiue, doth vn-maske
The hideous visor of his dismall smiles,
And all the world shakes off the irkesome taske
It had sustayn'd, and see's the deadly guiles,
The sugred bane, the draught it had suck't vp
Of spiced pleasures in a damned cup.

A damned cup, a cup of Gods fierce wrath,
Of fornications, of consuming wine,
A cup, such as restoratiues none hath,
But meere consumptions, no way to refine
New bloud as Cordialls, but to ouer-cloy
The Dyet of the Soule, and Soule destroy.

All those hath Christes deere bloudy sweat layd open,
(For euen his death was but a sweate in bloud)
Offring to all in heart contrite and broken,
The benefit of life and liuing foode:
Not foode not Manna, that shall perish, waste,
Or stincke, but bread that shall for euer last.

For euer last? O who would spend his dayes,
In transitory follyes of delight?
Such as passe soone away, and soone decayes,
Vanish assoone as thought forgotten quite?
When they beyond all tearme of time or date
might raigne as Kings, but in a happier state?

This did the Leacher sleeping in the sheetes
Which reeke with lust, but thinke on, he would weepe;
This did the Drunkard reeling in the streetes
(Then only wise when hee doth onlie sleepe)
Consider, he might sigh; and not incline
To vomit out his soule in streames of wine.

This did the Miscreants (Gallants cald) who boldly,
Teare Godes eternall name, with liberall oathes,
Remember, they would pray, and not so coldly
Quench zeale, by warning pride in costly clothes:
For zeale doth last, whē clothes are worne & rotten,
Men great; once seen in rags, are soone forgotten.

This did the gamsters, spending nightes and dayes,
In loosing what they gaine (such gaine is losse)
For-cast, they would repent, and haue such playes,
Reputing mony (as it is, but drosse:
They, whiles other cheate, in hope of slime,
Ill-gotten thrift, doe cheate their selues of time.

This did the lou-sicke musicke-straining wanton,
Who leades his life in sonnetting some Ay-mies:
Ponder, he'd cease, and then there would be scant one
En-amourd on so many lisping Shees:
But changing better notes, they would take pittie
On their owne soules, and sing a sweeter dittie.

This did the bloody-minded butcher mildly,
Conceiue, he would not be so flesht in strife,
He would not ouer-giuen be so wildly,
To stabbe, to fight, to scorne the weight of life:
Who seekes a name by murther, and doth prize it,
Being termd a true braue Spirit hardly buyes it.

This did the mockers of th' elect and holy,
Whom God hath set on earth to do his will,
Regard they could not be so curst in folly,
As to perseuer in their mischiefe still:
Despising Preachers, and nicke naming those,
With malice, whom the holy ghost chose.

This did the women of much shame and badnesse,
Who prostitute their bodies do disgrace.
In penance, and a feeling tuch of sadnesse
But looke into, they would not be so base,
To gaine diseases, but with hearts all rent
Redeeme the vnchast houres, they haue mispent.

He that doth most addict himselfe to sin,
Did he but bathe his thoughts and once a day
Wash through his earnest meditations, in
The bloody sweat of Christ, and truely pray
To be made cleane, by sorrowes strongly vrged,
Soone should he hate his faults, & soone be purged.

But this to flesh and frailty is so strange,
So hard to thinke, so difficult to doe,
As tis almost impossible to change,
From bad to good though God in mercy woe
Mortality, to tast of mercies treasure,
Yet O, tis hard to leaue the baites of pleasure.

O thou that dalliest in secure content?
And dost not feele the sinnes that ouer-presse thee?
Thinke on his bloodie sweate and straight repent,
Before a heauier Iudgement do distresse thee?
And then alas, in that vn-hopefull state,
The time is past thou wilt repent too late.

Christs bloody sweate, was that distilling riuer,
The comfortable Iordan, whose faire streames
Did cleanse the Syrian Naaman, and deliuer
His bodie from the leprosies extreames:
We all are Naamans leprous, but more foule,
Till in his bloody sweate he purge our soule.

Christs bloody sweate that precious poole is, truely
Bethesda cald, where he that was dis-easd
For eight and thirty yeares, did waite most duly
To be put in, thereby to be releasd:
We all are sicke, and languishingly houer,
Till in his bloody sweat, we health recouer,.

Christs bloody sweat, that Siloam is, where he
Must striue to wash his eyes, who was borne blind,
In which pure lauer, he attaind to see
With eyes of body, and with eyes of mind:
So must we wash, our blindnesse is so great,
In the fresh fountaine of his bloody sweat.

These are the waters of eternall life,
And he that drinkes them shall not thirst againe;
Not springs of Meribath, or floods of strife,
To moue contentions, or produce disdaine,
For such as tast this licour, shall possesse
Sure peace of conscience, perfect happinesse.

Doth any loue to be in loue with beautie?
Come hither, in those drops he shall behold
Water and blood, both in their proper dutie,
So liuely as Arts selfe would haue extold:
In curious figures, shadowing delight,
Blood like to red, and Water like to white.

Doth any couet time-beguiling song?
Come hither, heare is musicke in this sweate;
Words sung to God, spoke with a zeale so strong,
As that it doth his bloody sweate beget.
This must inchant the senses, and impart,
Not solace to the eare, but to the heart.

Doth any wish for costly fare or diet?
Come hither banquet in his sacred passion.
Heres comfort for the soule, and perfect quiet,
Such food as Christ himselfe had in like fashion,
When talking with the woman at the well,
He eat what no man but himselfe could tell.

Doth any hope for Honor or promotion,
Come hither, let him meditate on this,
And with the sacrifice of true deuotion,
Lift vp his voice to aske continuing blisse.
And to him shalbe giuen with increase,
A crowne of glory, a firme throane of peace.

Doth any take content in strength and might,
Come hither from this bloud recouer trust,
And hee shall put the Diuels force to flight,
Rebate the dartes of Hell and iudge th' vniust:
And beare the Crosse and conquer in like manner,
Safe Souldiers fighting vnder Christ his banner.

It is an honour in the eyes of men.
If when the King in person is in field,
Some forward spirit desperately then:
Assault his foe, and force him for to yeeld.
For which attempt, if such a one by right,
Vnder the standard royall be made Knight.

It is an honour, and to times succeeding,
This banneret shall purchase lasting fame,
What honour is it then if one lie bleeding,
Vnder the wounds of Christ and in his name?
By Christian combat, leuell in the dust
The worlds aspiring sinnes deuoting lust.

Hee that doth ouercome himselfe and see,
His guerdon by the holy written word,
Is a faire man at armes more strong then hee,
Who plowes vp Kingdomes with his threatning sword
For greater enemies incampe about,
Mans owne weake heart, then any are without.

Here lurkes adulteries, fornication, rapes,
Murthers, false testimonies, slaunders pride,
Treason, backe-biting, euill thoughts escapes,
Thefts, foolishnes, affections fondly ei'de,
Vncleannesse, couetousnesse, deceits and all,
Which brings the poore captiued soule in thrall.

Turne then thy weapons on thy selfe, O man,
And fight against those enemies within thee,
Beat downe thy proper strength, sincerely scan
The horror of those foes that aime to win thee:
Put plates of righteousnes vpon thy brest.
And haue thy feet shod with the Gospels rest.

Gird on thy loines with veritie, and take
Saluations helmet to secure thy head,
Beare vp the shield of faith and hourely shake
The spirits sword and on thy watchfull bed
Keepe centinell when all thy powers retreat
Then come and bath thee in his bloody sweat.

For as the Hart long hunted on the mountaines,
Breathlesse doth pant for life but all in vaine,
Vntill reuiued in the liuely fountaines,
He doth recouer strength and breath againe:
So we of breath, of life, are all depriu'd,
Til in his bloody sweat we be reuiu'd.

The curse on man from God when first he fell
From the free comforts of possessed grace,
Was danger of a second death and hell
Eeating his bread with sweate vpon his face,
Then all his sweate his sorrowes did decree him,
This bloody sweat should frō his sorrowes free him.

Sweat was ordaind to get vs bread, which bread
Achab the king did to Michaiah giue
When to the prison causing to be led,
He did ordaine the prophet to relieue
With bread, which shewd his cruell iurisdiction
In giuing bread, but bread twas of Affliction.

In sweate we eate our bread, such bread as Dauid
A man of God, and chosen to his heart,
Cride out he had, when doubting to be saued
He bore the weakenesse of the Churches smart,
Bread twas indeed, so kneaded vp in feares,
As well he witnest twas the bread of teares.

In sweat we eate our bread, such bread so scant,
As Esay promisd to the faithlesse Iewes,
Who being pierc't with famine, steru'd with want,
Sought stranger gods and did the knowne refuse.
Such bread is our bread, and be sweated so,
Bread of aduersitie, and bread of woe.

As then the sweat in getting of our bread,
Did set before our eyes the curse we liue in,
So may this bloody sweat abandon dread,
In onely which we know we are forgiuen:
Then let vs in those sweates redeeme time past,
Feeling the first, still haue in mind the last.

And still as often as our heart presents vs
The memory of our vnhappy fall,
By sweating for that bread which discontents vs
So often, let vs call to mind withall
This sweat of comfort, that doth hourely bleed
Our wofull soules with bread of life to feed.

Let not the pleasures of vncertaine tast,
Beguile our palates to deceiue our hearts:
Let not the momentarie hopes that wast,
Inuite to folly that too soone departs:
But let vs looke on Christ the way and dore,
That all must tread as he hath gone before.

Peeter and Andrew, Iames and Iohn, whom first
The Lord elected to be great on earth,
From men with men in rancke of men the worst,
The meanest in degree of basest birth,
When they were clad Gods glory for to see,
The only wordes he vs'd, were follow mee.

Mathew surnamed Leuy who to raise
His estate to wealth and Honour sate and tooke
Custome, and tallage till his better dayes,
Approached when the time was he forsooke
Vaine trust, and was God's glory cald to see,
The only wordes Christ vs'd, were follow mee.

The rich man that to iustifie himselfe,
By keeping whole the fire-condemning law,
Hee that was sad to leaue his worldly pelfe
When the trew man to righteousnesse he saw:
To him then cald Gods glory for to see
The onely wordes he vs'd, were follow mee.

To him that would be iust, but first had rather
To bid his guestes at home farewell and he,
Who chose to lay into his graue his father,
Before he ment a Nazuarite to be:
When they should come Gods glory for to see,
The only wordes he vs'd, were follow mee.

Phillip when yet redemption was not knowne,
To bee on earth found such a sauing fauour,
As that the Lord did chose him for his owne,
By calling him vnto the precious sauour:
Of life, to life, Gods glory for to see,
Yet all the wordes he vs'd, were follow me.

Which follow me, must not be vnderstood
In fastes of Miracle, or earthly pleasure,
Nor striuing, as he did in sweating blood,
To know no sin, but to attaine the treasure
Of neuer-fading ioyes, of true saluation,
By holding worldly pompe in detestation.

For he who follows Christ must not respect
Promotion, money, glory, ease delight:
But pouerty, reproofe, and selfe-neglect
Disgrace, teares, hunger, cold, thirst, scorne, despight,
Friends, father, mother, brethren, children, wife,
Must be forgon, yea landes and goods and life.

His Crosse must be tooke vp, and as he was
In meekenesse, sufferance, patience, and sobrietie,
Such must we be, thus must we ouer passe
The wars of frayltie, lusts sacietie,
We must lay downe our liues, and gaine the crowne
Of life indeed, as life we do lay downe.

Vnto the simple was the Lord reuealed,
To men obscure, disdained, and vnlearned,
His mercy from the mighty is concealed,
He onely of the poore will be discerned,
That they who to the world are poore in show,
Might teach the world, and greatnesse ouerthrow.

When to the barre of iudgement we shall plead,
And hold vp guiltie hands, and sue for grace,
A booke shall be brought foorth thereon to read
A miserere mei, but our case
Wilbe so hard, our sins will so depraue vs,
As then our booke will come too late to saue vs.

For then our booke, the booke that doth containe,
The words of life, Christs bloody sweat and passion,
That booke will witnesse how we did disdaine
His loue, and driue vs to a desperation,
And then not euery one that cries Lord, Lord,
Shalbe receiu'd, for scorning of his word.

Then shall the Lord reply, for you I sweated
Sad drops of blood, and yet you would not loue me:
For you in agonie, my heart was heated,
My wounds did cry, yet would ye not approue me:
I know ye not, ye cursed creatures goe
Where damned soules do feele eternall woe.

Neuer may day giue comfort to your cryes,
But ouer-cloud you in perpetuall night:
Neuer hence forward may your hopes arise,
For to behold my life-restoring sight:
Let death and diuels torture you for euer,
For you shalbe released neuer, neuer.

Here shall the wantons for a downy bed,
Be rackt on pallets of stil-burning steele:
Here shall the glutton, that hath dayly fed,
On choice of daintie diet, hourely feele
Worse meat then toads, & beyond time be drencht
In flames of fire, that neuer shalbe quencht.

Each moment shall the killer, be tormented
With stables, that shall not so procure his death:
The drunkard that would neuer be contented
With drinking vp whole flagons at a breath,
Shalbe deni'd (as he with thirst is stung)
A drop of water for to coole his tongue.

The mony-hoording Miser in his throat
Shall swallow molten lead: the spruce perfum'd
Shall smell most loathsome brimstome: he who wrote
Soule-killing rimes, shall liuing be consum'd
By such a gnawing worme, that neuer dies,
And heare in stead of musicke hellish cries.

No sin that is not washt in true repentance,
Shall scape in euery sence to be perplexed:
But euery sin and sinner shall haue sentence,
To be without all end with horrors vexed.
And that not for a day, a month, a score
Of yeares, or terme, or time, but euermore.

For as the God whom such haue once offended,
Is infinite in maiestie and power:
So shall their tortures be to them extended
Most infinite, and ceast not to deuoure:
And after thousand thousand yeares, their sin
Is no more free, then when it did begin.

Loe here the view of soules condemn'd to hell,
Yet here is not the woorst of their indurance,
Their greater torments are for that they fell
From euerlasting ioyes, and knowne assurance
Of Gods great glory: which so long remaines:
As date-lesse as are their all-scorning paines.

Vnto the blessed shall he change his voyce,
And with as much grim horror as he spoke,
The curse of wrath: so sweet shalbe the voyce,
That with a gratious mildnesse shall prouoke
Laughter and comfort to the long distrest,
When he shall call them to his quiet rest.

Come (will he say) ye blessed of my Father,
Vnto the kingdome he hath chosen for you:
Since in the time of frailtie ye had rather
Then serue as worldlings, haue the world abhor you:
You gron'd, and sigh'd, and mortifide the flesh,
Waiting till I, your sorrowes do refresh.

My Bloody sweate won pitie in your eyes,
And you poore soules did loue me in my griefes,
My base reproofe you no way did despise.
Hungry, cold naked, thirstie, your reliefes
Did cheare my dying heart for which regard
Take life eternall, for your due reward.

Here shall the Martyrs slaine vpon the Alter
Of persecution, for his glorious sake
By Bannishment, the sword, the axe the halter,
The water, racke, the whip, the fierie stake,
No longer crie, how long? but rest in peace,
And haue such pleasures as shall neuer cease.

Here shall the meeke in spirit be exalted,
The naked clothd, in perfect robes of white:
The poore that felt no tast of sin, be salted
With sauours of exceeding great delight:
The hungry fed, the sicke releeu'd, the chast
With honors, that shall neuer fall be grac't.

Those when the Trumpet from the flaming skies,
Shall sound a summons to the day of doome,
Heard shrill euen from the simple to the wise,
Shall with the Lord of glory fairely come,
And stand as witnesses, then to prouoke
The Lord to iudgment, whiles the heauens smoke

Here Diues from the flames he suffers in,
Lookes vp, and faintly, on the Lords right hand,
(Who comes to pay the wages of his sin)
Beholds poore Lazarus in triumph stand
And then his conscience prompts him, telling how
As he did once scorne him, he scorns him now.

What boots complaints? or whither can he run
To hide him from that presence? all in vaine
He cals to mind the follyes he hath done,
But cannot ransome backe his time againe;
Iustice pronounceth, as it iustly fitted:
Sin shewd no pittie, sinne must not be pittied.

Vnto this Audit and seuere accompt,
How we haue liu'd? what words we spoke, what praier
We made? what thoughts we thought? how wee surmount
In goodnesse? how the poore we did repaire?
What can we answer? but in meeke accord
Confesse vs guiltie and cry mercy Lord?

A sparrow cannot fall vnto the ground
Without the prouidence of God aboue:
Our haires are numbred, and we shalbe found
The heires of promise, as we hate or loue:
The secrets of our hearts are not our owne,
Our hearts and secrets then will both be knowne.

Before the issue of which dolefull day,
When no excuse will be admitted there,
A time is giuen, and a tongue to pray,
O who will then that precious time deferre?
But whiles the sufferance of our God is great,
Fly to the safety of his Bloody sweate.

His bloody sweate the comfortable matter,
That must renew vs in the time of need,
Both meat and drink: blood, meat, & drink, the water,
The last to quicken, and the first to feed:
Water the seale of Baptisme doth present,
And blood his supper each a sacrament.

See here in earnest meditations, now
The mystery of all saluation,
How orderly God hath ordaind, and how
He wisely wrought it from the first creation,
So good this gracious God is to defend vs,
As he fore-thinks the means that must cōmend vs.

When Christ prepar'd himselfe to die, and beare
The wrath of God that we in him might liue:
The time of his sowre passion drawing neare,
In which he was his life for vs to giue,
Retird alone his father to intreat,
His agonies brought forth a bloody sweat.

So when vpon the crosse he had indur'd
The bitter pangs of hell, and breathd the last,
Confounding death that had his death procur'd
When all the tide of cruell griefes was past,
A souldier with a speare did pierce his side,
When blood with water gushing was espide.

Water and blood what could it else intend
Or wher-unto so likened could it be
But to the bloody sweat his soule did send
Before his death opprest in agonie
That as the first before his death diminisht
Death of the soule this in his death that finisht.

He di'd indeed not as an actor dies
To die to day, and liue againe to morrow,
In shew to please the audience, or disguise
The idle habit of inforced sorrow:
The Crosse his stage was, and he plaid the part
Of one that for his friend did pawne his heart.

His heart he pawnd, and yet not for his friend,
For who was friend to him, or who did loue him?
But to his deadly foe he did extend,
His dearest blood to them that did reproue him,
For such as tooke his life from him, he gaue
Such life, as by his life they could not haue.

Great miracle of loue, redemptions wonder,
Where he that should be su'd to, sues to those:
Who would not sue to him, but still kept vnder
That better part which he in mercy chose:
Rare president of value, which discouers
How loue is scant, where plenty is of louers.

If we but looke into the little home,
The home of our owne selues, we may espie
How many pyrates still make haste to come
To wrecke our soules, whom whiles we do defie
We entertaine, and freely, but vnsought,
Make marchandize of what we neuer bought.

The pearle and the treasures which the Lord
Did witnesse, were of an vnualued price:
Iesus did purchase of his owne accord
To free vs from our death deseruing vice,
And left vs for an heritage, the gaine
Of life immortall euer to remaine.

Hels gaping wombe which euery minute sunke
Millions of soules, and would not be content
With streams of blood, which greedily it drunke,
But still cryde more, his mercy did preuent,
For he shut vp the iawes, and did acquit
The rau'nous gorge of that deuouring pit.

The euer empty swallow of the graue
And bottomlesse confusion of the deepe
His blood hath made in vaine, and this doth saue
From dangers, such as dangers dayly keepe.
Deaths sting it hath rebated and vn-edg'd
Such soules as were in sorrowes bondage pledg'd.

What should a sinner doe? or whither flie
To hide him from his shame that euer wakes?
Poore man lesse then a man who cannot die,
Nor cannot liue so much his Care mistakes,
And still he drawes destruction with his breath,
As t'is all one to suffer life or death.

Sad thoughts like burning furies still pursue him,
And seeke his life who them aliue doth cherrish,
Fond thoughts whose inward eyes no sooner view him
But kill that Maister, who once dead, they perish:
His thoughts do tell his conscience of his thrall,
His conscience makes him thinke that he must fall.

What shall he crie to mountaines to conceale him?
Or shall he beg, the seas to ouer-drench him?
The mountaines are remou'd and cannot heale him
The Seas are dry, and they cannot entrench him,
But euer as he hopes the light to shun,
In groping for the night he findes the sunne.

A Sonne whose glory doth disclose abroade
The secrets of his hearts, and layes all open,
Lines out the sundry paths that he hath trode,
Vnfolds the seuerall treasons he hath spoken:
The inside of his bosome is apparant,
And he hath none excuse to pleade his warrant.

What can he now resolue, but to retire
Vnto the sweat of Christ, and cleft in mind.
Humbled in meeke astonishment, desire
Comfort in this his bloody Bath to find:
Which bloody sweat, when euery helpe doth faile
To cure the soule, that onely doth auaile.

Pure distillations are but vaine receits.
Curious to draine, but comfortlesse in tast,
Compounded Cordials are vnwise deceits,
Whose vertue doth but with the present last:
Christs body is the Limbecke that must yeeld
Distilled blood, our soules from death to shield.

If pleasures, honors, money, gifts promotion,
Phisicke, restoratiues repasted diet,
Ease, cost, delights, cold heate, prophane deuotion,
Drinkes, purges, obseruation, courtly quiet,
Or one, or all, the soules spots could expell,
Great Kings had neuer ran so fast to hell.

The Princes of the Sodomites, the chiefes
Of Aegypt, Achab, Eserod, and the rest,
Had neuer felt the terrours of their griefes,
If art could haue a remedy exprest,
But therefore di'd they, cause they know no good,
To purge them in the streame of Christ his blood.

The womans painting Iesabel, the whore
Of th' Israelitish monarch, could not hide
Her sins from God, but as her selfe was poore
In virtue, so she dy'd in naked pride:
O had she seene Christs bloody sweat contriu'd
In his Eliahs griefe, she might haue liu'd.

But they whom worldly pleasures wrap in woe,
Esteemd this sweat a fancie or a fable,
Which one day they will find was nothing so,
When to recall againe they are not able:
And then this blood which hath procurd a crowne
Shalbe a flood, not to refresh but drowne.

What is a man but dust made vp in forme?
Fraile, weake, corrupted: keeping time in motion,
A ship at sea, ore-turnd with euery storme:
Eates, sleeps, and dies, vnsetled in deuotion:
In health vnbridled, in his yeares a span,
A fading bloome, and such a thing is man.

Mans beautie but a frame made vp in snow,
Immixt with waxe, which melts with euery Sun,
Euen so experience teacheth men to know,
How soone this worke of frailtie is vndone:
A winters frost, or summers parching heate,
Doth soone this pictures ornament defeate,

Yet as a cunning fire-worke lighted glowes,
Spits and with hissing wonders dares the skies,
Till being wasted, downe it fal, and showes
No more; his matter spent it weakely dies,
And vanisheth to aire and smoke, so men
In health are strong, but dying vanish then.

Man as a cunning fire-worke in his power,
Dares God and heauen, and kicks against the Lord,
Till all his force be spent, then in an hower
Abates, decaies, fals of his owne accord:
Being indeed as nothing, in despaire
Of doing ill, fumes into smoke and aire.

But here is not the end of all his ils,
His greater soules vexation is behind,
A death which both the soule and body kils,
To which the miserable are confind:
And then too late they wish to coole the heate,
Of flames and brimstone, in Christs bloody sweate.

If one condemnd for some notorious fact,
Labour his pardon, and doth surely thinke
His life is safe: forgets his former act,
Doth reuell, sweare, prophane, carouse and drinke,
Whiles thus his iolly time he doth apply,
One sayes that he within an hower must die.

How cold that newes strikes to his heart? his cheeks
How soone they change their merriment? and he
With what submission pensiue, humbly seekes
For grace to alter that vnhop't decree?
How would he promise, beg, protest, or giue
All that he had, or could procure to liue.

Such is the case, who till the day draw neare,
Wherein we must surrender vp the right
We hold of liuing: do our soules appeare
Slaues to disorder seruants to delight:
But when we are arrested to depart,
Then we can feele the dolours of our heart.

Yet Christ is not regarded, who stood vp
And in the last day of the feast cride out,
Ho come to me, all ye who thirst, and sup
Riuers of life, drinke freely round about:
And if there come a scarcitie of food,
My flesh shalbe your bread, your drinke my blood.

Dull eares who will not listen to this call?
Dull eyes who will not see this fount of ease?
Dull heart that will not shun temptations gall?
Dull soule that will not seeke this God to please?
Dul eares, dul eyes, dul heart, dul soule, whose strife
Nor heares, nor sees, nor thinks, nor seeks for life.

Life may be freed from euerlasting wrath,
Which is prepar'd for those which will not liue,
If they but aime to bathe them in the bath
Of Christ his blood, which he doth frankly giue
To cleanse and wash away each leprous spot,
That vse of sinne doth feed as sinne begot.

Besieged man-kind when the foe assaults,
Of number-lesse temptations, shrikes or feares,
Mew'd vp in care, and yeeldeth to the faults,
Whom as a weighty burthen still he beares:
And ere he loose the honour of the field,
Doth like a turne-coate, to his weaknesse yeeld.

Where now is faith? where is that courage now
Which proud mortalitie presumes it hath?
Base seruile frailtie doth despairing bow
To weare the fetters of consuming wrath,
So cowards boast in time of peace, but flie
When warres increase, and vnremembred die.

Others there are, who smooth the front of sin,
And maske his vgly fore-head with the coulour
Of lust, ingendred nouelties; to win
Grace to their arts by making art seeme fuller:
And they their foolish wits with pride to proue,
Will striue forsooth to make a God of loue.

They are the diuels secretaries right,
Whose rules haue drawne whole troopes of soules to hell
That might haue else bene sau'd, they day and night
Toyle out their braines, that mischiefe might excell,
They feele the whips whiles as they kisse the rod,
By making lust the diuell, and the god.

Loue is no god, as some of wicked times
(Led with the dreaming dotage of their folly)
Haue set him foorth in their lasciuious rimes,
Bewitch'd with errors, and conceits vnholy:
It is a raging blood affections blind,
Which boiles both in the body and the mind.

But such whose lawfull thoughts, and honest heat,
Doth temperately moue with chast desires,
To choose an equall partner, and beget
Like comforts by alike inkindled fires:
Such find no doubt in vnion made so euen,
Sweet fruits of succors, and on earth a heauen.

Such find the pastures of their soules and hearts,
Refreshed by the soft distilling dew,
Of Christs deare bloody sweate, which still imparts
Plenty of life and ioyes so surely trew,
As like a barren ground they drinke the pleasure,
Of that inestimable showre of treasure.

If euery word we write, and speake, or thought
We thinke, or deeds we do, or hower we spend,
Shall one day to a strict account be brought,
When shall be made a whole and finall end,
Then all in vaine we shall condemnd that wit,
Which hath in sinne or thought, or spoke, or writ.

Those Angels who as Porters guard the gate
Of Gods eternall kingdome, will controule
All entrance there and curiously debate
Questions of quarrel with the trembling soule,
And like some churlish officer at court,
Keepe backe the presse of all the worser sort.

Here now the soule is baffaild whiles they chide,
What are ye? soules opprest: but whither presse ye?
Into the court of God here to abide,
What sicke? yes sicke: whom seeke ye to dresse ye?
Christ our physition: who hath sent ye to him?
Our faith: what faith? such faith as coms to wo him

Woe him for what? for life: where are your seales
Of pietie and truth? lost, lost: O fooles
Get hence? our wounded care appeales
To mercy, promised in the sacred schooles:
To Iustice? no to mercy we behaue vs:
Iustice condemns you? yet will mercy saue vs.

Haue you then bathd your sins? in what: in sweat?
What sweat? his bloody sweat: we haue not known it:
Ah haue you not? no: then you are to great
In sins, sins? sins, and those haue ouerthrowne it:
Hence soules away, ye are too late deluded,
Thus are the wicked soules from heauen excluded.

Thus are the wicked soules from heauen excluded,
And torturd in the horror of their feares,
Heauens gate is shut, when they would haue intruded,
And al because they were too slacke in teares:
Which are the ready tokens Christ hath lent,
His bloody sweate on earth to represent.

Neuer was teare from any heart let fall,
In true repentance, but the Lord of grace,
Hath seene and botled vp, and kept it all
For such as must his sauing health embrace:
This is a rule in text for certaine giuen,
An eye still drie doth seldome come to heauen.

He who can gush out teares as twere a flood,
Of christall sorrows, and a zeale vnfained,
Doth purge his faults in Christ his sweat of blood,
And with his faults shal neuer more be stained,
Stars in their brightnes shal not shine so glorious,
Nor all the Kings on earth be so victorious.

Tis not enough to reade the Bible ouer,
Here to fold downe a leafe, and there to quote it,
Now to behold the herd in blood, then houer
And range: but freely in thy heart to note it:
For where the Word doth tel vs Christ did bleed,
And sweat, there must out thoghts both drink & feed

Did but a King before a publicke view,
Imbrace and kisse his subiect, how would fame
Speed such such a fauour, how would people sue,
To grace their seruice by his onely name:
So here doth Christ a much more griefe impart,
And cryes to all, My sonne giue me thy heart.

My sonne giue me thy heart, and in exchange
Take mine, I both will kisse thee and embrace thee:
What heauenly words are in this voyce? O strange?
See sinner how the God of loue doth grace thee,
My sonne giue me thy heart, but giue me thine
And I will sweat in blood, to pawne thee mine.

God knocks, then let vs open: let not hell
Barre out the King of mercie: he intreates,
Let not the diuell disswade: God comes to dwell
With men, let men him entertaine: he sweates
For vs, let vs for him like dutie keepe:
He sweated blood, let vs in sorrow weepe.

A man that liues in pleasures, as his dayes
Increase, the dayes past ouer seeme a dreame:
Stil newer ioy, more hope of ioy bewrayes,
And as he liues, he liues still in extreame:
He wakes to sleepe, and sleeps in hope to wake:
So here is all the pleasure he can take.

Is this a life? O what a life is this?
To couet age, which being come is hated:
Whose end is death, which death the vtmost is
Of eu'ry lease that in the graue is dated:
They that enioy what their owne hearts can craue
Craue onely time, which brings them to the graue.

And here they die, and dying once die all,
Die al as they vnworthily haue liu'd,
No part of them suruiues, but feeles the thral
Of life in death, and death of life depriu'd:
Thus then the promise of al the worlds desire,
Beares life to die, then dies in life to tire.

Weary vnrest, and restlesse wearie woe,
That leads to pleasures in their birth abortiue:
How much more better were it to forgoe
A life so grieuous, and a death so sportiue?
And rest the griefes so numberlesse and great,
In the sweet slumber of his bloody sweat?

When Pharaohs heart was hardned, and deny'd
Freedome to Israel, the Lord to scourge
Pharaohs ambition and detested pride,
Which mercy could not win, nor mildnesse vrge:
Commanded Aaron when he toucht the flood,
Th' Aegyptian waters all were turnd to blood.

Water was turnd to blood, but in this sweat
Here blood is turnd to water: as the first
Betoken'd plagues for sins, the last doth treat
Redemption from those sins, who were accurst:
The first his wrath, the last doth shew his loue,
His iustice this did, that his mercy proue.

By blood offences in the written law,
Vnto the law of grace were reconciled;
By blood offences must redemption draw,
From blood; which blood the Gospel now is stiled:
The law, the blood of Goats and buls desired,
The Gospel hath the blood of Christ required.

A surety for his friend that is arrested,
Kept close in prison, bound in yron chaines,
Is hungry, cold, and weary, sicke, and wrested
To change of inward griefes, and outward paines:
Deserues from him for whom he asseast,
If not a full reward, yet thanks at least.

So he, who in the absence of his friend,
Whom malice hath vpbraided with abuse,
Doth vndertake his quarrell to defend,
Clearing the imputation with excuse,
Fights and is wounded; being wounded dyes,
May iustly claime the tribute of his eyes.

Iesus, the sonne of God was at our sute
Arested, and imprison'd in the frame
Of flesh; was fetter'd, and of no repute,
Tyr'd with his griefes, the by-word of defame,
All this he was, and did, yet to relieue him,
Wee scarce can in our hearts finde thankes to giue him.

Hee vndertooke our quarrell with the Deuill,
When we were all vnable to resist,
And in that quarrell to discharge our euill,
Was wounded to the death, yet wee persist
Too obstinate in malice, and forbeare
Vpon his bleeding wounds to shed one teare.

Wee see vpon his furrow-drowned face
The print of sorrowes stampe, yet not regard him;
Wee see his honour leuel'd with disgrace,
Yet with our only thankes will not reward him:
'Tis bad to sin; sin 'tis to be vngratefull,
Sin is abhorr'd, vnthankfulnesse is hatefull.

Goe then Remembrance, tell that Queene of Reason
(Fayre bride to Christ) the Soule her louer comes,
Deckt in his wedding robes, and courts the season
With choyce of pleasures, and with many sinnes
Of sure deserts, inuites this wandring Queene,
To be as true as he to her hath beene.

Ladie (quoth hee) thy fortunes haue not won
My heart to loue, thy beauty cannot force mee
To wanton dotage, what my care hath done,
No time shall alter, no reports diuorce mee:
For to my chaster flames thy zeale gaue fuell,
And I will guard thee, if thou be not cruell.

No dower from thy treasuries I craue,
No wanton dilliance in a bed of lust,
Thy purenesse is the portion I would haue,
Artlesse simplicitie and steedy trust:
And if thou proue but constant to implore,
Vertue with goodnesse, I will aske no more.

Heere vowes the soule virginity, and sweares
Shee will bee only his, and meanes to doe it,
Vntill distracted in her fleshly feares,
She shrinkes from her first troth when she comes to it,
And like a strumpet false, she heere forswore,
That plighted promise she had made before.

Simplicitie was woo'd by youthfull lust,
And would not yeeld; young lust did fee old sinne,
Old sin assaults simplicitie whose trust
Thus to make lesse she trimly doth beginne:
Faire daughter listen, time will come when thou
Shalt change thy hue, and be as I am now.

Vnhealthie, old, forsaken, and despis'd,
I lead a life, who was adored then;
Beautie amidst the croppe is only priz'd,
Faire soules, in youth, are chiefly lik'd of men:
But when my time did court me I for-went it,
And lost my daies, and now I doe repent it.

Daughter wilt thou alone liue vnpossest,
Of youths best ornaments and natures ioyes?
Wilt thou deny to be a mother blest,
In pretty daughters and more pretty boyes?
O no, had not our mothers tooke their lot,
Wee had bene yet vnborne and vnbegot.

Heauen hath ordained thee to be sweet on earth,
Both loue and youth do homage to thine eyes,
And wilt thou curbe thy selfe of pleasures mirth?
By vainely striuing how to be precise?
She that hath fairenesse were as good haue none,
If foolishly she keepe it all for one.

Yet you forsooth young mistresse in the folly,
Of standing on some pleasure threatning text,
Dreame of some great renowne, in being holly,
Reade this, and that, and that, and what is next:
I know not what, and euer vainly plod,
In hope to marry with the Sonne of God.

No doubt: come yet, Ile tell a safer way,
If you will needs to that ambition clime,
Do it at last, but spend thy youth in play,
Reuell, enioy the freedome of the time:
And when y'are old, vnfit for sport, bereauen
Of youth and ioyes, then you may think on heauen

Tush daughter, God respects thee in thine age,
As well as in thy prime, and he will beare
With flesh and blood, then seeke not to ingage
Best of delight, before delights do weare:
And thou to God maist be (my words are truth)
As welcome in thine age, as in thy youth.

Wonne is the soule with this, or rather lost,
Sins sweet temptation hath vndon the zone
Of Maiden chastitye, the feeld is lost,
Lust hath preuailde and Christ is left a lone.
For now the soule resolues that sports vnfold
Law to the young repentance fits the old.

Yet thus that kinde good God will not giue ouer,
But once againe by parley doth attempt,
To court this periur'd dame: and like a louer
Scorn'd of his Lady from all hope exempt,
Pittyes the shipwracke of her tainted name,
And yet by Mariage would recure her fame,

I know (quoth Christ) I loue thee, els I would not,
Haue swimd vnto thee in a Sea of blood:
More testifie my loue thou know'st I could not,
Long haue I stroue to bring they soule to good:
And witnesse here this crimson sweat, howe I,
(O soule of man) doe for thy whoredomes dye.

How often in my bosome did I sue
To haue thee lodg'd, how often did I call thee
From strange imbracements; from affections new,
Whose only surfeit did too soone inthrall thee?
And yet thou would'st not come, till age bereft thee,
Then I must take thee when all els haue left thee:

When yeeres haue made thee all vnfit for action,
When lust hath suckt thy Marrow drye, and those
With whom thou hadst conspir'd in trothles faction,
Shall shun thy lewdnesse, and deride thy woes:
To mee thou then wilt come and I must hide
The knowne defects of thy declined prid:

Call but to minde what 'tis to bee a whoore,
A whoore, the worst of creatures, trades her pleasures
With all diseases, liues till she be poore;
Sels all to buy damnation, neuer measures
Or shame, or health, but makes her bodies mart
Her soules confusion; such an one thou art.

And though perhaps temptation might perswade thee,
That euen the winter of thine age shall finde,
If thou repent, mercie from him that made thee,
Bee not secure, for thou shalt feele thy minde
So farre deuided, so corruptly bent,
As then thou canst not if thou wouldst repent.

Redeeme the poore remainder of thy daies,
Deaden the life of thy lasciuious lust,
Take pittie on thy selfe, forsake thy waies
Of licorish bondage, hate what is vniust,
Be trew to my desires, when sin assaults,
And Ile forget thy wrongs, forgiue thy faults.

Did euer man speake thus! was euer creature
In such a language courted, when the heat
Of wilfull madnesse wrought the soules defeature,
The God that should haue punisht, doth intreat:
Hee in whose power it is to scourge the sinner,
With words of mildnesse doth assay to win her.

Reade in this morrall, if it may be term'd so,
Christs loue, the soules infection, this is willing,
That wilfull, and eschues to be confirm'd so
That from his loue she may behold distilling,
A sweat of blood, as if his blood complaines
To tell her of the horrors he sustaines.

Guilt reades a lecture of her foule misdeeds,
And bids her looke vpon this streame of red,
Layes to her view the speaking sweat that bleeds,
When she lyes gasping on her death-full bed:
And then her conscience summon'd to the doome
Of Iudgement, hastes vnto her toombe.

When now (O God she cries) and haue I liu'd,
Ah shall I liue no more? Is grace and beautie
Vanisht so soone, of all respect depriu'd?
Must pompe and state renounce her wonted dutie?
Must my deuided soule contemn'd and lost,
Surrender vp my short appalled Ghost?

Inconstant fate, and wilt thou change thy course,
And leaue mee to the terrors of my dread?
Can gold prolong no life? Must life by force
Be shadowed with the ruines of the dead?
'Tis bad to die; but oh, I feele the curse
Of my owne conscience doth accuse mee worse.

Oh, had I twentie thousand mints of treasure,
Kingdoms to morgage, worlds within my power,
I would giue all, but for a little leasure,
A little little minute, one small hower,
That I might sue for grace, from grace cast downe,
But oh, I see my anger, God doth frowne.

Bee not, O be not mou'd thou glorious sonne,
Time was when thou didst sue to mee, I craue
Thy bountie of thy bloodie sweat; and runne
With confident assurance to my graue:
Thou art my spouse, I am thy bride, esteeme mee,
None but my Christ, none did but hee redeeme mee.

Heare I disclaime the follies of my will,
Heare I returne the sinnes my frailties gaue mee:
Heare I forsake my heart-inueigling ill,
Heare fly I to his onlie blood did saue me:
Mercie, O mercie, I commend as euen
My whordomes to the dust, my soule to heauen.

Christ is appeas'd, and where the soule is prest
With sence of knowinge shee hath done amisse,
Asking for grace, shee is with grace redrest,
Her case is pittied shee for giuen is,
But this so seldome hapneth and so rare,
Scant two such soules amongst amillion are.

Presumption leads the readie path to hell,
For whilst wee looke on mercie we forget
The equallnes of Iustice, and compell
Our soules to runne into a greater debt,
That God is mercifull 'tis true, so must
Our bouldnes eke remember hee is iust.

Oft hath bin seene a woman who hath lou'd
Some constant friend who black mischance hath slain
How looking on his wounds shee hath bin mou'd
To rent her haire and fatallie complaine,
Cursing her birth and life, refraining food,
Kissinge the silent murmur of his bloode.

Weeping vppon his bodie; as if teares
Could make the gaping windowes that let in
Vngentell Death close vp, and then inferres:
Wrech, wreched villiane! could not such lookes win
Remorce in thy hard hart! with manie words
Which then against the butcher griefe affords.

Can this a woman doe? And should the oule,
Behold her louer, Christ slaine, not lamenting,
Or should she entertaine a thought so foule,
As to gaze vpon his wounds without repenting:
Should wanton carnall loue so much deplore,
And shall not true religion doe much more?

A Soule which in the Gospell reads the Storie
Of Christs most bloodie sweat, and deadly wounds,
Cannot, in rules of zeale, but be most sorie,
Whilst sorrow mingled with remorce confounds
Reason and sence, that spectacle to pittie,
Whilst both sigh out this lamentable dittie.

And art thou dead! and must mine eyes behold,
The Lord of glorie crucifi'd for mee!
And is he dead, is his sweet bodie cold!
Made earth with earth and doe I liue to see,
The great acquittance of my debt discharg'd,
Seal'd with his blood, that I might be inlarg'd.

Vnhappie hand that gaue the fatall stroke,
Which wrought the subiect of my weeping eyes,
But most vnhappie mee, who did prouoke
With blushlesse sinnes, the cause for which hee dies:
But I, if it were possible, would faine,
With kissing of his wounds, fetch life againe.

Take heere the tribute of my mourning heart,
A poore weake widowed souls complaints remaining,
Fit earnest of my death-desiring smart,
Smarting in death, and dying in complaining:
As my offences did my Sauiour peirce,
So with my sorrowes will I decke his hearce.

First, I abiure all sin-contriuing thoughts,
Heere I renounce each sin-inuiting words
Then eu'ry sin-effecting acte which dotes
On flesh, I will no more: let Heauen records
My fast indissoluble vowes, I striue
For Christ alone, his votarie to liue.

His wounds shall be my cloyster, heere immur'd,
Ile sequester my solace from the liuing:
His drops of blood my beads, with which secur'd
Ile score the prayers of my heart mis-giuing:
My waxen Taper, whose cleere light applies
Light to my blindnesse, shall be his faire eyes.

My booke, the Legend of his Storie; Zeale,
The incense I will offer vp; Contrition
My penance; the confession I reueale,
My guilt; my Hope the comforts of fruition;
His Spirit my Confessor; Faith the gift,
Which must absolue mee, and his Loue my shrift.

Whiles on the Alter of his Innocence,
Ile lay the poore oblation of my heart:
His Death shall be the Pardon to dispence
With all my sins, set free in euery part:
My teares the holy water, and the fires
To burne this sacrifice, my chaste desires.

And now, my God, no day shall ouerslip mee,
But I will meditate on thy great passion;
My selfe accusing-conscience shall so whip mee,
As I will neede no other condemnation:
Bee thou but pleas'd to pittie those my feares,
And eu'ry day Ile wet thy tombe with teares.

This, if a man can picke out-time to doe,
His conscience may assure him that he is
A sanctifi'd creature, and cald to
The happie tydings of eternall blisse:
And thus he may be sure that for Christs sake,
Christs bloodie sweat, he doth indeed pertake.

So is he purg'd with water, fed with blood,
Regenerate in Baptisme, and made whole
By eating the Lords Supper, tasting good
In the repasted diet of his soule:
Whereby those bloodie streames of sweat did staine
The cheekes of Christ, were not all spent in vaine.

God will not thinke the heauinesse he felt,
Euen to the death, when he was man with vs,
Paynes cast-away: but as in loue he dealt
With soule-endangered men by suffring thus:
Yet will he not repent, when he shall know
What thankfulnesse in heart we doe bestow.

The crimson dye of his carnation red,
Hath washt the soule in puritie of white,
The conduit of the water that he bled,
Hath dy'd the soule in graine of wisht delight:
Water hath dy'd, and blood hath washt, 'tis strange,
But true; his vertue hath procur'd this change.

Nor is it strange since the most curious eye
That saw him lead his solitary life,
Whiles he was man on earth, could not espie
One blemish in his actions, prone to strife,
But all he spoke, or did, was wonders theame,
For euen the coate he wore was without seame.

For euen the coate he wore was without seame,
Implying his sinceritie and truth,
Vnmou'd in ioy, vndaunted in extreame,
Nor fearing age, nor vainly spending youth:
Louing where he was hated, ayming still
To saue from death, such as were bent to kill.

To saue from death, such as were bent to kill,
Men, bloodied in the feates of cruell hate,
Of hatefull crueltie, and to fulfill
The wrath and measure of a wofull state:
Yet those with gentle sighes, and teares, his ayme,
Stroue from the day of vengeance to reclaime.

Stroue, from the day of vengeance to reclaime,
A day of vengeance, when they shall behold
His wounds, to whom they gaue a deadly maime,
Crying Reuenge, and they themselues be fold
Vnto an heauie doome, yet Christ, who saw it
With meeke perswasions labour'd to withdraw it.

With meeke perswasions labour'd to withdraw it,
And taught them by example how to shun
Death, whiles they liu'd, who would not ouer awe it,
But headlong to their owne destruction run:
Yet He, when no inuitement could intreat,
Wept for their errors in his bloodie sweat.

Wept for their errors in his bloodie sweat,
His bloodie sweat, that crucifi'd delight,
Delight, which all was smoother'd in a heat,
An heat of passion, an vnsollac't sight:
Vnsollac't sight, when hee with griefes repleat,
Wept for sins error in his bloodie sweat.

Eyes were the Instruments ordayn'd to weepe,
But eyes in such a case must not suffice;
For his whole bodie did due order keepe,
It vndertooke the office of his eyes,
That as his eyes his precious teares did waste,
So did his heart, bleede teares of blood as fast.

Wherein his sorrowes sadly did abound,
Not measur'd by compulsion, but freewill,
That as his eyes, so might his heart be drown'd,
Surcharg'd with burthens of amazing ill:
And if his shedding teares his blood did paine,
His drops of blood, pai'd back his teares againe.

His eye was but an echo to his heart,
Which answer'd euery accent of his woe,
While both his eye and heart did beare a part,
As said the one, the other echo'd so:
Was euer man as I am? (quoth his eyes)
I am, (alas, his heauie heart replyes.

His Eyes cry out in teares, O cruell paine!
O cruell paine his Heart saies! (quoth his Eyes)
And must I then be slaine? I must be slaine
Answeres his Heart, his eyes, Ah let me die,
Me die, his Heart; his Eyes dye, dye content,
I die content, his Heart, thus both consent.

Not like the fawning of some subtile queane,
Some Dalilah, that flatters and beguiles,
Knowing Arts rule, how to abuse the meane,
To laugh in teares, and both to weepe in smiles:
Christ could not doe so, he wept teares in deed,
Such teares as 'twas all one to weepe or bleed.

He wept not to deceiue, but to reuiue;
He bleeded not in shew, but bled in proofe:
Not like the Crocadile, life to depriue,
But gaue such life, as nere was; not aloofe:
He wept, he bled, he bled, he wept a flood,
Blood in his teares, and water in his blood.

Weeping and bleeding for offending men,
His bloodie sweat in agonies so fitted,
As for his enemies he groued then,
So for his owne, and sins by both committed:
His enemies conceiu'd a fatall loathing,
His owne perceiuing all, conceiued nothing.

Those few Apostles who had heard him teach,
And knew him to be Gods begotten sonne,
They 'mongst whom he euery day did preach,
Seeing the miracles that he had done:
Were weake in faith, in vnderstanding dull,
Poore in their plentie, steru'd with being full.

Blindnesse so farre their ignorance did tempt,
With weaknesse of beliefe (ambitions feast)
As knowing Christ was come, yet still they dreamt
Of pettie Kings, or being Dukes at least:
Supposing Christ's spirituall Kingdomes mirth
Contain'd a goodly Kingdome here on earth.

And as the Anti-christian throne is now
Propt vp with scarlet robes and triple crownes,
To vassaile Princes rights, and to allow
All as it likes, or hates, with smiles or frownes:
Commanding, forcing, with his proud decree,
Such did they hope the throne of Christ should bee.

For when the Lord had finisht now his errant,
Returning to his Father that had sent him;
Sealing his power with his deaths strict warrant,
When neither Hell nor Sathan could preuent him:
Yet dreamt they on, and said Lord (as before)
Wilt thou thy Kingdom now to vs restore?

Could this but breed his griefe, when he foresaw
Peters deniall, his Apostles scatter'd?
His owne to feele the rigour of the Law,
Zeale cold, Faith dead, Hope lost, frailtie batter'd:
Deuisions breeding, Kings aspiring great?
All these, and such like brought his bloodie sweat.

For shortly he beheld the comming curse,
Vpon the sacred Scriptures Commentaries,
How, though the Iewes were nought, a people worse,
Whose studies are the Deuils Seminaries,
Should make the name of Iesus, the diguise
Of countenancing impudence and lyes.

Such, like a nose of waxe, doe wrest the word
To colour sinne, and hellishly peruert
Christs sacred Gospell, whiles with one accord
They boast the glorie of their owne desert:
Damning the simpe and the poore in minde,
As serues their lusts, Blinde guides to lead the blinde.

All those the Lord foresaw, and gron'd in Spirit.
Sweated in blood, was heauie to the death,
That so his precious passion, blamelesse merit,
Should be abus'd, that he had giu'n his breath,
His life, his ghost, his soule, yet could not win
Such wretched creatures, from inchanting sin.

Inchanting sinne, that with it's cunning charmes
Luls men in death-full sleepes, and slily makes
Impostum'd vlcers of vnsenced harmes,
Rockes them in Lethargies, and neuer wakes
Reason, to feele the bane-impotion'd wrath,
Which by such dead securitie it hath.

This was the cause that from our Sauiour drew
A bloodie sweat, so grieuous to be borne,
As did the eyes of cruell men but view,
How with this bloodie tempest he was worne,
Humane compassion could not choose but melt,
To thinke vpon the sorrowes which he felt.

No measure did his payned soule acquaint
With ease or respite, no Arithmeticke
Cast vp the summe of his vnheard complaint,
No heart conceiue the dolours that did pricke
With fiery stings, his manhood, and appall
His face with streames, which burst in twain his gall

Fos as a Riuer running in a round,
Hauing no vent or sluce to slide away,
Will make, by force, eruptions in the ground,
Drowne all the neighbour-land, and neuer stay,
Till with a violent course and headlong rage,
It slacke his strength, and of it selfe asswage.

Euen so the tide of many griefes abounding,
Sweld in the bosome of the Sonne of God,
Still growing to a head, and still confounding
His fraile mortalitie (deepe horrors rod)
Till bursting foorth with might and furie great,
It drown'd his bodie in a bloodie sweat.

Who euer saw (as often hath beene seene)
A shoure of blood, but thought it did portend
Some doome of Iudgement, or some angry teene
Of heauens-incensed King? So heere the end
Of this strange bloodie raine, doth shew in briefe,
How shortly Christ was to be wrapt in griefe.

The pangs of death, th' ntollerable paines,
Which wofull creatures were to vndergoe;
The man Christ Iesus, in this sweat sustaines,
Consuming wrath, and soule-deuouring woe
He felt, that he, vs men might timely free,
From Gods vnchanging, and diuine Decree.

Not that his death could abrogate the will
Of his great Father, for he aym'd not to it;
But that, in death, he wholly might fulfill
The eternall Iustice, as hee came to doe it:
Who as hee, death from men for sin required,
Had in his Sons death, more than death desired.

Yet neither did the Death or Bloodie sweat
Of Christ, extend to soules ordain'd to Hell:
But to the chosen, and elect, beget
A double life, although the Scriptures tell
How this meeke Lambe of God did chiefly come
To call the lost sheepe, and the strayers home.

Looke how the blessed doe pertake the good
(Sweete pledge of bountie, precious Seale of Ioyes)
Which issues from his Water and his Blood,
So both alike the Reprobate destroyes:
Gods mercies to the Righteous, to his foes
Are Iustice, to augment their enlesse woes.

When Isack's seede fled from th' Egyptian force,
And through the Red Sea tooke the readie way,
The waters stood on heapes, and staid their course,
Both waues and windes the passage did obey:
And in those waters safely past on ground,
In which, whiles Pharaoh follow'd, he was drown'd.

Whereby, as water sau'd the Lords Elect,
And led them through the terrors of the deepe,
So water to them of a deuilish sect,
Prou'd sod-ine death, and neuer-waking sleepe:
Christs bloodie sweat is that Red Sea, whose power
Secures the good, and doth the bad deuoure.

The Cloude and fierie Piller that gaue light
Vnto the children, in the desert plaines;
The one by day, the other shin'd by night,
Guiding their iourneis, comforting their paines;
Were to the Hoast of Egypt, mistes obscure
To blind their eyes, and certaine death procure.

Which burning Pillar, and which shining Cloud,
Is Christ, vnto whose blood such are baptiz'd,
As by the Holy Spirit are allow'd,
When otherwise, all such as are despis'd
Are darkned in the comforts of their sight,
And loose the glorie of this holy light.

A greater ligh more holy and Diuine,
Surpassing all the splendour of the Sun,
Could neuer to the eyes of mortals shine,
Then this most sacred Blood, which hath vndon,
And laid to publick view the Mount of Euill,
Which both was fram'd, and colourd by the Deuill.

In after-times, when in the winters cold,
Folkes vse to warme them by their nightly fires;
Such Parents as the time of life termes old,
Wasting the season, as the night requires:
In stead of tales, may to their children tell,
What to the Lord of glorie once befell.

Once, may they say, (my childe) a time there was,
When men were beasts, so cruelly they liu'd,
As they did nights and dayes in pleasure passe,
Like some of Reason and of Sence depriu'd:
Not fearing God, or louing man, giu'n ore
To Lust and Will, as beasts could doe no more.

The naughtie Deuill slylie did intice,
By sensuall sports and pittilesse deceits,
Our weake fore-fathers to insnaring vice;
Masking his tyrannie with wanton baites:
And wee, in them, did euery thing he wil'd vs,
Till the foule feind (my childe) had almost kild vs.

But straight, when our good God almightie saw,
How neere vnto the Pit-hole wee were brought,
For being not obedient to his Law,
He forthwith of a remedie bethought:
And hee, to saue vs from this wicked Feind,
His onely Sonne into the world did send.

A louely Sonne (my childe) a daintie boy,
Who had a cheeke as red as any cherie,
Sweete babie, was his mothers only ioy,
And made her heauie heart full often merie:
Who, though he were Gods Son, yet like a stranger,
Hee in a Stable borne was, in a Manger.

And poore, God knowes he was, (my childe) not fine,
Or like a gentleman in gay attyre:
But simple clothes hee had, which was a signe
How little to be proud, hee did desire:
Yet if hee would haue sought for worldly grace,
Hee might haue gone in silke, and golden lace.

When he was twelue yeeres old (marke this my child)
Hee was a perfect Scholer, and did pose
Great learned clarkes, and Doctors, but so milde
As hee would neuer chide, but rather chose
To teach then anger, and one might perswade him
To doe whats'uer any bodie bad him.

Thirtie good yeeres and odde, this blessed man,
Liu'd on the earth; in all which time he seem'd
So comfortlesse, with lookes so pale and wan,
As if he had not bin by men esteem'd,
Full many an hungry meale he made, and lay
Bare-leg'd and bare-foote many a day.

Hee neuer laugh'd, but he did euermore
Weepe, weepe continually; and (O my child)
Hee neuer did none harme; he holpt the poore,
Cur'd tht diseas'd, and such as were beguild
With witches, and with wicked things (God blesse vs)
He droue them from vs when they would oppres vs.

And hee made much of children, and did good
To euery one, yet wicked men did striue
To take away his life, and shed his blood,
Whiles yet this blessed Iesus was aliue:
And on a time, he was so much dismaid,
Hee sweated blood, as he his prayers said

But what is worse then this, (hard-hearted Iewes)
Did hang this good good man vpon the crosse,
Nayling his feet and hands, and did misuse
This gentle soule, whom they did fiercely tosse
From post to pillar, and would not be still'd,
Vntill they had this, our Redeemer kill'd.

Heere now, may bee, the prettie childe will weepe,
And aske his parents why they vs'd him so;
To which they may reply, that God did keepe
His soule aliue, though life he did forgoe:
For Christ (my childe) so dy'd, then may they tell,
That euery one might be redeem'd from hell.

Much might be added more, to spend the howers,
In better leasure then an anticke tale;
Teaching the sillie hearers how the powers
Aboue reseru'd vs from the Deuils sale:
Whom had not Christ his blood regain'd the wrath
Of life, all vs lost, sin had sold to death.

Come then, sad Patron of this bloodie sweat,
And with thine euerlasting comforts cherish
Vnfenced Faith, which daily is beset
With treasons, which intice the soule to perish:
In the delicious Bath of Blood and Water.
Cleance leporous Soules, and Hels dominion batter.

And here, my God, the glorious Sonne of peace,
I close the musicke of my weeping song;
And further to inlarge, thy sorrowes cease,
Beseeching that thy Spirit may be strong,
To moue my heart, and gently to commit
To meditations, all the lines I writ.

Let not the frailtie of my youth misled,
Be once remembred in the day of grace;
Let not the bloodie drops which thou hast bled,
Condemne me guiltie; let thy wounds deface
The wounds of mine infection, now begin
Throughly to wash mee from mine odious sin.

The howres and daies which I haue spent in vaine,
In fruitlesse studies, and inuentiue pleasure,
Redeeme, O Christ, and call them backe againe,
Doe not, in Iudgement, mine offences measure:
But, in thy mercies, hide my faults; protect
My sighes, let thy loue couer my defect.

Heere, Sauiour of the world, worke that I may
Begin to liue anew, and in this theame
Of thy sad bloodie sweat, learne out the way
Of life indeed, and wake mee from the dreame
Wherein my Soule long slept, and felt the terrour,
Of double two Apprentiships to errour.

And now my God, if I discharged haue,
This imposition of thine heauenly taske,
Some token of thy being pleas'd I craue,
Some certaine knowledge of thy will I aske:
For Heauen, and Angels with my soule record,
I no way haue traduc'd the written word.

No malice to detract from rules of State,
No singuler conceit to purchace fame,
No pointing at some person, neither hate
To any priuate wrongs, haue made mee name
The Plurisies of sin; but as thy Sweat
All sins hath purg'd, all sins I did repeat.

For which, as first thy Spirit did inuite,
In holy raptures to aduance my minde,
From earthly slime, of holy things to write;
So hauing written, likewise let mee finde
Of thy most precious priuiledge, some token
To grace the trueth of all that hath bin spoken.

Heere, in the pensiue solace of my Soule,
Me thought, a soft coole winde did gently breath,
As if my spirit were now transported whole,
Vnto another life, from carnall death:
When straight a shining light perfum'd the roome,
Out of which light, a whispring voyce did come.

Rest there (it said) and toyle thee now no more,
Knit vp the period of thy trembling Stile;
And learne to liue, not as thou didst before,
But in a smoother course; and I the while,
Will teach thee how thou shalt attaine the place,
Where quiet soules doe end their happie race.

For since thou hast with such a modest care,
(Although thy verse doe want the grace of words)
Limn'd out my wounds, and told them as they are,
So liuely as thy simple skill affords:
Ile take thy meaning in the better part,
And for thine offring will accept thy heart.

May bee, some wandring eye that shall suruey
This wonder of my Sweat, in those thy numbers,
Will take a truce with time, and shake away
From off his Soule, the lusts wherein it slumbers:
Then hast thou hid a multitude of sin,
If all thy paines, one Soule from ruine win.

And blessedly hereafter shall succeed,
Thy studies and thy labours, if thou shunne
The path that thou hast trode, and wilt take heed
To vndoe the many follies thou hast done:
For if thou haue respect vnto my Lawes,
Before my Father I will plead thy cause.

But thou, marke well these words; A time shall be
When Reason shall beate downe the force of might,
And Natures Sonnes shall wish for peace, but see
Th' effects of blood, and feele the scourge of fight:
Now vnrespected, and not felt: but men
Shall, what they had vnprais'd, remember then.

Happie the soule that sleepes in peace, and thou,
Prouide against such daies, watch, fast, and craue
A dissolution, and prepare thee how
Thy conscience may be furnisht for thy graue:
Nor doe repute it for a fabling ieste,
Which sayes; Good conscience is a daily feaste.

Feast on in that, and henceforth be secure
In strength of Faith: let all thy cares be eas'd
By bathing in my Blood, and fountaine pure
Of this my Sweat, and I in this am pleas'd:
Rest thou, for ioe, the Angels in their rankes
Waite my returne; thy labour be thy thankes.

Vp flew the light, and silence shew'd the voyce
Retir'd to stilnesse; which depriu'd my sence
Of all the glory of that heauenly noyse,
Which with such sweet content departed thence:
Forthwith, my Soule, her wonted babit tooke,
And I seal'd vp my comforts in a booke.

FINIS.