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The Song of Mary the Mother of Christ:

Containing the story of his life and passion.

Faine would I write, my minde ashamed is,
My verse doth feare to do the matter wrong:
No earthly musique good enough for this,
Not Dauids harpe, nor Huroms mourning song.
Nor Esaies lippes are worthy once to mooue,
Though Zeraphins fire hath kindled them with loue
An Angels Trompe is not so lowde and shrill,
As fitting were, much lesse this verse of mine:
Pull backe thy hand, thy too presumptuous quill,
And pray to finde a writer more diuine.
Eternall God which shall be, wert, and art,
Imprint my Sauiours passion in my heart.
Write it within the table of my minde,
Engraue thy Loue in lasting letters there:
And giue me grace to cast all sinne behinde,
And quite contemne those fading pleasures heere.
And euer seeke the honour of thy name,
And publish eke the glory of the same.

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To publish it vnworthy art thou found,
Yet I accept the proffer of thy will:
With all thy force, my glory foorth then sound,
Such as they be, imploy thy tongue and quill.
For though thou seest thy talents are but small,
Yet I am great, and to be prais'd in all.
So Dauid with his harpe, my lawdes did sing,
And Huroms song lamented hath my paine:
Esay foretolde that I should be your King,
The Zeraphins still extoll their Soueraigne,
Angels and men, young, olde, both great and small,
Doe honour me, which did create them all.
Amongst the rest, though least yet most in debt,
I ioy to be admitted to this song:
I would it were in better Musique set,
Then this of mine, which doth the matter wrong.
You Saints which haue entuned it before,
Lend me your notes, if now you sing no more.
No, thinke not so, our song for euer is,
And yet the notes seeme euery day a new:
Such is the taste of neuer-ending blisse,
To Iesus name such hermony is due.
We neuer cease, but euer wish to sing,
Our ioyes increase, in praysing of our King.
O that my song, were musique set to yours,
That I with you might come to beare a part:
Then would I spend my idle wasted houres,
In heauenly mirth and musique of the heart.
But I distune all notes, both flat and sharpe,
I haue no skill in meeter, song or harpe.

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Let it suffice, thou hast a ready will,
Christ doth accept the measure of the minde
And not aboue the compasse of thy skill,
Exacteth ought, then take thy part assign'd.
And sing with vs, he doth thy note approue,
All is entun'd, that tempered is with loue.
O blessed Quire! yet ere I doe begin,
Teach me the Ditty of this Sacred song:
That I may know, where as my part comes in,
And end in time, for feare I be too long.
For though I hope to sing, in time by loue,
Yet feare I too, my passions may me mooue.
Feare not at all, but marke how we doe sing,
And follow vs, thy time shall so be right:
Our Ditty is the tryumph of our King,
His cruell foes, and bloudy martiall fight,
His conquest gain'd, of all that did rebell,
Of subtill Sathan, trembling death, and hell.
The loue he shewed to the vngratefull Iewes,
The zeale he had to doe his Fathers will;
The griefe he tooke, for such as should refuse
The mercy bought, while he his bloud did spill.
The venome lurking in the traytors kisse,
His mildenes pardoning all that was amisse.
Th'Apostles flight, the Virgins mourning woe,
The wondrous mallice of the wicked route:
Against the Lambe, like Wolues which raged so,
And like to dogges, did compasse him about.
His patient minde, and paines he tooke for thee,
And euery soule which shall this story see.

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Then sing ô Saints, ô holy heauenly quire!
And I shall striue to follow on your song:
This sacred Ditty is my chiefe desire,
My soule to heare this Musique now doth long.
And longing thus, all whist, there was no din,
They silent stood, to see who should begin.
For none did thinke him worthy to be one,
And euery one to other there gaue place:
But bowing knees to Iesus euery one,
They him besought for to decide the case.
Who said to me, most fit for this appeares
My mothers plaint, and sacred Virgins teares.
Straight all agreed, the Virgin ready prest
To doe the will of her eternall Sonne:
With heauenly cheare and most melodious brest,
Her sacred song and Ditty thus begunne.
Bowing her selfe vnto the glorious Throne,
Where Three did sit adored all in one.
All glory, honour, blessing praise, renowne,
Be giuen to him that sitteth on the Throne:
On whom all Kings and Princes holde their crowne
One God in three, and persons three in one.
The first and last, and euer still the same,
Without all change, Iehouah is his name.
Thou Soueraigne Lord, the fountaine of our blisse,
Our end, our ioy, our supreme Maiesty:
In whom our life, our breath, and being is,
Most simple one and perfect Trinitie.
The Father, Sonne, and sacred holy Ghost,
We praise them all, thy glorious heauenly hoast.

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And still as they the Virgin singing heare,
In selfe same time, so ecchoed all the quire.
Thy wōdrous works our knowledge doth surmount,
Thy mercies great our Iudgement doth exceede:
Who can thy goodnes towards vs recount,
And shew by words, what thou hast done by deed?
For onely this pertaineth to thy name,
Meruailes to worke, and thou declare the same.
The pondrous earth, the salt and foming sea,
The suttle ayre, the light and burning fire;
The changing Moone, the starry moouing skye,
The Orient Sunne, the heauen and earthes desire.
Each liuing thing within them, great or small,
Declare thy wisedome, power and goodnes all.
They all doe cry, performe our makers will.
Beholde in vs the greatnes of his hand.
She hath prescrib'd, we keep his order still,
In his commaund our cause and order stand.
Then learne (O man) for whom he made vs all,
Vpon his wondrous name with vs to call.
Farre more in thee, the end of all the rest
His glory shines and brightnes of his face:
He hath infus'd a soule into thy brest,
Adorn'd with reason in an Angels place.
And stampt his holy Image in thy minde,
And for this end his Maiesty assign'd.
But thou forgetfull of thy greatest good,
Didst fowly fall to disobedient sinne:
Subiect to hell, if that the sacred bloud

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Of Christ our Lord and Sauiour had not bin.
O ransome deare, for such as were accurst!
O second mercy, greater then the first!
The King to pay the ransome of his slaue!
The Lord of Lords, his vassals faultes to beare!
The Sonne of God the sinning soules to saue!
And with his death, to buy their liues so deare!
This is a fire, that flinty hearts may mooue,
This is excesse, and extasies of loue.
But yet in me, farre more then all the rest,
Thy loue ô Lord and glory doth appeare:
Extolling her, that was the very least,
Thy onely Sonne our Sauiour for to beare.
And lodge within so lowe and straite a roome,
The Iudge of all, in dreadfull day of doome!
This sacred message Gabriell thou didst bring
From Gods owne mouth vnto my silly Cell,
How I a Virgin, should conceiue a King
And Lord, whom all the Prophets did foretell.
O what a message seemed this to me?
Vnworthy once a Hand-mayde for to be.
Thou holy Ghost, ô God in Maiesty,
The third of Three, didst shaddow me in power:
And thus by vertue of the Trinitie,
I did conceiue euen in that instant howre,
My Lord, my God, my Sauiour and my King,
Myne onely Sonne, ô Saints and Angels sing.
And still as they the Virgin singing heare:
In selfe same tune, so ecchoed all the Quire.

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Thou onely Sonne of God, Father of might,
Maker of me and all, the well of grace:
Fountaine of loue, eternall Sonne of light,
Because my Sonne; and falling on her face,
Repeating this full oft (with musique sweet)
She did adore and kisse our Sauiours feete.
Thou Lord of ioy, within my wombe didst dwell
Nine monthes, enriched with so great a guest:
No heart can thinke, much lesse my tongue can tell,
How in my Lord, my minde and soule was blest.
And how my spirit with gladnes did abound,
Whilst in my wombe, the well of ioy was found.
The time expyr'd, in Bethlem thou wert borne,
Where, in a Crib vpon a locke of hay,
Twixt Oxe & Asse, thou Lord didst thinke no scorne
Swadled in cloutes, thy mother should thee lay.
O sacred Lord! sweet Sonne, what should I call?
My God, my babe, my blisse, and all in all.
Learne heere, ô learne the steps that he did treade,
And follow men the footings of your Lord:
Who with the first did crush the Serpents head,
Pompe, riches, pride, and fleshlines abhor'd.
And from the Crib that standes without the doore,
He bids you be obedient, chaste and poore.
O lowly place, for him that was so hye!
O happy stable, pallace of the King!
You Angels there, did make vs melody,
The silly shepheards sayd, they heard you sing.
The shining starre, from th'East did goe before,
And shew the Kings, the place for to adore.

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They layde their scepters at my Sauioūr feete,
And kissing them, his God-head did adore:
Offring their gifts, Mirhe, Golde, & Incence sweet,
A present, rich to them that seem'd so poore,
But they inspyred, did these offrings bring,
For Christ their priest, their Sauiour and their King.
O Princes, heere come learne your christian parts,
O christians all, let these your patternes be:
They were the first, beholde their bounteous hearts,
Their faith, their loue, vnto my sonne and me.
And all by shining of a blasing starre,
Your calling is more cleare and bright by farre.
After, my Lord according to the law,
Within the Temple I did thee present:
Where Simeon as soone as he vs saw,
And in his armes thy little body hent:
To blesse our God within, he did not cease,
Desiring leaue for to depart in peace.
For now (quoth he) my aged eyes haue seene
The sauing health most pleasant to my sight;
Which, of thy Saints hath long expected been,
The glory of Iewes, and Heathen nations light.
Who yet by mallice shall be much gaine-sayd,
O worthy babe! ô happy mother maide!
All this was ioy, and comfort vnto me,
Who did conferre these sayings in my minde;
Wherein such truth and light I still did see,
But Simeon added further; I doe finde,
That though thou Christes elected mother art,
The swoord of sorrow shall transpierce thy heart.

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O saying true in me, full many an houre,
Such is the way, that God doth vse with his:
With comforts crosse, with sweet to mixe the soure,
Twixt weale and woe, to weild them vnto blisse.
The one doth shew, his goodnes and his loue,
The other doth our gratefull patience prooue.
If comfort cleane did want, we were dismaide,
If all were ioy, our tryall were the lesse:
When daunger comes, we run to him for ayde,
We try his grace, and feele our feeblenes.
God prooueth his, the which appeareth true,
In all the sacred song that doth ensue.
For cruell Herod set on worldly pelfe,
The Bethlem babes did butcher for thy sake:
My childe most sweet, enquiring for thy selfe,
Which caused vs our secret flight to take.
Ioseph in hast awaking vs from rest,
While thou did sucke (my Sauiour) on my brest.
So didst thou then, thy glorious warre begin,
And learne to suffer in thine infant yeares:
And teach thy seruants soone to flye from sinne,
And not abide where daunger once appeares.
For truth thou cam'st, thy country was no losse,
Euen from the Crib, thus hastning to the crosse.
Seauen yeares in Egipt liuing in exile,
Ioseph his Axe, my needle in my hand,
In poore estate we passed all the while,
Amongst the simple people of the land.
For all was heau'n, for comfort we did sing,
To lull our babe and reuerence our King.

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O how my crosse was euer mixt with sweet!
My paine with ioy, mine earth with heauenly blisse!
Who alwaies might adore my Sauiours feete,
Imbrace my God, my louing infant kisse.
And giue him sucke, who giues the Angels foode,
And turne my milke, into my Sauiours bloud.
Sometimes he cast his hand about my necke,
And smyling, lookt his mother in the face:
Some ioy or skill, I found in euery becke,
Each day discouered wisedome, loue and grace,
I cannot vtter what I did espye,
When I beheld his little glorious eye.
At seauen veares end we did returne againe,
And brought the Arke into his wonted place:
For he was dead that would my Lord haue slaine,
Thus worldly things doe turne & change their face.
But they which Iesus keep, and doe his will,
In all euentes be one, and happy still.
Yearely we went with others, to adore
Within the Temple as the law doth bid:
A holy place, but how doth he much more,
Who being Lord a subiectes duety did.
O Christians then, how ought you for to liue?
Obedient to the lawes the Church doth giue.
And Christ my Sonne, now being twelue yeares old,
Thou didst bewray thy heauenly wisedome there:
And midst the Doctors, treasures didst vnfolde,
Ioseph and I, meane while affright with feare,
For eyther weening, other had my childe,
Each trusting other, eyther was beguilde.

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My soule, remember what thy thoughtes were then,
What griefes and feares, did lodge within my brest:
Who now had lost the ioy of God and men,
My sacred Sonne, in whome my soule was blest.
What teares could serue to wayle so great a losse?
Loe thus we still approached to the crosse.
Thus three daies spent in wayling, teares and woe,
Beholde my Sauiour in the Temple still:
Of whom I askt, my Sonne why did you so?
Must I not doe (quoth he) my Fathers will?
And so you see, I learned by my griefe,
Amongst all duties, that to God is chiefe.
Till thirty yeares, my Lord at home did dwell,
Ioseph and I enioyed his presence still:
Where I my selfe abashed am to tell,
How he in all, obayed to my will.
How doe you thinke I mooued was, to see
The Prince of Angels subiect vnto me?
Learne heere obedience, learne heere young & olde,
A Soueraigne God, a patterne drawne from Christ:
A lesson worthy to be set in golde,
The which so precious seemed to the highest,
That all his life he neuer swaru'd therefro,
And euen his death he did accomplish so.
What should I heere his holy life recount,
Which he with me these thirty yeares did spend?
This story would vnto a volume mount,
My song doth to his sacred passion tend.
And all doe know his piety needs must passe,
Who, of all Saintes, the Lord and Sauiour was.

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But I indeed was witnes with mine eye,
I saw his deeds and wrote them in my brest:
His modest cheare, his deep humility,
His heauenly talke, deuoyde of idle iestes.
His instant prayer and contemplation hye,
Declaring well his God-head was so nye.
What flames of loue appeared in his face?
What great compassion in his holy teares?
His sacred eyes were messengers of grace,
His countenance bright, our cloudy passions cleares.
Comfort and ioy were written in his brow,
Thus blest with him, we had our heauen below.
The morning still in lamentation spent,
The day diuided into equall space:
What prayer mist, to humble worke was bent,
Who made the heauens and earth a wondrous case.
And hard for haughty mindes to vnderstand,
Doth worke with Ioseph, with his Axe in hand.
Thus must they learne, of soules that will haue care,
By slowly deeds, and silence many yeares:
To make a way vnto thy lofty chayre,
Enflam'd in prayers, and bath'd in humble teares,
For they who proudly to the pulpit haste,
Of words and soules, doe make a wofull waste.
Thus must they arme themselues, that meanes to war
With flesh, the world, the deuill, or suttle foe,
Our swoord and target, speciall weapons are,
These thirty yeares our Lord did arme him so.
Not for because himselfe had any need,
But leauing vs a rule in euery deed.

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O Sauiour sweet, ô thou my louing sonne,
What should I sing of all thy mercies? then
If I should count, I neuer should haue done,
It would exceede capacity of men;
Yea Saints and Angels would astonied stand,
(Thou onely Lord dost all them vnderstand.)
How didst thou teach me to increase in loue?
To know thy will, to follow all thy wayes?
By feruent prayer, affections to remoue,
My Soueraigne God, in all his workes to praise.
In euery creature, still my Lord to finde,
And haue his presence printed in my minde.
In weale, and woe, euer to be the same,
Neuer but alwaies what he should dispose:
In euery thought to laude his holy name,
And all my deeds before him to disclose.
In doubts, demaunds, counsailes, what euer best,
His will once knowne, therein wholy to rest.
Sometimes thou toldst me of thy holy crosse,
Thy loued spouse, and glory of thy raigne:
The Idols fall, and Israels wofull losse,
And of thy Church which alwaies should remaine.
And vnto nations knowle the sacred bell,
Preuailing still against the gates of hell.
Then thou beganst to shew the powers diuine,
Thy sacred baptisme, and stupendious fast:
At my request he turn'd water to wine,
In wondrous workes, & preaching three yeares past.
But all these things are sweetly written on:
By Mathew, Marke, Luke, and diuine S. Iohn.

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Now change your notes, his passion draweth nye,
This story craues a graue and dolefull stile:
Though ioy haue wipte all water from mine eye,
And we in heauen all sorrow heere exile.
And therefore Saints and holy Angels all.
Take lower notes, and let your Trebles fall.
Come christians come, beholde and learne to loue:
Follow his steps, be thankfull for his grace:
Admyre his sorrows, let compassion mooue
Your hardned harts, to plaine your Soueraignes case,
Let penance now appeare vpon your face.
Bewaile your sinnes, bring inward listening eares,
And bath your cheekes, with warme and trickling teares.
The night before his holy passion day,
She wing his loue to his Apostles deare:
He caused them, the table for to lay.
And eate the Lambe as vse was euery where,
A figure of more sweet and heauenly cheere.
Which he him selfe did insticute and giue,
Whereby his Church should euer eate and liue.
His holy Loynes with linnen towell girt,
He humbly washed his Apostles feete:
With heauenly fingers wiping off the dirt,
An office farre (as Peter thought) vnmeete,
But lowly Lord, and louing Master sweet,
Thou didst commaund, Saint Peter, be content,
And learne by this the lesson that was meant.
O learne, then learne, what God himselfe doth teach,
A lowly minde, and humble vnto all:
Let no ambition once your soules appeach.

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Or pride, whom Christ doth to his table call,
For lowe grow high, and pride doth catch a fall.
Loe Iesus downe at Iudas feete he fell,
He chiefe in heauen, to lowest impe in hell.
Iudas doth cast within his wicked head,
His Soueraigne Lord and Master to betray:
Iesus in the meane while, doth blesse the bread,
And giues himselfe a lasting foode for aye,
O heauen and earth! cry out, exclaime and say,
O monstrous mallice, matcht with wondrous loue!
O poysoned toad, and patient simple Doue!
His holy life, his heauenly lowly cheare,
His doctrine pure, and most stupendious workes:
His loue not thought, nor heard of euery eare,
Could all not pierce the heart where poyson lurkes?
Thou worthily whom grace and goodnes vrkes,
Thou didst exclude his presence with thy sinne,
And let thy Lord and Master Sathan in.
There was the table furnished that night,
With heauenly Manna, holy Angels foode:
The Paschall Lambe, the honny, giuing light,
The Testament, the holy sprinckled bloud.
The tree of life, which midst the garden stood.
The meale and oyle, which eaten lasteth still,
Elias loafe, to walke from crib to hill.
The memory of all his wonders wrought,
The monument and fruite of all his loue;
The price it selfe, where with our soules was bought,
Yet could not all this (monster Iudas) mooue,
Yea, though our Lord his treason did reprooue.

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And tolde it Iohn, who leaning on his brest,
His mallice choos'd the deuill, and was possest.
As soone as mallice thus had cast a clowde,
Vpon a planet which was once so birght:
The force of truth, which driueth downe the proude,
Would not abide the darke to dwell in light,
Iudas went out from truth, for it was night:
And sliding downe into the depth of sinne,
To worke his couert treason doth begin.
Then was that sacred Senate of eleauen,
Purged of crime, made perfect golde and fine:
More apt to take the influence from heauen,
Vessels of grace, for sweet and spirituall wine,
Dispos'd to heare that Doctrine most diuine,
Which wisedome then in plenty did instill,
When sacraments haue salu'd and heal'd their will.
Then loe they learne to haue a fast beliefe,
And anchored hope, a whole enflamed loue:
With Soueraigne duty to adore the chiefe,
Who doth in patience oft his chosen prooue,
That all their hearts and helps may be aboue.
And walke in Christ, the high and ready way,
Vnto the ioy of his eternall day.
They haue the promise of the holy ghost,
The Sonne and Father, all a like in one:
The vnity of all the holy hoast,
With Christ their captaine, head and corner stone.
In whom no member euer liues alone.
But in him (being quicke by charity,)
Is made a Temple of the Trinitie.

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Meane while the Iewes, in vproare all are seene,
Arming themselues with lights and weapons rude:
Iesus our Lord, as he had wonted been,
Seuers himselfe by silent solitude,
Prostrate with feare, and reuerence all endu'd
Doth pray for ayde, with instant resting still,
Resigned all vnto his Fathers will.
A combat then he felt within his flesh,
With fierce encounters, which in him was tryed;
Both feare and griefe doth set on him a fresh,
And all this, for our loue he did abide,
And for our sinnes, for which he after dy'd,
And all the sorrows which were voyde of sinne,
Tooke natures part to keep the spirit in.
In which conflict, an Angell downe did bring,
From heau'nly Court to iudgement there assign'd:
It is the will of the eternall King,
That Iesus should resolue his ready minde
To suffer death, ô Father wondrous kinde!
To sinfull sonnes, which doth his dearest giue
And onely Sonne to death, that we may liue.
Then straight our Lord, did giue his whole consent,
His will was prest, withouten any way:
His minde and soule was wholy set and bent,
Nature exclaym'd, but needs she must obay,
And grace by force, did beare the Soueraigne sway.
And flesh did feare, and bloud did make retreate,
And issued out in bloudy watry sweate.
All Christian soules, come see this agony!
Come count the drops, which trickles down his face

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Bring thankfull hearts this bloudy sweat to dry.
Lay sinne a side, which puts him in such case,
Learne heere of him, to ayme that happy race.
In prayer, patience, lowlines and loue,
To endlesse blisse, and happines aboue.
Learne how to pray alone with humble minde,
And body both, with instant knocking still;
Till answere comes from heauen, alwaies resign'd
And prest to doe our heauenly Fathers will,
Against what motion comes, account it ill.
Let flesh and bloud, and all that nature likes,
Yeeld to the stroke that grace and spirit strikes.
For loe, when all his foes approached neere,
Then Iesus boldly meeteth them in shew;
It was the flesh alone which fraile, did feare,
The liuely spirit to all that did ensue,
So midst the throng, and cursed hellish crew.
He doth protest himselfe, in deed to be
Iesus they sought for; saying, I am he.
Which words, did throw them prostrate on the ground,
Such was his might, if loue had left him free:
But zeale of soules, his force and might hath bound,
Sinner amend, he needes will dye for thee,
His thraldome is to get thee liberty.
Your weaknes makes his power become a pray,
Sampson is thrall for loue of Dalila.
O milde and patient Lambe! ô Lyon stout!
O strong! ô weake! ô loue! subduing might,
Able with wordes, to conquere all the route,
And with a breath, to put them all to flight,

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And yet againe, his loue renewes the plight.
And by his weaknes, working all our blisse,
He yeilds his sacred mouth to Iudas kisse.
He healeth Malchus with his holy hands,
Refuseth ayde, he will no sword but loue:
Let mallice come, and cast on loue his bands,
Let darknes now her feeble power prooue,
Th'almighty now will not against her mooue.
Mercy in truth will conquer hell and sinne,
Goodnes in loue, will force of mallice win.
Iesus beholde is bound, th' Apostles fled,
The Iewes doth rage, and tryumph in theyr ill:
The Lyon of Iuda lyke a lambe is led,
Maiesty scorn'd and beaten, standeth still,
Loue of our soules doth take eternall will.
And for a space, ô wonder most of all!
Euen God himselfe to wicked men is thrall.
In Annas hall he strucken was, as one
That did presume t'offend in speaking true:
Pride nere respectes th'eternall dreadfull throne,
When falshood must her monstrous pride needs rue,
For what reproach to pryde and sinne is due
Which checketh God? for blynd respect of man,
O tremble now, and be not strycken than.
The Lambe in patience, makes his progresse still,
In silence, meeknes, loue, in word and peace:
His eyes on heauen, his minde his Fathers will,
The Iewes and Gentiles, fully doe encrease,
To buffet, beat, and spit they doe not cease.
And last, all naked to a piller bound,

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His Virgin's flesh, with scourges they doe wound.
With forced armes they teare his tender skin,
And empt his vaines of pure and precious bloud:
The stripes were sore, and many for my sinne,
In force whereof the strength of mallice stood,
O let this griefe attaine th'intended good,
And feele how pleasing sinne (indeed) doth smart,
Remembring sinne, thus scourged in thy heart.
The soldiers are assembled, in his scorne
Doe cloath him in disdainfull purple weede:
And on his head they wrap a crowne of thorne,
Which pricking deep, doe make it gush and bleede,
And in his hands they put a rotten reed.
And in his face their filthy fleame they fling,
With Anticke kneeling, they cry: Hayle ô King.
Come marke thy Sauiours bloudy blowes, al wanne,
So whipped, crowned, cloathed like a coarse;
When Pilate bids the Iewes: Beholde the man,
Hoping that this would mooue them to remorce,
But hardned hearts thereby did grow the worse.
The fire of loue, did purge the golde from drosse,
They boyle in rage, to nayle him to the crosse.
Be thou no worse saith Pilate, see the man,
Beholde him well and marke his pittious hue:
Regard his eyes and minde, all they that can,
And render him all guerdon that is due,
Our sinnes the price, where of his grieues ensue.
And if thou takest pitty on his paine,
Now cease by sinne, to pierce his head againe.

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If sinne a corsiue in him so doth make,
And wounded conscience breed an inward feare:
Then see thy Lord thus haled for thy sake,
And then with hope, approach thy selfe more neere,
Before his Fathers face for to appeare.
Present thy Sauiour, bloudy, pale and wanne,
Beseech his Father to beholde the man.
Doubt not at all, if Pilates heathen heart
Did waxe more soft by such a pittious view;
The louing Father will regard the smart
Of his deare Sonne, in such a ruefull hew.
And grace and mercy will thereof ensue:
To them which humbly doe demaund the same,
In Christ his Sonne, our crowned captaines name.
He doth beholde his Sonne with tender eyes,
His sores and woundes be alwaies in his sight;
And he againe to Christians dayly cryes,
Beholde my Sonne your Sauiour, in this plight,
Retaine this patterne with you day and night.
Be like your King reioyce in paine and scorne,
You being his mēbers, who was prickt with thorne.
FINIS.