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A Diuine Poeme, diuided into two Partes:

The Rauisht Soule, and the BLESSED WEEPER.

Compiled by Nicholas Breton, Gentle-man.
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To the Right Honourable, discreete, and vertuous Lady, the Nourisher of the Learned and fauorer of the Godly: my singuler good Lady, the Lady Mary, Countesse of Penbrooke: Nich: Breton wisheth all the good that the Heauens will and the world can giue, to the pleasure of the Highest, and her worthy heartes desire.
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The Rauisht Soule.

Gloria in excelsis Deo.

Sing, my soule, to God thy Lord,
All in glorie's highest keye;
Laie the Aungells quier aboorde,
In their highest holy daie;
Craue their helps to tune thy heart
Vnto praise's highest parte.
Tell the world no world can tell
What the hand of heauen deserueth;
In whose onely mercies dwell
All that heauen and earth preserueth;
Death's confounding, Sinne's forgiuing;
Faith's relieuing, Comfort's liuing.
Grace and glory, life and loue,
Be the summe of all thy dittie;
Where a sinner's teares may proue
Comfort's ioy in Mercie's pitty:
Euery note in loue alluding,
Endlesse glory in concluding.
Prayse of prayses where Thou dwellest,
Tell me, (if the world may know Thee)
In what sense Thou most excellest,
When Thy wonder worth doeth shew Thee,
In that state of Honour's story
Where Thou gain'st thy highest glorie?
'Tis not earth nor earthly wonder
Can discerne Thy dearest honour;
All her praises are put vnder,
When Thy glory lookes vpon her.
Nor in heauen Thy glorie dwelleth;
Where Thy wonder most excelleth.
Yet in heauen was neuer liuing
Virgin, saint, nor angel's spirit;
Where Thy Grace may haue the giuing
Of Thine honour's highest Merite.
Tis their glories admiration
That deserues Thy commendation.
Since then by all consequences,
In the notes of Glorie's nature,
And the Graces influences,
Tis no earth, nor heauenly creature;
In my God alone on high
Is this onely mysterie.
And since in His Maiestie,
All and onely euer dwelleth
That most glorious Deity,
That all prayse's praise excelleth;
Say although thy soule attend Him
It can neuer comprehend Him.
If thou speak'st of power, all powers
To His power are in subiection;
If thou speak'st of time, all houres
Run their course by His direction:
If of wisedome, all is vanitie,
But in his Diuine humanitie.
If of trueth, it is His triall:
If of loue, it is His treasure:
If of life, it is His diall:
If of grace, it is His pleasure:
If of goodnesse, 'tis His storie:
If of mercy, 'tis his glorie.
If of iustice, Iudgement sheweth
His proceeding is impartiall:
If of valour, all Hell knoweth
Who is Heauen's high marshall:
If of bountie, tis His blessing:
If of place, tis His possessing.
If of patience, His perfection:
If of comfort, tis His fauour:
If of vertue, His affection:
If of sweete, it is His sauour:
If of triumph, tis His merite:
If perfection, tis His Spirit.
If aboue all these thou singest
Rauisht in thy reason's glory;
Tell the world whatere thou bringest
Admiration's wonder's story;
To such height my Sauiour raiseth
As aboue all praises prayseth.
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Let all kings and princes then
In submission fall before Him;
Virgins, angels, holy men,
Both in heauen and earth adore Him:
In His onely mercie seeing,
All and onely, all your being.
Babes and children, shew His glory,
In your silly soules preseruing:
Men and women note this storie
Of the life of loues deseruing;
Heauen and earth be euer reading
Of this essence of exceeding.
Sunne and moone and euery creature
In that shining starrie skie,
All confesse your brightnesse' feature
In the hand of Mercie's eye:
And for all your blessed powers,
Shew it God's and none of your's.
And when all the world together
Ioyne with angels harmonie:
Let my soule come singing thither
With that blessed company:
God in Mercie's power victorious,
Be aboue all glory glorious. Amen.
Sacred Muse that onely sittest
In the spirits of the blessèd
And the faithfull onely fittest,
With their thoughts to heauen addressèd:
Helpe my humble soule to sing
To my glorious heau'nly King.
All abandon earth's coniecture,
Thinke not on so meane an instance:
Make thine honour's architecture,
But on Grace's glorious substance:
There in comfort's confirmation
Build thy heauenly habitation.
Study not astronomy,
Least to darknesse turne thy light:
But that high diuinitie
Where the day hath neuer night:
There finde out that worke of worth
That may bring thy wonder forth.
In the teares of true contrition,
Think on Mercie's blessednes:
And in care of Loue's condition
Of Perfection's holinesse:
Then in notes of Grace's glory
Make the state of all thy story.
Il Christiano al honore di Christo.

Before there was a light, there was a light,
Which saw the world the world could neuer see;
From which the world receiues his brightest sight,
Yet cannot see what brightnesse there may be.
From this faire light there came a liuing loue;
A loue which giues the liuing all their seeing;
And in the life of all their seeing proue
The onely essence of their onely being.
From this bright loue there came a liuing Word;
A Word that doeth in wisedome signifie
What heauen and earth in wonder can afford,
Is but in life this loue to dignifie.
For in this Word was that Almightie power
Which was before that power was euer namèd;
Begun before the first-beginning houre,
Framing each substance that was euer framèd.
And in that Word that onely wisedome dwelleth
That onely knowes what onely may be knowne:
And in that knowledge knowledge all excelleth,
Because it knowes all knowledge is His owne.
This worthy Word of wisedome's wonderment
(To giue some notice of His powerfull nature)
In wisedome made His will an instrument
To shew Himself vnto His silly creature.
The holy essence of the Deitie
In Virgin's wombe did take the vaile of flesh;
Bringing the dewe of blessed charitie
Our withring spirits sweetly to refresh.
This highest height of heauenly Maiestie,
This Word of Wisedome's gracious, glorious loue,
Inuested in all vertues vnitie
That perfect God and perfect Man approue.
From the sweet bosome of His Father's brest,
Eternall Babe, of all eternall blisse;
All blessed Babe, that made the mother blest,
By that sweet blessed holy loue of His,
From the High Throne of heau'nly Glorie's seate,
Vnto this world, this worthlesse world descended;
With their crosse spirits kindely to intreat
For their owne good, that highly Him offended.
This blessed infant of Eternitie,
And onely glorious essence of the same;
By the cleare light of His all-seeing eye
Beholding all things, all, so out of frame,
Vnto His seruants to make knowne His loue
And to redeeme what lacke of loue had lost;
In tender age and elder yeeres did prooue
How Patience' care might be in passions crost.
When first sweet Infant in the mothers armes,
Fed with the milke of pure Virginitie;
How did He scape the tyrant Herod's harmes,
That little knew of His diuinitie.
But oh, when first His presence sweet appear'd,
Vnto the silly shepheards in the field:
With how much ioy were all their spirits chear'd,
Whose humble eyes His heauenly Face beheld.
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While in the heauens the angels sung for ioy,
That peace by Him vnto the world was come;
By Him Who should both Death and Hell destroy,
And be the Sauiour of His chosen summe.
The virgin-mother ioyed in her childe,
And in her ioy did call her sonne her Sauiour;
Whose gracious spirit in her countenance milde,
Did shew the blessing of her meeke behauiour.
O blessed Sonne, the Father's best belou'd,
In Whom He all and onely did delight;
How many wayes His workes in wonder proou'd,
He held the scepter of His Father's right.
In simplenesse, all harmelesse as the doue;
In learning, putting all the doctours downe;
In power, the hand of highest heau'ns behoue;
In state, the King of Kings in Glorie's crowne.
In patience, the true proofe of sufferance;
In truth, the touch-stone of all vertues triall;
In loue, director of Life's ordinance;
In life, the hande of the eternall diall.
In charitie, the giuer of all good;
In bountie, the bestower of all blisse;
In mercie, faithe's eternall blessed food;
In grace, the guide that cannot leade amisse.
In wisedome, founder of all wit and sense;
In will, the worker of all wonders' worth;
In essence, all the Summe of excellence;
In all, that good that bringes all glorie forth.
This essence all incomprehensible,
Yet willing in His mercies to be knowne;
That glorie might not be offensible,
That in a shadowe onely should be showne:
First, in the time of feeble infancie
When Nature's weaknesse fled a fearèd force;
Then, in the yeeres of reason's constancie,
When gracious Mercie gloried in remorse;
Came to the worlde to call the worlde to come,
Vnto His call that had the heauens at call;
Healing the sicke, the blinde, lame, deafe, and dumme,
And rais'd them vp that readie were to fall.
Contented with the badge of pouertie,
Who might commaund both heauen and earth at wil;
Lodg'd in a manger in humilitie,
Who in Himselfe both heauen and earth did fill.
Threatned with death, Who was the life of life;
Sought to be slaine, Who was the death of death;
The ground of peace, yet with the world at strife;
And suffred death, yet gaue the liuing breath.
Seeke heauen and earth and finde out such another,
So might command and so would be commanded;
Who was our King, yet would become our brother,
Might strike all dumbe, and yet wold be demanded.
Would leaue such pleasure and endure such paine,
And for their liues, that crucified His loue;
With losse of life to make their liuing gaine
That prooued turkies to their turtle-doue.
Who euer crau'd His help, and was denied?
Who loued Him so, but left Him at His death?
Who euer fail'd where faith on Him relied?
Yet who for Him would spare one fauour's breath?
Oh Lord, what madnesse could be more in men?
Then when they knew the trueth to make a doubt;
And long in darkenesse hauing light euen then,
To blinde themselues to put the candle out.
And blessed women that His death bewailed,
While hearts' deepe griefe found comfort's high perfection;
When passion's teares so much with loue preuailed,
As first to them reueal'd His resurrection.
The mother wept, to see her Sonne so vsed;
The sinner wept to see her Sauiour dying;
The cousin wept, to see her kind abused;
All for His death fell to a deadly crying.
The sunne eclipst, the day did loose his light,
And stones did rise against their Maker's foes;
The Temple rent, the people were affright,
And from the graues the troubled spirits rose.
All these were tokens of His holy trueth,
To make men know how they were woe begon them:
But gracelesse spirits voyd of gracious ruth,
Ventred to take the guiltlesse blood vpon them.
Here then behold the maiestie of blisse,
That pray'd for them that prei'd vpon Him so;
Content with all might come to Him amisse,
So His with Him might to their comfort goe.
His life, the lantherne of eternall light;
His death, the passage to eternall rest;
His grace, the marke of the most blessed sight;
His loue, the lite of the eternall blest.
His miracles, the witnesse of His power;
His sacraments, remembrance of His loue;
His resurrection, His triumphant houre;
And His ascension angels' ioyes aboue.
His trauaile, all to bring our soules to rest;
His prayer, for our preseruation;
His worke, to ioy the spirits of the blest;
His Word, the assurèd trueth of our saluation.
His warre a fight, but onely for our peace;
His peace, the ioy wherein our soules doe liue;
His woundes, the salue that doth our woes release;
His triumph, freely of His grace to giue.
Oh, should I runne into that world of worth,
Wherein His glory duely doth increase;
I should more wonder of most worth bring forth,
Then thought can reach, vntill all thinking cease.
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But since true loue requited with vnkindnesse,
Grace with disgrace, comfort with miserie;
Wisedome with folly, Truth with falshood's blindnes,
Honour with shame and right with iniury.
Since all the contraries of true content,
That wit and reason rightly maie receiue,
His heauenly mercy, truely patient,
All for our good full meekely did receiue.
And being gon from our vngratious handes
Vnto the right hand of his Father's rest;
There in His hourely intercession standes,
For our remission making Loue's request.
And by his Worde, the message of His will,
Sent by the preacher of His proouèd truthe;
Doth call our soules from all accursèd ill,
Vnto the good of gracious Mercie's ruth.
And bids our faith to feare no hurt of sinne,
And leaues vs lessons in the rules of grace;
Where true repentance doth remission winne,
And humble faith doth finde in heauen a place.
And lets vs see each day and euerie night,
A kind of figure, both of heauen and hell;
And how that sinnes doe alwaies fly the light,
While blessed graces doe in brightnes dwell.
And howe the vertuous in the heauens are blessèd,
And how the vicious in their horrors hated;
And howe the iust shall haue their wrongs redressèd
And how the proude shall haue their pride abated.
How Charitie shall be in heauen rewarded;
How Patience' care shall richly be contented;
How Bribrie shall be vtterly discarded;
And Tyrannie shall be in hell tormented.
How humble Faith shall be in heau'n belouèd,
And gracious spirits blessedly embracèd;
And faithlesse spirits from all grace remoouèd,
And gracelesse spirits vtterly disgracèd.
When life shall be pronounc't to the elected;
And Loue shall take the charge of the belouèd;
And Hell receiue the soules of the reiected,
To endlesse paines of gracelesse will reprouèd.
When this (I say) and all that can be sayd,
That may reuiue the vertuous in their death;
And iustly make the reprobate afraide,
With looking downe into their hell beneath.
Our Lord hath left vs in those lines of Loue,
That heau'nly wisedom wrote for our instruction;
Yet we, all carelesse of our soules behoue,
Will headlong runne vpon our owne destruction.
What shall I say? But, let the atheist frie
Within the coles of his owne concience' fire;
Torments too true, too late will make him trie
He cannot scape the furie of God's ire.
And let the faithfull in their fearelesse hope,
Assure their spirits of especiall grace;
The breadth of heauen doth beare so large a scope,
That none so poore but there shall haue a place.
And let the prince not glory in his crowne,
But lay it at the feet of Mercie's loue;
And let the haughtie pull those humours downe,
That onely worke for wicked hel's behoue.
Oh, let the faire leaue painting of their faces,
And onely seeke the beautie of the minde;
For God alone doeth loue the inward graces,
And not the shadowes that the eye doe blinde.
And let the rich not let his riches rust,
But seeke the wealth but of the spirit's worth;
For God doth know your treasure is but dust,
And ye but stewards for to let it forth.
And let the wise so well employ their wits,
They may attaine the knowledge to doe well;
And shun the follies of those madding fits,
That leauing heauen doe run the way to hell.
Oh let that Queene be truely angel-like,
With Grace's scepter holdes the sword of peace;
And by her faith in Mercie's hande doth seeke,
A ioyfull kingdome that shall neuer cease.
And let that Ladie thinke herselfe a queene,
That hath possession of her spirite so;
That she could leaue all comforts she hath seene,
And her owne selfe vnto her God to goe.
And let that Souldier most that valour loue,
Where God assistes the faithfull in their fight;
While lacke of faith in coward feare doth prooue,
Each shadowe doth the faithlesse soule affright.
And let the Lawyer looke on Iustice lines,
And knowe that God will right the poore man's wrong;
And that such lawyers as are true diuines,
Doe loue the Muses sing of Mercie's songe.
And let the Marchant loue that traffique best,
Where trauaile findes the treasure of God's grace;
While greedie mindes that fill the golden chest,
Shall neuer see their Sauiour in the face.
And let the Scholler that doth studie most,
Finde out the truth of life's eternall treasure;
And thinke all labour in his studie lost,
Where God His grace giues not the spirit pleasure.
And let the louer leaue his wanton looke,
With such illusions as enchaunt the minde:
And onely loue the beautie of that Booke
Where God alone is in His loue to finde.
Abhorre the diuell and he will depart,
Grace is as neere as sinne, if you will craue it;
So faith doe begge it with repentant heart,
For feare nor pride are euer like to haue it.
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Crie vnto Christ, Whom you haue crucified;
In teares of loue reueale your hate of sinne;
So in your greefe, when grace is glorified,
Be sure in mercie doth your blisse beginne.
Beleeue His worde, seeke to obey His will,
And knowe the worke is His and none of your's;
Striue to doe well and flye the way to ill,
And be submissiue to supernall powers.
Be patient in the crosse of any care,
Repentant in remembrance of amisse;
Constant in faith; loue God without compare,
And giue all glory to that name of His.
Hate him that speakes against His Maiestie,
Loue him in soule that will forsake Him neuer;
And know the scorners of the deity,
Shall all be damn'd and frie in hell for euer.
Goe to your closet, louely, there alone
Bleede forth in teares, the trueth of your beliefe;
And you shall see your smallest spirit's groane,
Will finde a grace to ease you of your griefe.
For He that knowes the secrets of your thought,
And knowes the natures of your sinne's disease;
Will neuer see your spirit ouer-wrought,
But in the instant giue you present ease.
You shal be the deare daughter of His loue,
And like a father He will looke vpon you;
And in His mercy so much comfort proue,
That you shall neuer more be woe-begon you.
Your soule in heauen shall halfe already be,
The angels ginne to set your post to sing;
Your spirit's eye shall in some graces, see
Some shadowing glory of your heauenly King.
And you all rauisht with your heauenly ioy,
Will so His gracious glorious Name adore;
That being healèd of your soule's annoy,
This hatefull world shall be your loue no more.
And you of men that haue bene long admir'd
For many worthes, well worthy admiration,
Shall then of angels be as much desir'd
For heauenly grounds of grace's confirmation.
And God Himselfe so neere Himselfe will set you,
In Grace's seate where Mercy so will loue you,
That Faith's regard will neuer more forget you,
Nor sinne, nor death, nor deuill shall remoue you.
But where the saints and angels are reciting
The heau'nly trueth of high Iehouah's story;
Your rauisht soule in such diuine enditing,
Shall euermore be singing of His glory.
To the assurèd hope of which high grace,
In humble prayer let my poore humble penne,
In your good fauour begge that blessed place,
Where my poore heart, may happ'ly say, Amen.
Gloria in excelsis Deo.

The Blessed Weeper.

My thoughts amaz'd, I knowe not how, of late
Halfe in a slumber and more halfe a-sleepe;
My troubled senses at a strange debate
What kind of care should most my spirit keepe;
Methought I sawe a silly woman weepe,
And with her weeping, as it seem'd, so pleas'd
As if her heart had with her teares beene eas'd.
The place neere where she sate, was like a graue,
But all vncouer'd and the bodie gone;
Where in her care she nothinge seem'd to craue
But that stolne bodie how to looke vpon.
When weeping so, appear'd to her anon
Two blessed angels and one Lord of blisse,
Who came to comfort this poore wretch of His.
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But ere they came, how she in bitter teares
Bewail'd the losse, or lacke of her deere loue;
As to her words my vision witnesse beares,
And my remembrance may for truth approoue;
The whole discourse her passions seem'd to moue;
In heart's deepe griefe and soule's high ioy conceiued,
Was as I write, were not my thoughts deceiued.
If euer sorrow in a sinner's hart,
Liu'd to distill those droppes of bitter teares
That to the world in passions can impart,
Part of that paine the troubled spirit beares,
Smoothing the woes wherein all pleasure weares;
Oh let her shewe the deepest of her skill,
In drawing out the essence of mine ill.
The losse of health the heart may somewhat craze;
The losse of wealth distemper may the minde;
The losse of honour is a fearefull maze;
The losse of freends, a care of greeuous kinde;
But all these woes vpon one heart to winde,
Were much to thinke but much more to beleeue;
How it could liue, whom farre more crosses greeue.
But from the bagge of naked pouertie
To haue more wealth then all the world can giue;
And from the care of all calamitie,
In all the comfort of content to liue,
Where settled ioy all greefe away doth driue;
And sodenly growe sicke and poore againe,
Who can conceiue the plague of such a paine?
I wretched I, the out-cast of all grace,
And banisht for my sinne from heauenly blisse;
I that to hell did headlong runne my race,
Not caring how my soule was led amisse,
While I was cosoned, by the Serpent's hisse;
I caitiffe wretch, of all the world the worst,
By Sinne's iust doome to endlesse sorrow curst.
I, wretched soule, whome sinne had barèd so,
As left me naked of all Nature's grace;
I sinke of sinne and also full of woe,
As knew not how in heauen to haue a place;
And in the depth of all this desperate case
To be relieu'd, and cloth'd, grac't and belou'd,
And on the sodaine, from all these remou'd.
To lose the vesture of that Vertue's grace
That cloth'd my naked soule, asham'd of sinne;
To lose the beautie of that blessed Face,
Where mercie's loue did comfort's life beginne;
To lose the ioyes that heauens were glad to winne;
To lose the life of such a louely Freend,
Oh let me weepe and neuer make an end.
The child that hath his father deerely louing,
Who sees his faults and greatly doth abhorre them;
Yet so from wrath will haue his thoughts remoouing,
As he will neither checke, nor chide him for them,
But puts them backe, while Pitie stands before them;
And doth not onely all his faults forgiue
But makes him kindely in his grace to liue.
That happie child, that in his heart hath felt
The blessed life of such a father's loue;
Thinke how his heart must needes in sorrow melt,
That must the losse of such a father prooue,
And curse the death doth such a life remooue;
And as a creature in all comforts freendlesse,
Bleede out his time in teares of sorrow endlesse.
That wicked child of too much ill am I,
That had a Father held me all too deere;
Who from my sinnes, did turne His angrie eye
And on my sorrow shew'd a smyling cheere,
And to His grace did take my soule so neere,
And when asham'd to come His face before,
He sayd but this, Take heede thou sinne no more.
My sinnes forgiuen, what ioy my soule receiu'd,
None can expresse but the repentant heart;
Nor can that sorrow euer be conceiu'd,
To see that Father from that child depart;
But in that soule that in the bitter smart
Of the true feeling of that Father's loue,
Had rather death then His departure prooue.
The carelesse seruant that the goods misspends,
Which his kind Maister to his trust committeth:
And his neat house to theeues and varlets lends,
And cares for nought but what his humour fitteth;
That gracious Lord that all such faults remitteth,
And in His goodnesse doth so deerely loue him,
That from His fauour nothing shall remooue him.
So ill a seruant that doth finde the loue
Of such a Lord, as neuer like was found;
And in the midst of all his ioy must prooue
The death to see his comfort all a-ground,
His blessed Lord by theeues and varlets bound;
Scoft, scourg'd and beaten, sorrowing, sighing, dying,
How can that seruant cease continuall crying?
That wicked seruant wretched wretch am I;
That louing Maister was my liuing Lord;
Whose gratious giftes abus'd vngratiously,
Whose house,—my soule,—fowle spirits laide aboard,
Filld full of sinnes, of graces all abhord:
Yet for all this and all that I could doe,
My Lord forgaue me and did loue me too.
He cleans'd my soule from all my filthy sinne,
And with my teares did wash it cleane againe;
Draue out the feends and kindly entred in,
With grace to heale that sorrow would haue slaine:
And in His loue, did so my teares retaine
That euerie droppe that fell vpon His feete,
Vnto my soule did giue a heauenly sweet.
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Now such a Maister as was neuer such;
So good vnto a seruant, none so ill:
So much abus'd, abuses oh too much;
A cursèd crue, to worke their hellish will
Like rauening woolues a silly lambe to kill,
Foule darknesse so to gouerne ouer light,
Who would not weepe to death at such a sight?
A sorrie Sister that hath such a brother
As for her loue would venture losse of life,
And her vnkindnesse so in kindnesse smother
As twixt their loues should kill all cause of strife,
Though her ill course were His heart's cutting knife;
To see that Brother lose His liuing breath,
How can that sister choose but weepe to death?
That sister I, that Brother was my Lord,
Who in His loue laide downe His life for me.
Whose death, oh crosse of crosses to record,
Ah wretch that euer I was borne to see:
Though by His death my life must onely be.
To lose a father, maister, brother such;
Child, seruant, sister, how can I weep too much?
Shame bad me weepe ynough to see how sinne
Besmeerèd had my soule with ougly spottes,
And weepe to feele how I was feltred in
The wretched snarles of wicked nature's knots,
And weepe to looke vpon those loathsome blots,
That fild me so with greefe of all disgrace,
I durst not see my Sauiour in the face.
At Whose sweete feete I kneeling wept with feare
I had offended to presume so neere,
But sinne so fled away at euerie teare
That grace beganne my heauie heart to cheere:
When my deere Lord sayd not, What dost thou here?
Or get thee hence, or like a dogge outspurne mee,
But from my sinne vnto His mercie turne me.
He felt my teares, though no man heard my weeping,
And gaue me grace, though no man for me mou'd Him;
Which made me know He had my soul in keeping,
Though sinne too long too far from me remou'd Him.
For sinne once fled, how deare in soule I lou'd Him,
His words can witnesse that my soule did tuch,
‘Much is forgiuen her for she louèd much.’
He louèd much that me so much forgaue:
Such my Forgiuer how much should I loue?
Forgaue my sinnes and from the Feend did saue
My wounded soule that could no comfort prooue,
Till grace and mercie did my greefe remooue.
But when I felt my paine of sinne once past
In Mercie's grace, I wept with ioy as fast.
But oh my soule, vnworthy of this sweete,
Could not enioy these ioyfull teares too long:
For sinne and sorrow did so soundly meete,
As made my heart to sing another songe,
When I beheld the too apparant wronge,
My Lord, my Loue, my Life, my King and God,
For my poore soule and for my sinnes abode.
To see the Lambe that bleated but our blisse,
Brought all by woolues unto a bleeding end:
To see that cruell shamefull death of His
Who did His course but for our comfort bend,
And held our foe that was our deerest Freend:
Who did such good and to receiue such ill,
Weepe heart to death and die in weeping still.
Vngratefull wretches, worthlesse of al grace,
Rebellious subiects, traytours to your King;
Could yee behold His workes before your face
What choise of good His charitie did bring?
And from your hearts could so much venom springe,
As with the Lord of Peace to stirre such strife,
To seeke His death, Who onely gaue you life?
Slaues, dogges and diuels, worse if I could call yee,
That so haue showne the malice of your mindes,
I cannot wish more ill then shall befall yee,
That are the impes of such accursèd kindes,
As ougly Sathan with illusions blindes:
I weepe not for your sorrow, but to see
That all yee did not die to set Him free.
And better had it beene for yee to die,
Then haue been borne to bringe Him to His death;
And by your deeds to die eternally
Or liue in death within the hell beneath,
Where neuer ayer shal breath you wholesome breath;
But by your choice of torments make you know
What yee haue done to breede my weeping so.
Alas, what sinne but did my soule possesse?
But that accursed crucifying sinne,
That would not let your wicked soules confesse
His glorious grace where grace did first beginne
By true desert, all glorie due to winne;
And by such grace did winne my soule so to Him:
My death were sweete if it might seruice doe Him.
Oh that my teares kept number with my sinnes,
Or that my sinnes were drownèd in my teares;
Then should my weeping shew how ioy beginnes
In faithfull heart, where fearefull sorrow weares,
And comfort's blisse so much contentment beares,
That hope shold shew that halfe a heauen doth win:
Better to weepe in grace then laugh in sinne.
But what speake I of either sinne or grace?
My sinne's too greeuous and my grace is gone;
My life is dead, the earth is all too base,
For my loue's Lord, to deigne to looke vpon,
Where liues not one good creature, no not one,
And what should I but weepe to liue to see
I cannot see where my sweete Lord may be.
But since mine eyes haue liuèd to behold
The heauenly substance of my life and loue,
Wherein my faith doth gratiously vnfould
The onely blessing of my soule's behoue,
All for the glorie of the heauens aboue,
Why should I liue and looke vpon the light?
Now I haue lost the ioy of such a sight.
12

No, I doe hope my darkenesse will not hold,
The night will passe and sunne againe will shine;
Although my heart in comfort be a-cold
My soule doth tell me that these teares of mine
Shall all be dri'd vp by His hand diuine;
Who so will cure me of my sinfull sore
That I shall ioy in grace and weepe no more.
But He is gone, my spirit's onely sweete,
And I am left a wretched sinner heere;
Oh that my teares could with my comfort meete
And I might see my sauing health so neere
As with his sight my heauie heart might cheere:
Then should I loue mine eyes for such a seeing,
Without which sight the ioy not in their being.
Let me then seeke where I may hope to see
The onely substance of my ioying sight;
And neuer rest nor euer wearie be
Vntill I come vnto that starre of light,
Which may direct my heart and spirit right,
Vnto that place where gracious loue will show
My soule His presence that it loueth so.
To clime to heauen it is too high a place;
Sinne weighes me downe too low to seeke Him there:
For hell, it is vnworthy of such grace
And for the world, my sorrow witnesse beare
It is not worthy of His name to heare:
Then since nor heere nor there, without all doubt
Within the graue I must goe seeke Him out.
Oh ground more gracious then the world besides
Which do'st enclose that all the world commaundes:
And blessèd earth that in thy center hides
His corpse for Whom my weeping soule demaunds:
Tell me, oh heauens into what holy handes
He is conuey'd, and where He now may be,
Whom thus my heart with teares desires to see?
Thus weeping still, two angels did appeare,
Who as it seem'd, desirous for to know
The monefull cause of this her mourning cheere,
Wherefore she wept and what she sought for so;
Briefely she thus her greefe beganne to shewe
(Wringing her hands with many a bitter teare)
Her Lord was stolne and laid she knew not where.
Oh blessed angels, blessed as yee be,
Tell me where is my highest blisse become?
Your Lord and mine, oh tell me where is He,
May cheere the heart that sorrow doth benumme;
Starue not my teares, vouchsafe my soule one crumme
Of comforts' care, to let me truely know
Where is my Lord, that I lament for so.
But doe yee aske me Whom I seeke for so?
Or why I weepe? Because I cannot finde Him.
Oh heauenly creature helpe my soule to knowe
But where He is that I may come behinde Him,
That He may know but how my loue doth mind Him:
If dead I may vnto His tombe restore Him,
And if aliue I may on knees adore Him.
Oh happie Gardiner of this holy ground,
Blest art thou borne if thou hast liu'd to see
That blessed bodie where it may be found,
That here lay buried: tell me (if thou be
Sent from my Lord, to come and comfort me)
Who hence hath stolne the substance of my blisse,
And where bestowèd that holy corps of His.
But doe you aske me why I weepe so much?
And what I seeke? I seeke my soules delight:
And weepe because I finde not any such
As can direct me to so sweete a sight:
This is the cause of my heart's heauie plight.
Oh tell me then, and put me out of doubt,
Dead or aliue, where I may finde Him out.
Thus while her eyes continuall weeping kept,
Came Christ Himselfe although a while vnknowne;
Who askt her what she sought and why she wept:
She as before vnto the angels showne,
Began in teares to make her pitious mone:
Her Lord was stoln, and borne she knew not whither,
But if He knew He would direct her thither.
But while the Lord of all her life and loue,
Beheld her teares, the witness of her truth,
To make her faith in heauenly fauour prooue
The sweete reward of Mercie's sacred ruth,
And know what life of such a loue ensueth,
Spake but one word, but that word was so sweete,
As would haue made her soule to kisse His feete.
Marie, quoth He,—Oh Maister! blessed voice,
From which my heart receiues so sweet a sound,
As makes my soule in rauisht ioy reioyce,
To thinke to liue that I my Lord haue found:
Oh let my sinnes be in my teares so drown'd
That in my ioyes my soule be euer weeping,
To haue Thy presence in my comfort's keeping.
I will not presse one foote beyond the line
Of Thy Loue's leaue; vouchsafe me but a looke
Of that sweet heauenly holy eye of Thine,
Of my deere Loue the euer-liuing Booke:
Wherein my teares haue such true comfort tooke,
That let the world torment me nere so sore,
Let me see Thee and I desire no more.
Oh, sight more pretious then tongue can expresse,
Wherein the eye doth comfort so the heart,
The heart the soule and all in their distresse,
Doe find an ease and end of euerie smart,
When eie and heart and soule and euerie part
Conclude in ioy, that comfort did beginne;
Better to weepe in grace then laugh in sinne.
And with that word, she vanisht so away
As if that no such woman there had beene,
But yet methought her weeping seem'd to say
The spirit was of Marie Magdalen;
Whose bodie now, although not to be seene,
Yet by her speech it seemèd it was she,
That wisht all women might such weepers be.
FINIS.
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