University of Virginia Library



Marie Magdalens third Lamentation

In finding the Angels, and missing whom shee sought.

Bvt hope-beguiling fortune, now to cheere
My long-sad spirits vvith a shade of ioy,
With Angels presents doth presēt me here,
Grāting a momēts mirth to increase annoy.
For looking him, though for him I find twaine,
To thinke on him, redoubleth still my paine.
Yet for a time I vvill revive my soule,
With this good hope, vvhich may my hopes exceed,
Comfort, sweet comfort shall my cares controule,
Releefe may hatch, vvhere greefe did lately breed:
I seeke for one, and now have found out twaine,
A bodie dead, yet two alive againe.


My vvofull vveeping, all vvas for a Man,
And now my teares have Angels bright obtained:
I vvill suppresse my sigh-swolne sadnesse than,
And glad my heart vvith this good fortune gained:
These Heaven attendants to a parle envite me,
Ile heare vvhat they vvill say, it may delight me.
For I assure my selfe, if that the corse
By fraud or mallice had removed bin,
The linnen had not found so much remorse,
But had been caried too away vvith him:
Nor could the Angels looke so chearefully,
But of some happier chance to vvarrant me.
And for to free me from all feares (even now)
They thus encounter, these their speeches vvere,
And thus they spake, Woman vvhy vveepest thou?
As if they bad me vveeping to forbeare:
For ill it fits a mortall eye should vveepe,
Where heavenly Angels such reioicing keepe.
Erewhile they said, Thou camst vvith manly courage,
Arming thy feet, through greatest thornes to run,
Thy bodie to endure all tyrants rage,
Thy soule no violent tortures for to shun:
And art thou now so much a vvoman made,
Thou canst not bid thine eies from teares be staide.


If that thou hadst a true Disciples name,
So many certaine proofes vvould thee persuade,
But incredulitie so blots the same,
Thou of that title art unvvorthie made:
And therefore vvoman (too much vvoman now)
Tell us (O vvoman) wherefore vveepest thou,
If there vvere any coarse here lying by,
We then vvould thinke for it thou shedst thy teares,
That sorrow for the dead inforst thee cry:
But now this place, a place of ioy appeares,
Thou findst no dead, but living, to be here,
Oh then why weepest thou with mournfull cheare?
What, is our presence so discomfortable,
That seeing us, thou art inforst to vveepe,
Thinkst thou if teares vvere so availeable,
That vve our selves from flowing streams could keep
(tis thy kindnesse in this course extended,
That vve vvith teares should thus be entertained.
If they be teares of love to shew good vvill,
As love is knowne, so let them be suppressed;
If teares of vvrath, denouncing anger still,
To shed them here, thou shouldst not have addressed
Here vvhere all anger lately buried vvas,
But none deserv'd, ah none deserv'd alas.


If they be teares of sorrow, dead mens duties,
(The dead revived) they are spent in vaine;
If teares of ioy, destilled from the booties
Of happie fortune (flowers of ioyfull gaine)
It better were that fewer had been spent,
And fitter tokens might expresse content.
And Angels semblance visible, presents
The vvill invisible of his dread Lord,
Whose shapes are shaddowed after the intents
And drift of him, that rules him by his vvord:
They brandish swords vvhē God begins to frown,
They sheath in scabbards when his wrath is downe.
When he vvould fight, they armed come to field,
When he vvould terrifie, their forme afright,
When he would comfort, they their coūtenance yeeld
To smiling lookes, and signes of sweet delight:
Mirth in their eies, and mildnesse in their vvords,
All favour, grace, and comelinesse affourds.
Why weepest thou Marie then vvhen we reioice,
Thinke not our nature can degenerat
Or faile in dutie (vvhich vve hold so choice)
Ours is no changing or sin-working state:
Doest thou more love, or more his secrets know,
Than vve that at his Throne our service show.


Oh deeme not Marie, deeme not then amisse
Against so plaine apparent evidence,
At our request forbeare, and leave of this,
Leave vveeping Marie, and vvith teares dispence:
Exchange thy sorrow for our offered ioy,
Accept sweet comfort, and forsake annoy.
No, no, you Saints of glorie ever shining,
Persuade not me to harbor ioyfull glee,
But thinke to vvhom my sorrow is enclining,
And beare vvith my poore love-bound miserie:
Alas I vveepe for this one only losse,
For vvhom all ioy doth but inferre new crosse.
For while he liv'd, I made my Paradise
In every place, vvhere I his presence found,
A speciall blisse vvas every exercise,
Wherein I shewed my service to him bound:
Each season vvherein I inioyd my king,
Did seeme to me a never dying Spring.