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And yet how can I hear thee singing go,

And yet the Prince, and God himself doth cry When men, incens'd with hate, thy death foreset ? To man, his traitour, pardon not to fly; Or else, why do I bear thee sigbing so,

Yet man is God, and traitour doth his Prince defy. When thou, inflam'd with love, their life dost get! That love and hate, and sighs and songs are met ? Who is it sees not that he nothing is, But thos, and only thus, thy love did crave,

But he that nothing sees? what weaker breast, To send thee singing for us to thy grave, Since Adam's armour fail'd, dares warrant his? While we sought thee to kill, and thou sought'st

That made by God of all his creatures best, us to save.

Straight made himself the worst of all the rest. When I remember Christ our burden bears,

" If any strength we have, it is to ill, I look for glory, but find misery;

But all the good is God's, both pow'r and will :" I look før joy, but find a sea of tears ;

The dead man cannot rise, though he himself may I look that we shonld live, and find bim die;

kill. I look for angels' songs, and bear him cry: 'Thus what I look, I cannot find so well;

But let the thorny school these punctuals Or rather, what I find I cannot tell,

Of wills, all good, or bad, or neuter diss; These banks so narrow are, those streams so highly Such joy we gained by our parentals, swell.

That good, or bad, whether I cannot wish,

To call it a mishap, or happy miss, Christ suffers, and in this his tears begin,

That fell from Eden, and to Heav'n did rise ; Suffers for us, and our joy springs in this ;

Albe the mitred card'nal niore did prize
Suffers to death, here is his manhood seun; His part in Paris, than his part in Paradise.
Suffers to rise, and here his Goribead is,
For man, that could not by himself have rise, A tree was first the instrument of strife,

Out of the grave doth by the Godhead rise, Where Eve to sin her soul did prostitute;

And God, that could not die, in manhood dies, A tree is now the instrument of life, That we in both might live by that sweet sacrifice. Though all that trunk, and this fair body-suit:

Ah cursed tree, and yet O blessed fruit! Go, giddy brains, whose wits are thought so fresh, That death to him, this life to us doth give : Pluck all the flow'rs that Nature forth doth throw; Strange is the cure, when things past cure reGo, stick them on the cheeks of wanton flesh :

vive, Poor idol (forc'd at once to fall and grow)

And the Physician dies, to make liis patient live. Of fading roses, and of melting snow :

Your songs exceed your matter, this of mine, Sweet Eden was the arbour of delight,

The matter which it sings shall make divine; Yet in bis honey flow'rs our poison blew; As stars doll puddles gild, in which their beauties Sad Gethseman the bow'r of baleful night, shine.

Where Christ a health of poison for us drew, Who doth not see drown'd in Deucalion's name

Yet all our honey in that poison grew : (When earth bis men, and sea had lost his shore)

So we from sweetest flow'rs could suck our bane, Old Noah ? and in Nisus' lock the fame

And Christ from bitter venom could again Of Samson yet alive? and long before

Extract life out of death, and pleasure out of pain. In Phaethon's, mine own fall i deplore; But he that conquer'd Hell, to fetch again

A man was first the author of our fall, His virgin widow, by a serpent slain,

A man is now the anthor of our rise : Another Orpheus was then dreaming poets feign.

A garden was the place we perish'd all,

A garden is the place he pays our price: That taught the stones to melt for passion,

And the old serpent with a new devioe, And dorinant sea, to hear him, silent lie;

Hath found a way himselfe for to beguile: And at his voice, the wat'ry nation

So he that all men tangled in his wile, To flock, as if they deem'd it cheap to buy

Is now by one man caught, beguild with his own With their own deaths his sacred harmony :

guile. The while the waves stood still to hear his song, And steady shore wav'd with the reeling throng

The dewy night had with her frosty shade Of thirsty souls, that hung upon his fluent tongue. Sparkled in ice, only the Lord, that made

Immantled all the world, and the stiff ground What better friendship, than to corer shame?

All for himself, himself dissolved found, What greater love, than for a friend to die?

Sweat without heat, and bled without a wound : Yet this is better to asself the blame,

Of Heav'n, and Earth, and God, and man And this is greater for an enemy:

forlore, Bat more than this, to die not suddenly,

Thrice begging help of those, whose sins he bore, Not with some common death, or easy pain,

And thrice di nied of those, not to deny had swore. But slowly, and with torments to be slain : O depth without a depth, far better seen than Yet had he been alone of God forsaken, say'n.

Or had his body been embroil'd alone

In fierce assault; he might, perhaps have taken And yet the Son is humbled for the slave,

Some joy in soul, when all joy else was gone, And yet the slave is proud before the Son :

But that with God, and God to Heav'n is down; Yet the Creator for his creature gave

And Hell itself out from her grave doth rise, Himself, and yet the creature hastes to ran

Black as the starleso night, and with them fies, Trom bis Creater, and self-good doth shun: Yet blacker than lley both, the son of blaspheonies.

As when the planets, with unkind aspect,

No sins he had, yet all our sins he bare, Call from her caves the meagre pestilence ;

So much doth God for others' evils care, The saered vapour, eager to infect,

And yet so careless men for their own evils are. Obeys the voice of the sad in Avence, And vomits up a thousand noisome scents,

See drowsy Peter, see where Judas wakes, The well of life, faming his golden flood Where Judas kisses him whom Peter dies :

With the sick air, fevers the boiling blood, O kiss more deadly than the sting of snakes ! And poisons all the body with contagious food. Palse love more hurtful than true injuries !

Aye me! how dearly God his servant buys? The bold physician, too incautelous,

For God his man at his own blood doth hold, By those he cures himself is murdered :

And man his God for thirty-pence hath sold. Kindness infects, pity is dangerous,

So tin for silver goes, and dunghill-dross for,gold. And the poor infant, yet not fully bred, There where he should be born lies buried : Yet was it not enough for Sin to choose

So the dark prince, from his infernal cell, A servant, to betray his Lord to them ;

Casts up bis grisly torturers of Hell, (spell. But that a subject must his king accuse, And whets them to revenge with this insulting But that a Pagan must bis God condemn, “ See how the world smiles in eternal peace,

But that a father must bis Son contemn,

But that the Son must his own death desire, While we, the harmless brats, and rusty throng

That prince, and people, servant, and the sire, Of night, our snakes in curls do prank and dress:

Gentile, and Jew, and he against himself conWhy sleep our drowsy scorpions so long? Where is our wonted virtue to do wrong?

spire ? Are we ourselves ? or are we graces grown? The sons of Hell, or Heav'n? was never known The frothy spittle of the rascal throng?

Was this the oil, to make thy saints adore thee, Our whips so over-moss'd, and brands so deadly Are these the virges, that are borne before thee, blown.

Base whips of cord, and knotted all along? " O long desired, never hop'd-for hour,

Is this thy golden sceptre, against wrong, When our tormentor shall our torments feel ! A reedy cane ? is that the crown adoras Arm, arm yourselves, sad dires of my pow'r, Thy shining locks, a crown of spiny thorns? And make our judge for pardon to us kneel :

Are these the angels' hymns, the priests' blaspheSlice, lanch, dig, tear him with your wbips of

mous scorns ?
Myself in honour of so noble prize, series

Who ever saw honour before asham'd;
Will pour you reeking blood, shed with the Afflicted majesty, debased height,
Of hasty' heirs, who their own fathers sacrifice.”

Innocence guilty, honesty defam'd;

Liberty bound, health sick, the Sun in night! With that a flood of poison, black as Hell, But since such wrong was offer'd unto right, Out from his filthy gorge the beast did spue,

Our night is day, our sickness health is grown, That all about his blessed body fell,

Our shame is veii'd, this now remains alone And thousand flaming serpents hissing few For us, since he was ours, that we be not our About his soul, from heilish sulphur threw,

And every one brandish'd his fiery tongue,

And worming all about his soul they clung; Night was ordain'd for rest, and not for pain; But he their stings tore out, and to the ground But they, to pain their Lord, their rest contemn, them flung.

Good laws to save, what bad men would have

slain, So have I seen a rock's beroic breast,

And not bad judges, with one breath, by them Against proud Neptune, that his ruin threats, When all his waves he hath to battle prest,

The innocent to pardon, and condemn ::

Death for revenge of murderers, pot decay And with a thousand swelling billows beats The stabborn stone, and foams, and chaffs and Man's murderer to save, man's Saviour to slay.

Of guiltless blood, but now all headlong sway frets To heave him from his root, unmoved stand;

Prail multitude ! whose giddy law is list, And more in heaps the barking surges band,

And best applause is windy fattering, The more in pieces beat, Ay weeping to the strand.

Most like the breath of which it doth consist, So may te oft a vent'rous father see,

No sooner blown, but as soon vanishing, To please his wanton son, his only joy,

As much desir'd, as little profiting, Coast all about, to catch the roving bee,

That makes the men that have it oft as light, And stung himself, his busy hands employ

As those that give it, which the proud invite, To save the honey for the gamesome boy :

And fear; the bad man's friend, the good man's nr from the snake her ranc'rous teeth eraze,

hypocrite. Making bis child the toothless serpent chace, Or with his little bands her tim'rous gorge em.

It was but now their sounding clåmours sung, brace.

“ Blessed is he that comes from the Most High,"

And all the mountains with “ Hosannah” rung; Thus Christ himself to watch and sorrow gives, And now, “ Away with him, away,” they cry, While, dew'd in easy sleep, dead Peter lies: And nothing can be heard but “ Crucify:” Thus vian in his own grave securely lives,

It was but now, the crown itself they save, While Christ alive, with thousand horroors dies, And golden name of king unto him gave; Yet more for theirs, than his own pardon cries: And now, no. king, but only Cæsar, they will have,

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It was but now they gathered blooming May, And help'd hiin fit the rope, and in his thought
And of his arms disrob'd the branching tree,

A thousand furies, with their whips, he brought;
To strow with boughs and blossoms all thy way; So there he stands, ready to Hell to make his vault.
And now the branchless trunk a cross for thee,
And May, dismay'd, thy coronet must be: For him a waking bloodhound, yelling loud,

It was but now they were so kind to throw That in his bosom long had sleeping laid,
Their own best garments, where thy feet should A guilty conscience, barking after blood,

(they show. Pursued eagerly, nay, never stay'd, And now thyself they strip, and bleeding wounds Till the betrayer's self it had betray'd.

Oft chang'd he place, in hope away to wind ;
See where the Author of all life is dying :
O fearful day! he dead, what hope of living ?

But change of place could never change his

mind: See where the hopes of all our lives are buying : O cheerful day! they bought, what fear of griev.

Himself he flies to lose, and follows for to find.

There is but two ways for this soul to have, Love, love for hate, and death for life is giving :

When parting from the body, forth it purges ; Lo, how his arıns are stretch'd abroad to grace

To flie to Heav'n, or fall into the grave, thee,

Where whips of scorpions, with the stinging And, as they open stand, call to embrace thee:

scourges, Why stay'st thou then, my soul! O fly, fly,

Feed on the howling ghosts, and fiery surges
thither haste thee.

Of brimstone roll about the cave of night,
His radious head with shameful thorns they tear, Where flames do burn, and yet no spark of light,
His tender back with bloody whips they rent, And fire hoth fries, and freezes the blaspheming
His side and heart they furrow with a spear,

His hands and feet with riving nails they tent,
And, as to disentrail his soul they meant,

There lies the captive soul, aye-sighing sore, They jolly at his grief, and make their game, Reck’ning a thousand years since her first bands; His naked body to expose to shame,

Yet stays not there, but adds a thousand more, That all might come to see, and all might see that And at another thousand never stands,

But tells to them the stars, and heaps the sands : came,

And now the stars are told, and sands are run,
Whereat the Heav'n put out his guilty eye,

And all those thousand thousand myriads done,
That durst behold so execrable sight,
And sabled all in black the shady sky,

And yet but now, alas! but now all is begun?
And the pale stars, struck with unwonted fright,

With that a flaming brand a fury catch'd, Quenched their everlasting lamps in night:

And shook, and toss'd it round in his wild thought, And at his birth, as all the stars Heav'n had

So from his heart all joy, all comfort snatch'd,
Were not enow, but a new star was made;

With every star of hope; and as he sought
So now, both new, and old, and all away did fade. (With present fear, and future grief distraught)
The mazed angels shook their fiery wings,

To fly from his own-heart, and aid implore
Ready to lighten vengeance from God's throne; Or him, the more he gives, that hath the more,
One down his eyes upon the manhood flings, Whose storehouse is the Heav'ns, too little for his
Another gazes on the Godhcad, none

store, But surely thought his wits were not his own. Some few to look if it were very he;

“ Stay wretch on Earth,” cried Satan, " restless But when God's arm unarmed they did see,

rest: Albe they saw it was, they vow'd it could not be. Know'st thou not justice lives in Heav'n? or can The sadded air hung all in cheerless black,

The worst of creatures live among the best : Through which the gentle winds soft sighing flew,

Among the blessed angels cursed man? And Jordan into such huge sorrow brake,

Will Judas now become a Christian? [mind? (As if his holy stream no measure knew)

Whither will bope's long wings transpurt thy That all bis narrow banks he overthrew;

Or canst thou not thyself a sinner fiud ? The trembling earth with horrour inly shook,

Or cruel to thyself, wouldst thou have mercy And stubborn stones, such grief unus'd to brook,

kind? Did burst, and ghosts awaking from their graves 'gan look.

“ He gave thee life; why should thou seek to slay

him? The wise philosopher cried, all aghast,

He lent thee wealth; to feed thy ararice? “ The God of nature surely languished ;"

He calld thee friend; what, that thou shouldst The sad Centurion cried out as fast,

betray him? “ The Son of God, the Son of God was dead;"

He kiss'd thee, though he knew his life the price; The heajlong Jew hung down his pensive head,

He wash'd thy feet : should'st thou his sacrifice And homewards far'd; and ever, as he went,

He gave thee bread, and wine, his body, blood, He smote his breast, half desperately bent ;

And at thy heart to enter in he stood; The very woods and beasts did seem bis death la

But then I enter'd in, and all my snaky brood." ment. The graceless traitour round about did look, As when wild Pentheus grown mad with fear, (He look'd not long, the devil quickly met him) Whole troops of hellish hags about him spies, To find a halter, which he found, and took, Two bloody suns stalking the dusky sphere, Only a gibbet now he needs must get him ; And twofold Thebes runs rolling in his eyes : So on a wither'd tree he fairly set bim;

Or through the scene staring Orestes flies,

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With eyes Along back upon bis mother's ghost, Once didst thou lose thy son, but foundst again ; That, with infernal serpents all einboss'd,

Now find'st thy Son, but find'st him lost and slain. And torches quench'd in blood, doth her stern son Ah me! though he could death, how can'st thou

life sustain ? Such horrid gorgons, and misformed forms

“Where'er, dear Lord, thy shadow horereth, Of damned fiends, flex dancing in his heart,

Blessing the place, wherein it deigns abide ; That now, unable to endure in ir storms,

Look how the l'arth dark horrour covereth, “ Fly, fly,” he cries, “thyself, whate'er thou art, Clothing in mournful black her naked side, Hell, Hell already burns in every part.”.

Willing her shadow up to Heav'n to glide, So down into his torturers, arms he fell,

To see, and if it meet thee wand'ring there, That ready stood his funerals to yell,

That so, and if herself must miss thee here, And in a cloud of night to wast him quick to Hell. At least her shadow may her duty to thee bear. Yet oft he snatch'd, and started as he hung : “ See how the Sun in daytime clouds his face, So when the senses half enslumber'd lie,

And lagging Vesper, loosing his late team, The headlong body, ready to be flung

Forgets in Heaven to run his nightly race: By the de!urling fancy from some high

But, sleeping on bright (Eta's top, doth dream And craggy rock, recovers greedily,

The world a chaos is, no joyful beam [moan, and clasps the yielding pillow, half asleep, Looks from bis starry bower, the Heav'ns do And, as from Heav'n it tumbled to the deep,

And trees drop tears, Iest we should grieve alone, Feels a cold sweat through every trembling mem The winds have learn'd to sigh, and waters hoarsely ber creep .

groan. There let him hang embowelled in blood, Where never any gentle shepherd feed

“And you sweet flow'rs, that in this garden grow, His blessed flocks, nor ever heav'nly flood

Whose happy states a thousand souls envy, Fall on the cursed ground, nor wholesome seed,

Did you your own felicities but know, That may the least delight or pleasure breed :

Yourselves uppluck'd would to his funeral hie, Lel never spring visit his habitation,

You never could in better season die : Bat nettles, kix, and all the weedy nation,

O that I might into your places slide! With empty elders grow, sad signs of desolation.

The gates of Heav'n stands gaping in his side.

There in my soul should steal, and all her faults There lit the dragon keep his habitance,

should hide. And stinking carcases be throwa avaunt, Fauns, sylvans, and deformed satyrs dance, " Are these the eyes that made all others blind? Wild cats, wolves, toads, and screech-owls direly Ah! why are they themselves now blemished ! There ever let some restless spirit haunt, (chant;

Is this the face, in which all beauty shin'd? With bollow sound, and clashing chains to scar

What blast hath thus bis flowers debellished ? The passenger, and eyes like to the star, Are these the feet, that on the wat'ry head That sparkles in the crest of angry Mars afar. Of the unfaithful ocean passage found ? But let the blessed dews for erer show'r

Why go they now so lowly under ground,

Wash'd with our worthless tears, and their own l'pon that ground, in wijose fair fields I spy 'The bloody ensign of our Saviour.

precious wound? Strange conquest where the conqueror must die, “ One hem but of the garments that he wore, And he is slain, that wins the victory :

Could medicine whole countries of their pain : But he, that living, had no house to owe it, One touch of this pale hand could life restore,

Now had no grave, but Joseph must bestow it: One word of these cold lips revive the slain : O run ye saints apace, and with sweet flowers be Well the blind man thy Godhead might maintain, strow it.

What though the sullen Pharisees repin'd? And ye glad spirits, that now sainted sit

He that should both compare, at length would On your celestial thrones, in beauty drest,

find Though I your tears recouut, ( let it not

The blind man only saw, the seers all were blind. With after sorrow wound your tender breast, Or with pew grief unquiet your soft rest :

Why should they think thee worthy to be slain ? Enough is me your plaints to sound again,

Was it because thou gav'st their blind men eyes ? That never could enough myself complain.

Or that thou mail'st their lame to walk again? Sing then, O sing aloud thou Arimathean swain. Or for thou heald'st their sick men's maladies ?

Or mad'st their dumb to speak, and dead to rise ! But long he stood, in his faint arms upholding ( could all these but any grace have won, The fairest spoil Heav'n ever forfeited,

What would they not to save thy life have done? With such a silent passion grief unfolding, "The dumb man would have spoke, and lame man That, had the sheet but on himself been spread

would have run. He for the corse might have been buried : And with him stood the bappy thief that stole

“ Let me, O let me near some fountain lie, By night his own salvation, and a shal That through the rock heaves uphis sandy head, Of Maries drowned, round about him, sat in dole.

Or let me dwell upon some mountain high,

Whose hollow root, and baser parts are spread At length (kissing his lips before he spake,

On fleeting waters, in his bowels bred, As if from thence he fetch'd again bis ghost)

That I their streams, and they my tears may feed : To Mary thus with tears his silence brake:

Or clothed in some hermit's ragged weed, " th, woful soul! what joy in all our coast,

Spend all my days in weeping for this cursed deed. When him we hold, we have already lost?

"The life, the which I once did love, I'leave; ver. 37. in the glory of the holy city, ver. 38. ; The love, in which I once did live, I lothe;

in the beatifical vision of God, ver. 39. I hate the light, that did my light bercave; But love, and life, I do despise you both. O that one grave might both our asbes clothe! But now the second morning from her bow'r A love, a life, a light I now obtain,

Began to glister in her beams, and now Able to make my age grow young again, The roses of the day began to flow'r Able to save the sick, and to revive the slain. In th' eastern garden; for Heav'n's smiling, brow

Half irsolent for joy begun to show; “ Thus spend we tears that never can be spent,

The early Suu came lively dancing out, On him, that sorrow now no more shall see;

And the brag lambs ran wantoning about, Thus send we sighs, that never can be sent,

That Hleav'n and Earth might seem in triumpla To him that died to live, and would not be,

both to shout. To be there where he would: here bury we

This heav'nly earth; bere let it softly sleep, Th' engladden'd spring, forgetful now to weep,

The fairest Shepherd of the fairęst sheep." Began t'enblazon from her leavy bed : So all the body kiss'd, and homewards went to the making swallos broke her half year's sleep, weep.

And every bush lay deeply purpured

With violets, the wood's late wintry head So home their bodies went to seek repose ;

Wide Gaming primroses set all on fire, But at the grave they left their souls behind :

And his bald trees put on their green attire, O who the force of love celestial knows !

Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conThat can the chains of Nature's self unbind,

spire. Sending the body home without the mind.

Ah, blessed virgin! what high angel's art And now the taller sons (whom Titan warms)

Can ever count thy tears, or sing thy smart, Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds, When every nail, that pierc'd his hand, did pierce Dandled the morning's childhood in their arms, thy heart?

And, if they chanc'd to slip the prouder pines,

The under corylets did catch the shines, So Philomel, perch'd on an aspin sprig,

To gild their leaves; saw never happy year Weeps all the night her lost virginity,

Such joyful triumph and triumphant cheer, And sings her sad tale to the merry twig,

As though the aged world anew created were.
That dances at such joyful misery,
Ne ever lets sweet rest invade her eye :

Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
But leaning on a thorn her dainty chest, And stick'st thy habit full of daisies red ?
For fear soft sleep should steal into her breast,

Seems that thou dost to some bigb thought aspire, Expresses in her song grief not to be express'd. And some new-found-out bridegroom mean'st to

Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelle, [wed : So when the lark (poor bird !) afar espy'th

So never let the spiteful canker waste you, Her yet unfeather'd children (whom to save So never let the Heav'ns with lightning blast you, She strives in vain) slain by the fatal scythe, Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste Which from the meadow her green locks doth you?

shave, That their warm nest is now become their grave;

Answer me, Jordan, why thy crooked tide The woeful mother up to Heav'n springs,

So often wanders from his nearest way, And all about her plaintive notes she flings,

As though some other way thy stream would slide, And their untimely fate most pitifully sings.

And fain salute the place where something lay.
And you sweet birds, that, shaded from the ray,

Sit caroling, and piping grief away,

The while the lambs to hear you dance and play,

Tell me, sweet birds, what is it you so fain would CHRIST'S TRIUMPH AFTER DEATH.

say? And thou fair spouse of Earth, that every year

Gett'st such a numerous issue of iny bride, THE ARGUMENT.

How chance thou hotter shin'st, and draw'st more

near? Christ's triumph after death, 1st, In his resur

Sure tbou somewhere some worthy sight hast spy'd, rection, manifested by its effects in the creatures, ver. 1–7. ; in himself, ver. 8–12.

That in one place for joy thou can'st not bide ;

2d. In his ascension into Heaven, whose joys are

And you, dead swallows, that so lively now described, ver. 13–16.; 1st, By the access of How could new life into your frozen ashes flow?

Through the fleet air your winged passage row, all good, the blessed society of the saints, angels, &c. ver. 17–19. The sweet quiet and peace Ye primroses, and purple violets, enjoyed under God, ver. 20.; shadowed by the Tell me, why blaze ye from your leavy bed, peace we enjoy under our sovereigo, ver. 21- And woo men's hands to rent you from your sets, 26. The beauty of the place, ver. 27.; the As though you would somewhere be carried, carity (as the school calls it) of the saints with fresh perfumes, and velvets garnished? bodies, ver. 28--31.; the impletion of the But ah! I need not ask, 'tis surely so, appetite, ver. 32, 33.; the joy of the senses. You all would to your Saviour's triumphs go. &c. ver. 34. 2d, By the amotion of all evil, | There would ye all await, and humble bomage ver. 35, 36.; by the access of all good again,


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