Marie Magdalens lamentations for the losse of her master Iesus

Marie Magdalens lamentations for the losse of her master Iesus

Table of contents

Title page

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Marie Magdalens first Lamentation At the Tombe of Iesus.

Marie Magdalens second Lamentation For the losse of the bodie, which shee came to annoint.

Marie Magdalens third Lamentation In finding the Angels, and missing whom shee sought.

Marie Magdalens fourth Lamentation. Marie bewailes the losse of that part which Christ promised her when he said, Marie hath chosen the better part, which shall not be taken from her.

Marie Magdalens fift Lamentation. Maries perseverance at the Tombe, and the apring of Christ in the likenesse of a Gardiner.

Marie Magdalens sixt Lamentation. Iesus said unto h•r (Marie:) she turned and said unto him Rabb•ni.

Marie Magdalens seventh Lamentation. Her falling at Christs feet to kisse them, his forbidding her: saying, Do not touch me, for I am not yet ascended to my Father.

The Conclusion. Iesus met them, saying, All Haile.

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MARIE MAGDALENS LAMENTATIONS FOR THE LOSSE OF HER MASTER IESVS.

Disce mori mundo vivere disce Deo.

LONDON, Printed by Adam Islip for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, dwelling at the little North dore of Paules, at the signe of the Gun. 1601.

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Yea soule confounding sinne so far hath crept,

Repentant sighes are reckoned for toies,

And Maries teares contemned, long have slept,

As jems unpriz'd, which corrupt age destroies:

Save that her Lord, because they still should last,

In surest caske hath them invessel'd fast.

For wretched soules let loose to libertie,

So wanton like are weaned to each wrong,

So licensed to worke impietie,

And free to fleshly wils have liv'd so long:

That those fresh springs, whence penitent tears should flow,

Presumption hath so stopt, that none will know.

And sencelesse hearts, obdurat to all good,

Have so perverted their perfixed end,

That now (O greefe) their sighs and dearest bloud,

To feed fond fancie they doe vainely spend:

But for their sins one teare for to let fall,

They have (alas) nor eye nor heart at all.

Ah could they see what sinne from sence hath shut,

How sweet it were to summon deeds misdone,

To have their lives in equall ballance put,

To waigh each worke ere that the judge doe come:

Ah then their teares would trickle like the raine,

And their eye-flouds would helpe to fill the maine.

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They would with Marie send forth bitter cries,

To get the ioies of their soule-saving love,

They would gush forth fresh fountaines from their eies,

To win his favour, and his mercie prove:

Eyes, hart, and tongue, should poure, breath out, & send,

Teares, sighs, and plaints, untill their love they find.

No idle houres ill spent in fond delight,

No teares distil'd for momentarie losses,

No sighs for missing absent lovers sight,

No care contriv'd of common worldly crosses,

Should then be us'd; but all consum'd in this,

To beg amendment and bewaile their misse.

Yea all too little to an humble soule

(That inly sees her ill misgovern'd life)

Would it appeare, to spend whole yeares in dole,

Yea many ages to declare her strife

Would passe as minuts, wishing time would stand,

While she with feare her endlesse faults had scand.

But farre from this lives sinners (too secure)

Who giving bridle to their selfe-desires,

Cannot alas one scanted houre indure

In sacred service, but their mind aspires

In following pleasures height, whose froward will

In doing good, doth make them carelesse still.

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Which seene with pitie on our gracelesse minds,

This blessed sinner, whose so precious teares,

Once bath'd his feet, that heaven and earth in binds,

And made a towell of her trayling haires,

To wipe the drops, which for her sins were shed,

Now deignes to tell how our soules should be fed.

And Marie shewes to maids and matrones both,

How they should weepe and decke their rose-like cheekes

With showers of greefe, whereto hard hearts are loth,

And who it is her matchlesse mourning seekes:

And when we ought to send our reeking sighs,

To thicke the passage of the purest lights.

And Marie showes us when we ought to beat

Our brasen breasts, and let our robes be rent,

How prostrating, to creepe unto the seat

Of that sweet lambe, whose bloud for us was spent:

And that we should give way unto our woes,

When the excesse no fault or errour showes.

If you will deigne with favour to peruse

Maries memoriall of her sad lament,

Exciting Collin in his graver Muse,

To tell the manner of her hearts repent:

My gaine is great, my guerdon granted is,

Let Maries plaints plead pardon for amisse.

Marie Magdalens first Lamentation
At the Tombe of Iesus.

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WHat climat will affourd a mournfull mate,

All wo-begon, that vollies out hir grones,

Whose griefs do equallize my sad-grown state,

Whose heart poures forth a sea of helpelesse mones?

If to my care, companion such there be,

Ile helpe her mourne, if she will mourne with me.

But sure, no such associat there is,

My Muse may tell a greefe without compare,

A blacke rehearse of metamorphos'd blis,

And sad memoriall of untimely care,

Lugubre Carmen fitteth best my use,

In vvaining state best fits a wailing Muse.

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The deepest passion of true burning love

That ever any love-sicke heart possest,

(Drown'd in distresse) I silly vvoman prove,

Whose ardent zeale is nurse of mine vnrest,

But even to death (O haplesse death) alone

I ru'd his death vvhen other friends vvere gone.

I did behold my loves too cruell death,

With these sad eyes, made red vvith brinish teares:

My soule did sorrow for his losse of breath,

By vvhose sweet life, my life vvas free from feares.

Oh had I dy'd, vvhen he dy'd on the crosse,

I needed no complaint to vvaile my losse.

But that (too sweet a favour) vvas deny'de,

I might not I, consort my lover dying,

My course of life doth sorrow still betyde,

Which moves my soule to such a ceaselesse crying:

Oh haplesse soule, so clog'd vvith care and greefe,

For losse of him that vvas thy comfort cheefe.

My Lord is dead, to vvhom my soule did live,

He dy'd for me, I vvretch am left alive,

Now to the dead I lasting praise must give,

Sith light is lost, vvhich did my life revive,

And all in darkenesse I desire to dwell,

In deaths dread shade my saddest griefes to tell.

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My Iesus Tombe my mansion is become,

My vvearie soule hath there made choise to inn,

Vpon his coarse my comfort shall consume,

And ioies shall end vvhere ioies did first begin.

Oh eies gush forth your fast distilling force

Of Ocean tears, upon his Tombe and corse.

Oh life-containing Tombe of my dead Lord,

From thee no chaunce shall hale me hence away,

Ile linger here vvhile death doth life affourd,

And being dead, my twining armes shall stay,

And cleave unto thee; nor alive or dead

Will I be drawne from where my Lord is laid.

Thou art the Altar of all mercie meeke,

The Temple of all truth, the Grave of death,

The Sanctuarie vvhich lost soules doe seeke,

The Cradle of eternall living breath.

Oh sweetest heaven of my ecclipsed Sonne,

Receive this silly star, vvhose light is done.

Oh Whale, that my deare Ionas swallowed hast,

Come swallow me (more meet to be thy prey)

Twas I, not he, that should in right have past

This bloodie tempest; I vvas cause I say,

Vnequall doomer, vvhat hast thou misdone,

To rob the earth of her coelestiall Sonne.

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Oh Cesterne of my Ios [...]ph innocent,

Let thy drie bottome take me prisoner,

Sith I, not he (Oh vvretch most impudent)

Gave cause that so enrag'd my brethren vvere.

What pitch clouds darken our translucent vvay,

And on what shore doth Truths sweet preacher stay?

Aye me accurst, vvhy did I not before

Thinke upon this, vvhich now I aske too late?

Why did I leave him vvhen I had him sure?

To rue his losse, and mone my ruthlesse state.

Oh had I vvatched, as I vvaile him novv,

None could have taken him vvithout me too.

But being too precise to keepe the Lavv,

The lawes sweet maker I have thereby lost,

And bearing to his ceremonies too much awe,

I misse his sweetest selfe, of far more cost,

Sith rather vvith the Truth I should have beene,

Than vvorking that, vvhich but a Tipe vvas seene.

The Sabboth day so strickt solemnized,

The standing by his Coarse had not prophan'd;

By vvhich, prophanest things are sanctified,

And that made pure, vvhich earst vvas foulely stain'd;

Whose touch doth not defile the thing that's clean,

But most defiled, maketh faire againe.

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But vvhen I should have staid, I vvent away,

And vvhen it vvas too late, I came againe,

In time of helpe (Ah then) my helpe did stay,

Now I repent my follie (but in vaine.)

My carelesse heed hath brought a heape of care,

And carefull I, must ceaselesse teares prepare.

Ah let my heart into sad sighs dissolve,

Let eies consume their flouds in brinish teares,

Let soule (cares captive) in dislikes resolve,

To languish still (sunke vvith despaire and feares.)

Let all I have endure deserved paine,

That pennance due, sins losses may regaine.

But ah my sweetest Iesu (my deare heart)

Thou art not novv, vvhere thou vvert but of late;

And yet, alas, I know not vvhere thou art,

(Oh vvretched case, oh lamentable state:)

Such haplesse state, unhappie I live in,

To better it, I cannot yet begin.

Alas my ioy, my hope, my cheefe desire,

How hast thou left me vvavering thus in doubt?

In mazed moodinesse my thoughts to tire,

Wandering in vvoe, and cannot find vvay out.

If I stay here, I cannot find thee so,

To seeke elsewhere, I know not vvhere to goe.

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To leave the Tombe, is for to gaine vnrest,

To stand still helpelesse, is a curelesse paine,

So all my comfort in this plot doth rest,

Helpelesse to stay, or going, hope in vaine.

And to this choise poore soule I am left free,

Which is to say, vvith vvhat death I vvill die.

And yet (even this) too happie a choice vvould be

For me, so vile, so base, unhappie vvretch:

For if to chuse my death it lay in me,

How soone should I that execution catch?

How vvilling vvould I be to stop lives breath,

If I might point the manner of my death?

I vvould be nailed to the selfesame crosse,

With those same nailes, and in the selfesame place,

Where bloudie Iewes did butcher up my losse:

His speare should vvound my hart, his thorns my face,

His vvhips my bodie, I vvould tast all smart,

To tread his steps in an embrued hart.

But oh ambitious thoughts, gaze not so hie,

Vpon so sweet divine felicitie,

Thinke not vvith such a glorious death to die,

Whose life is privie to such infamie:

Death I deserv'd, not one, but many a death,

But not so sweet a meane to stop my breath.

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So sweet a death seasoned vvith such deepe ioy,

The instruments vvhereof, dead corpes vvould raise,

And most impurest soules from sinne destroy,

And make it pure, to yeeld thee pure due praise:

A scourge too much (ah vvhere alas) too small

For my offences to be beat vvithall.

And therefore am I left, more deaths to tast

Than I live houres, and far more vvoes to shun

Than I have thoughts for my lost ioy to vvast,

Which are in number more then motes in Sun.

Vnhappie me, vvhose vveake estate must beare

The violence of such confused care.

But sith I cannot as he died, die,

Nor yet can live vvhere he now liveth dead,

To end my dying life, I here vvill lie,

Fast by his grave, and leane my vvearie head

Vpon his tombe, on vvhose most sweet repose

Ile leave to live, and death my eies shall close.

Better it is after his bodies losse,

(His sacred bodie vvhich all creatures ioy'de)

To keepe his sepulchre from farther crosse,

Than loosing one, to let both be destroy'de.

Though I have lost the Saint of clearest shine,

I vvill at least have care to keepe the shrine.

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And to this shrine Ile sacrifice my heart,

Though it be spoiled of the soveraigne host,

It shall the altar be and sacred part,

Where I my teares vvill offer vvith the most,

My teares destilled from my hearts deepe paine,

Which going out, my sighs shall blow againe.

Here in this place (oh happie place) Ile lead,

Yea, lead and end my vvofull loathed life,

That at the least my cold grave may be made

Neare to this tombe, vvhere I have told my griefe.

Near this stone-couch, my eies their light shall lose,

Which my Lord made the place of sweet repose.

It may be so, this Sindon lying here,

Thus emptie left and serving to no use,

This tombe being open vvithout any there,

May pierce some piteous heart for to peruse

My naked bones, whose rights for to preferre,

This shroud may wrap, & this sweet tomb interre.

But oh too fortunat a lot to crave,

For her that is a vvretch so unfortunate,

No, no, I seeke not such a blisse to have,

Alas, I dare not beg so good estate:

But yet if such a sinne may passe unblam'd,

I vvould forgive by vvhom it first vvas fram'd.

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And if to vvish, no more presumption vvere

In me alive, than to permit it dead,

If I knew him that first should passe me here,

My teares should vvoo to have my corpes so laid,

And vvith my praiers I that man vvould hire,

To blesse me vvith this blisse vvhich I desire.

And though I dare not vvish that anie do it,

Yet this vvithout offence to all I say,

This Sindon hath my love so ty'de unto it,

Above all clothes I love to it will pay.

And this same Tombe my heart more deare doth deeme,

Than anie Princes Hearse of most esteeme.

Yea, and I thinke that coarse is favoured much,

That shall my Lord in this same Tombe succeed:

And for my part (as my resolve is such)

Vpon this plot to meet Deaths fatall deed;

So doe I vvish, that in the readiest grave,

My breathlesse bones the right of buriall have.

But this is all, and I dare say no more,

My bodie I vvill leave to what befals,

And in this paradise all ioy vvill store

For my poore soule, vvhich flesh and bloud inthrals,

Which frō this brittle case shall passe even than,

Into the glorious Tombe of God and Man.

Marie Magdalens second Lamentation
For the losse of the bodie, which shee came to annoint.

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BVt stay my Muse, I feare my maisters love

(The only portion that my fortune left me)

Would languish in my breast, and chillish prove,

Sith vvarmth to cherish it, vvas quite bereft me.

His vvords, his presence gone, vvhich fed my flame,

And not the ashes left to rake the same.

My spice and ointments shall be then prepar'd,

To pay last tribute of externall dutie,

Though others have thereto devoutly car'd,

And brought the best in vvorth, in vvorke, in beautie:

Yet such desire my dutie doth inherit,

That I must yeeld my love my latest merit.

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My love each quantitie too little deem'd,

Vnlesse that mine vvere added thereunto,

Best quantitie too meane and not esteem'd,

Except vvith mine it somewhat have to doe:

No diligence ynough for to apply,

Vnlesse my service be employed by.

Nor doe I thus sharpe censure others deeds,

But 'cause love makes me covetous of doing,

Though Iosephs vvorke no reprehension needs,

Though to my wish his baulme he vvas bestowing:

Yet all he did cannot my love suffise,

But I must actor be to please mine eies.

Such is the force of true affecting love,

To be as eagre in effects t'appeare,

As it is zealous, fervently to move

Affections firme, to vvhat it holdeth deare

This love devout sets my poore heart on fire,

To shew some deed of my most deepe desire.

And to embaulme his breathlesse corps I came,

As once afore I did annoint his feet,

And to preserve the reliques of the same,

The only remnant that my blisse did meet:

To vveepe afresh for him in deapth of dole,

That lately vvept to him for mine owne soule.

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But loe alas, I find the grave vvide ope,

The bodie gone, the emptie Sindon left,

The hollow Tombe I every where doe grope,

To be assur'd of vvhat I am sure bereft,

The labour of embaulming is prevented,

But cause of endlesse vveeping is augmented.

He vvanting is unto my obsequies,

That vvas not vvanting to my ceaselesse teares,

I find a cause to move my miseries,

To ease my vvoe, no vvisht for ioy appeares.

Thus though I misse, vvhom to annoint I meant,

Yet have I found a matter to lament.

I having settled all my sole desires

On Christ my love, vvho all my love possest,

In vvhose rare goodnesse, my affection fires,

Whom to enioy, I other ioies supprest,

Whose peerelesse vvorth unmatcht of all that live,

Being had (all ioy) and lost (all sorrowes) give.

The life of lives thus murthering in his death,

Doth leave behind him, lasting to endure,

A generall death to each thing having breath,

And his decease our nature hath made pure:

Yet am poore I of ornament bereft,

And all the vvorld vvithout perfection left.

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What marvell then if my hearts hot desire,

And vehement love to such a lovely Lord,

To see lifes vvracke, vvith scalding sighs aspire,

And for his bodies losse such vvoe afford,

And feele like tast of sorrow in his misse,

As in his presence I enioied blisse.

And though my teares, destil'd from moistned eies,

Are rather oile than vvater to my flame,

More apt to nourish sorrow in such vvise,

Than to deminish or abate the same;

Yet silly soule I plung'd in deapth of paine,

Doe yeeld my selfe a captive to complaine.

Most true it is that Peter came and Iohn,

With me unto the Tombe to trie report,

They came in hast, and hastily were gone,

They (having searcht) dare make no more resort,

And vvhat gain'd I, two vvitnesse of my losse,

Dismaiers of my hope, cause of more crosse.

Love made them come, but love was quickly quail'd,

With such a feare as cal'd them soone away,

I (poore I) hoping, in despaire assail'd,

Without all feare persevering still to stay,

Because I thought, no cause of feare vvas left,

Sith vvhom I feard, was from my sight bereft.

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For I (poore soule) have lost my maister deare,

To vvhom my thoughts devoutly vvere combin'd,

The totall of my love my cheefest cheare,

The height of hope in vvhom my glorie shin'd,

My finall feare, and therefore him excepted,

No other hope, nor love, nor losse respected.

Worse feare behind, vvas death, vvhich I desired

And feared not, (my soules life being gone)

Without vvhich I no other life required,

And in vvhich death had been delight alone:

And thus (ah thus) I live a dying life,

Yet neither death nor life can end my strife.

Yet now me thinkes tis better die than live,

For haply dying, I my love may find,

Whom vvhile I live, no hope at all can give,

And he not had, to live I have no mind:

For nothing in my selfe, but Christ I lov'd,

And nothing ioies, my Iesus so remov'd.

If any thing alive to keepe me, striv'd,

It is his image, cause it should not die

With me, vvhose likenesse love in me contriv'd,

And treasured up in sweetest memorie:

From vvhich my love by no vvay can depart,

Vnlesse I rip the centre of my heart.

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Which had been done, but that I feard to burst

The worthlesse Trunck which my dear Lord inclosed

In vvhich the reliques of lost ioy vvas trust,

And all the remnant of my life imposed:

Else greefe had chang'd my hart to bleeding tears,

And fatall end had past from pittious ears.

Yet pittious I, in so unperfit sort

Doe seeme to draw my undesired breath,

That true I prove this often-heard report,

Love is more strong than life-destroying death:

For vvhat more could pale death in me have done,

Than in my life, performed plaine is showne.

My vvits destraught, and all my sence amaz'd,

My thoughts let loose and fled I know not vvhere,

Of understanding robd, I stand agaz'd,

Not able to conceit vvhat I doe heare:

That in the end, finding I did not know,

And seeing, could not vvell discerne the show.

I am not vvhere I am, but vvith my love,

And vvhere he is, poore soule I cannot tell,

Yet from his sight nothing my heart can move,

I more in him than in my selfe doe dwell:

And missing vvhom I looke for, vvith sad seeking,

Poor vvo-worn womā, at the Tomb stay weeping.

Marie Magdalens third Lamentation
In finding the Angels, and missing whom shee sought.

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BVt hope-beguiling fortune, now to ch [...]ere

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.

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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.

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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

Or is 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.

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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.

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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.

Marie Magdalens fourth Lamentation.
Marie bewailes the losse of that part which Christ promised her when he said, Marie hath chosen the better part, which shall not be taken from her.

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IT comforts me to send forth dryrie plaints,

To fill the aire vvith my uncessant cries,

To volley forth a sea of sad laments,

With liquid teares to moisten still mine eies:

Yet neither plaints, nor cries, laments, nor teares,

Can serve, can ease, can salve, can shew my feares.

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For all inioin'd to doe their best availe,

To helpe the mourne of my greefe-burthened soule,

Persuade me still it is my best to vvaile,

And spend the day in pittie-pleading dole:

Sith vvhom I chose, the comfort of my heart,

Is now bereft (oh care-increasing smart.)

That I did chuse the best and precious part,

It is no doubt, sith Christ I only chose,

My Lord, the soveraigne of my zealous heart,

Whom to possesse, I wish my life to lose:

But how I have it now, I cannot say,

Sith he that vvas that part, is tane away.

Ah could I still have kept him vvith me here,

I vvould not thus have lost him from my sight,

No, I vvould not have parted from my deare,

If to my vvill I had obtained might:

And might I now vvith teares his presence buy,

Rather than lose it, I all chance vvould trie.

Sith then I nothing seeke, but vvhat I chose,

And losse of choice is all my combats cause,

Either vouchsafe this part I doe not lose,

Or I see not how to averre this clause:

Or how (poore vvretch) I now may truly say,

I chose best part, vvhich is not ta'ne away.

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But happily, his heavenly meaning vvas,

That it should not be taken from my heart,

Though from mine eies thou suffered it to passe,

Thy inward presence should supplie this part:

And yet I thinke if thou vvithin me vvere,

I should thee feele (and felt) not seeke thee here.

Thou art too hote a fire to heat my breast,

And not to burne me vvith thy scorching flame;

Thy glorious light vvould not leave me to rest

In this blind darkenesse, if I had the same:

For if thy glorie in me duly shin'd,

It vvould reioice and cheere my dying mind.

No, no, if that I had the Virgins boy,

My innocent heart (vvhich never yet hath knowne

To counterfeit an outside of hid ioy)

Could not complain and make such greevous mone:

Nor should my thoughts feed on a dead mās grave,

If they at home so sweet a feast might have.

My love vvould not retaine a thought to spare,

Nor have an idle minute for to spend,

In any other action for to care,

But in the sweet amplecting of my freind:

Ah nothing could vvithdraw my mind from this,

To abridge least part in me from such a blisse.

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[...]

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[...]

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My starving thirst for his lost sight is such,

The sea of my still flowing ioies againe

So able is to let me drinke as much

As may suffice to fill my longing paine:

That though each part, vvhole tides of ioy should drinke,

Yet all too few my greedie drought vvould thinke.

In true loves hearts each part is made an eie,

And every thought prefixed for a looke,

Then I so sweet an obiect soone vvould spie,

That mongst so many eyes should darknesse brooke:

So cleare a shine, so bright, so cleare a light,

Could not be hidden from a lovers sight.

Yea doubtlesse had the Lord in me a seat,

I vvould not envie at the fortunes sweet

Of mightiest prince (or empresse ne're so great)

Yea I vvould more (if so he thought me meet)

Reioice in earth, to be his Tombe or shrine,

Than be in heaven, a Throne or Saints faire shine.

But peradventure now tis vvith my mind,

As earst it vvas vvith his Apostles eyes,

Who on the sea thought they a ghost did find,

When there he walked in miraculous vvise:

And I knowing more his bodies shape than might,

Take him but for a fancie in hearts sight.

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But oh (s [...]d soule) it seemes too strange that he,

He vvhom I seeke, and hee for vvhom I vveepe,

Should to my plainings thus estranged be,

And leave me to these fits vvhich sorrovv keepe:

If that in me a cause he did not see,

For vvhich he vvill not yet be seene of mee.

For hence it comes that vvater-vvasted eies,

Commaund a fresh incessant showers of teares,

And drive my breast, vvhich under burthen cries,

Vnto a nevv-made storme of sighes and feares:

And last my soule (oh soule vvith vvoe opprest)

Is made a prisoner to my owne unrest.

My heart shall never cease to tire my toung,

My toung shall never rest to tell my smart,

My smart shall cause me still to vvaile my vvrong,

My vvrong (bereaving me of my best part:)

So heart, so toung, so smart, shall all accord,

To sigh, tell, shew, my greefes for my dead Lord.

I silly soule, sith I my mirth have lost,

For my part vvill make much of heartie sorrow,

And sith my ioy vvith such deepe vvoe is crost,

In bitter teares all comfort I vvill borrow:

Which I presume I lawfully may sheed,

Fetching my vvarrant from his latest deed.

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Alas, vvhat need had my sweet Lord to vveepe

Vpon the crosse, but for our learnings sake;

Which cannot sure be ill for me to keepe,

That he thought good to give, tis good to take:

My vveeping cannot preiudice my blisse,

A vvorld of teares cannot bewaile my misse

I still vvill dravv to my distressed mind

All sad conceits, all heavie pensive musing,

My heart to daily languor I will bind,

Where it may pin [...] in vvithered ca [...]e perusing:

Taking no comfort for my vvoes redresse,

But in consenting to be comfortlesse.

Oh vvould to God I vvere as privie made

Vnto his blessed bodies sweet remove,

To know vvhere that pure vessell now is laid,

As he is vvitting of my faithfull love:

Oh thou my Lord and owner of my soule,

That knowes my heart, and can conceive my dole.

If skies bright Sunne to shew his beames did shame,

When light of lights vvas darkened vvith disgrace,

If heavens their beautie did vvith louring staine,

Suting their colours to their makers case,

If Natures frame did (melting) shake to see

Natures faire Author us'd unnaturally:

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Why should not I, vvhose over-burthening smart

Hath equall cause to vvaile his heavie case,

Helpe in this [...]d consort to beare a part?

Especially sith in this little space,

His bodies losse hath mourners number lessened,

And yet the cause of vveeping is increased:

The Apostles all are fled, his friends afraid,

And I alone to vveepe for all am staid.

Marie Magdalens fift Lamentation.
Maries perseverance at the Tombe, and the apring of Christ in the likenesse of a Gardiner.

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OH my dear Lord, thy greefe the greatest was

That evv [...]r vvas in man or manly heart,

And my greefe is as great a greefe alas

As ever came to vvoman for her part:

For out of thine my love hath carved mee,

A part not small, and yet too small for thee.

Thy losse my torment hath redoubled,

And all sad soules pay me vvhat they did borrow,

I beare the greefe, which thē too much hath troubled,

Yea I am made Vice-gerent of all sorrow:

Sorrow, ah sorrow thou O Tombe vvith me,

And thaw to teares you stones that hardest be.

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The time is come (now is the very time)

That leave it had and license for to cry,

To tell the Pharises their sinfull crime,

Now for the Lord, the breach of silence try:

Who said, if his disciples held their peace,

The very stones vvould crie for sins increace.

Sith then their lips be locked up vvith feare,

And sadnesse makes them mute, and not a vvord,

Oh crie you stones, and no exclaimes forbeare,

Crie out against the murtherers of my Lord:

The robbers of his sacred coarse bewray,

Bring them to light that stole my Lord away.

For sure it vvas some Pharises fell spight

Or bloodie Scribe (not sated vvith the paine

His bodie felt) but bloud their hearts envite

To practise some vvorse crueltie againe:

And now to glut their brutish mind vvithall,

Have stolne his coarse to use unnaturall.

Oh rockes and stones, if ever you must crie,

Now is high time to poure your loud exclaimes,

Novv let your clamours to the vvelkin flie,

Sith light is darkened, dead the flame of flames,

The vvorlds great Monarch foulely massacred,

The life of lives outrageously misused.

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Doth not his tongue (vvhose truth infallible is)

Whose vvord omnipotent rules sea and vvind,

Whom creatures (most insensible) doe kisse

With aw'd obedience, vvhich his power doth bind:

Promise the vvhole vvorld shall defend the iust,

Against those sencelesse soules, vvhich selfe power trust.

And vvho more iust than he, of Iustice king?

Who than his barbarous murtherers, sencelesse more?

Whose innocent bloud could not a staunching bring

Vnto their greedie thirst, slaughtered before;

Vnlesse they to this impious act proceed

To vvorke (his bodie dead) some hellish deed.

Why doe not then all creatures them applie

To be revenged in a cause so iust,

Vpon the Iewes uncivile tyrannie,

Bereft of sence and blinded in mistrust,

Their hearts made inhumane, of reason barrain,

Void of good feeling both to God and Man?

But sure it cannot be in humane might

To steale the bodie of my Lord away,

No bloudie theefe, nor any mortall vvight

Had sufferance to beare so vvicked sway:

It can not be that any sinfull soule

Would undertake a deed of such deepe dole.

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No, no, he vvas no bootie for a [...]heefe,

Nor for a cruell Pharisee a pray,

Nor vvere the Angels slacke to attend him cheefe,

As my suspition doth presume to say:

If this thing cannot change my mind from feare,

Yet looking on the clothes, my doubts may cleare.

Would any theefe have so religious beene,

To steale the bodie, and the clothes not take?

Would any theefe so venterous have been seene,

To stay, so many feare delaies to make,

As to unshroud the coarse, order the sheets,

And fold the napkins vvith such seemely pleets?

I know that Mirrhe makes linnen cleave as fast

As pitch or glue, vvell tempered or made;

And could a theefes stolne leasure so long last,

As to dissolve the Mirrhe, and ba [...]e the dead,

Breake up the seales, open the Tombe and all?

Where vvas the vvatch vvhē these things did befall?

If all this yet cannot persuade my mind,

Yet might my owne experience make me see,

When at the crosse they stripped him, unkind,

I saw his garment vvould not parted bee

From goa [...]ie backe, but tare his tender skin,

Much more if it vvith Mirrhe had nointed bin.

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Ile looke into the sheet, if there remaine

Any one parcell of his mangled flesh,

Or any haire pluckt from his heads soft vaine,

If none, that shall my vvearie vvoe refresh:

Ile thinke a better chaunce betides my love,

Than my misdeeming feare vvill let me prove.

A guiltie conscience doubteth vvant of time,

And leaud attempts are still dispatcht in hast,

Offenders doubt least light make known their crime,

And in nights sable vveed commit their vvast:

With dread and horror acting fearefully,

And cannot marke vvhen things vvell ordered be.

But to unvvrap a bodie mangled so,

Out of Mirrhe cloathes, and not the flesh to teare,

Leaving them thus so cleanely vvip'd in show,

It is a thing most marvellous to heare,

And most impossible for man to do,

Vnlesse they had light, helpe, and time thereto.

But oh the great effects of rarest love,

If love a languor be, hovv then live I?

If life, hovv doe I then such dead fits prove?

If it bereaveth sence, hovv did I see

The Angels then? if it revive the same,

Why did I not knovv Iesus vvhen he came?

[Page]

And doe I in such zeale thus seeke for one,

Whom vvhen I have found out, I do not know,

Or if I know him that of late vvas gone,

Now having him, vvhy doe I seeke him so?

Behold my Christ is come, he vvhom I sought,

Doth talke vvith me, and I my selfe know nought.

Why doe I not then vvipe my dazled eies?

Ah hath my Lord in this vvorld liv'd so long,

Di'de vvith such paine, shed shours of tears with cries,

Laboured so much, and suffered so much vvrong,

And hath thereby no more preferment cought,

But for to be a silly Gardiner thought?

And hath my kindnesse so much cost bestowed

Vpon the ointment vvhich I did prepare,

Have I in anguish pin'd and so long sorrowed,

Shead all these teares, and had such heedlesse care:

And vvas all done for one, and one no better

Than is a silly simple Gardiner?

Alas, and is a silly garden plot

The best free-hold that my love can afford,

Is this the highest office he hath got,

To be a Gardiner now that vvas my Lord:

He better might have liv'd and owned me,

Than vvith his death to have bought so small a fee.

Marie Magdalens sixt Lamentation.
Iesus said unto h [...]r (Marie:) she turned and said unto him Rabb [...]ni.

[Page]

OH loving Lord, thou only didst deferre

My consolation to encrease it more,

That thy delightfull presence might preferre

The better vvelcome, being vvisht so sore,

In that thy absence little hope had left.

Vnto my heart, so long of blisse bereft.

It may be that I knew not former blisse,

Till I a time vvas from the sweetnesse vvean'd:

Nor vvhat it vvas such treasures rich to misse,

Which in thy presence I of late attain'd;

Vntill my povertie had made it cleere,

Of vvhat inestimable rate they vvere.

[Page]

But now thou shewst me by a proofe most sweet,

That though I paid thee vvith my dearest love,

With vvater of my teares to vvash thy feet,

With my best breath, vvhich all desire could move:

Yet small the price vvas that I did bestow,

Waying the vvorth, which now thou letst me know.

I sought thee dead, pind in a stonie gaile,

But find thee living and at libertie:

Shrin'd in a shroud, thy visage vvan and pale,

Left as the modell of all miserie:

But now invest in glorious robes I find thee,

And as the president of blisse I mind thee.

As all this vvhile I sought but could not find,

Wept vvithout comfort, cal'd unanswered to:

So now thy comming satisfies my mind,

Thy triumphs please my teares, vvhich long did vvo;

And all my cries are husht vvith this one vvord,

(Marie) cause sweetly spoken from my Lord.

For vvhen I heard thee call in vvonted sort,

And vvith thy usuall voice, my only Name,

Issuing from that thy heavenly mouths report;

So strange an alteration it did frame,

As if I had been vvholly made anew,

Being only nam'd by thee (vvhose voice I knew.)

[Page]

Whereas before my greefe benum'd me so,

My bodie seem'd the hearse of my dead hart,

My heart (soules coffin) kil'd vvith care and vvo,

And my vvhole selfe did seeme in every part

A double funerall presented plaine,

Of thee and of my selfe together slaine.

But now this one vvord hath my sence restored,

Lightned my mind, and quickned my heart,

And in my soule a living spirit poured,

Yea, vvith sweet comfort strengthened every part:

For vvell this vvord a spirit dead may raise,

Which only vvord made Heaven, World, and Seas.

Marie I vvas vvhen sin possest me vvhole,

Marie I am, being now in state of grace,

Marie did vvorke the ill that damn'd her soule,

Marie did good in giving ill place:

And now I shew both vvhat I vvas and am,

This vvord alone displaies my ioy and shame.

For by his vertues that did speake the same,

An Epitome of all his mercies sweet,

A Repetition of my miseries came,

And all good haps I did together meet:

Which so my sences ravished vvith ioy,

I soone forgot my sorrowes and annoy.

[Page]

And thus my heart a troupe of ioies did lead,

Mustered in rankes, to mutinie they fell,

Conspiring vvhich might worthiest be made,

With them my owne unworthies doe rebell:

And long in doubtfull issue they contend,

Till view of highest blisse the strife did end.

He vvas my Sunne, vvhose going downe did leave,

A dumpish night vvith fearefull fancies fild,

And did each starre of glistering shines bereave,

And all the vvorld vvith mystie horror hill'd:

And every planet reigning erst so bright,

Were chang'd to dismall signes in this darke night.

Yet now the clearenesse of his lovely face,

His vvords authoritie vvhich all obay,

This foggie darknesse cleane away doth chace,

And brings a calme and bright vvell tempered day:

And doth disperse clouds of melancholie,

Awakes my sence, and cures my lethargie.

Rapt vvith his voice, impatient of delay,

Out of his mouth his talke I greedily take,

And to this first and only vvord I say,

And vvith one other vvord this answere make,

Rabboni: then my ioy, my speech did choke,

I could no more proceed, nor more hear spoke.

[Page]

Love vvould have spoke, but fear conceal'd the clause,

Hope framed vvords, but doubt their passage staies,

When I should speake, I then stood in a pause,

My suddaine ioy my inward thoughts quite slaies:

My voice doth tremble, and my toung doth falter,

My breath doth faile, and all my sences alter.

Lastly, in lieu of vvords, issue my teares,

Deepe sighs in stead of sentences are spent,

Their mothers vvant they fill vvith sighs and feares,

And from the heart halfe uttered breath they sent:

Which so in passions conflict disagree,

To sounds perceiv'd, they cannot sorted be.

So fares the heart thats sicke for suddaine ioy,

Attaining that for vvhich it long did fire:

For even as feare is loves still servile boy,

And hope an usher unto hot desire,

So love is hard, a firme beleefe in gaining,

And credulous coniectures entertaining.

And though desire be apt for to admit

Of vvisht for comfort any smallest shade,

The hotter yet it burnes in having it,

The more it cares to have it perfit made:

And vvhile least hope is vvanting vvhich is sought,

The best assurances avantage nought.

[Page]

And even as hope doth still the best presume,

Inviting ioy to vvelcome good successe,

So feare suspects true blisse can hardly come,

And cals up sorrow, making it seeme lesse:

With greefe bewailing the uncertainetie

Of that vvhich should be sole felicitie.

And vvhile as these doe mutually contend,

Feare sometime falleth into deepe despaire,

Hope rising up, his fierie darts doth send

Of vvrath, repining to the emptie aire:

Making a doubtfull skirmish, dead they stand,

Till evidence of proofe the strife have skand.

For though (poore I) so suddainely repli'de

Vpon the notice of his voice well knowne,

Yet for because so rare a chaunce I spi'de,

His person chaung'd, himselfe unlookt for showne:

The sight my thoughts into sedition drew,

Then were they purg'd frō doubts by stricter view.

And then though speeches vvould have issued faine,

And my poore heart to his have dutie sent,

Yet every thought for utterance taking paine,

Which first might be receav'd, so hastily vvent,

That I vvas forc'd (indifferent iudge to all)

To act by signes, and let my speeches fall.

[Page]

And running to the haunt of my delight,

My cheefest blisse, I streight fall at his feet,

And kindly offer in my Saviours sight,

To bath them now vvith teares of ioy most sweet:

To sanctifie my lips vvith kissing his,

Once greevous, but now glorious vvounds of blis.

To hear more vvords I listed not to stay,

Being vvith the vvord it selfe now happie made,

But deeme a greater blisse for to assay,

To have at once my vvishes full apaide

In honouring and kissing of his feet,

Than in the hearing of his speech, lesse sweet.

For even as love, in nature coveteth

To be united, yea transformed vvhole

Out of it selfe into the thing it loveth:

So vvhat unites, love most affecteth sole,

And still preferreth least coniunction ever,

Before best ioies, vvhich distance seemes to sever.

To see him therefore, doth not me suffice,

To heare him doth not quiet vvhole my mind,

To speake vvith him in so familiar vvise,

Is not ynough my loose let soule to bind:

No, nothing can my vehement love appease;

Least by his touch my vvo-worne heart I please.

Marie Magdalens seventh Lamentation.
Her falling at Christs feet to kisse them, his forbidding her: saying, Do not touch me, for I am not yet ascended to my Father.

[Page]

OH loving Lord, what mysterie is this;

Being dead in sinne, I toucht thy mortall feet

That were to die for me, now may not kisse

Thy glorious feet, yet thou hast thought it meet

They should as vvell for my good now revive,

As for my good they dy'de, being late alive?

Thou didst admit me once to annoint thy head,

And am I now unmeet thy feet to touch?

Thou wonted was for to commend the deed,

Which now thou doest command me from as much:

O Lord, sith I and others shall them feele,

Why doest thou now forbid me so to kneele.

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What meanest thou good Lord, that thou restrainst

My heart of such a dutie so desired,

Sith thou mongst all thy friends, to me hast deign'd

The first of thy selfe (of all required:)

With thy first vvords my eares sole happie be,

And may I not be blest with touching thee?

If teares have vvoon such favour from mine eies,

If longing earnes a recompence so sweet,

Why doest thou Lord my feeling hands despise,

And barre my mouth from kissing thy sweet feet:

Sith lips (with plaints) & hands (with will to serve)

Doe seeme as great reward for to deserve.

But notwithstanding, thus thou doest prevent

My tender offer, vvhich I vvould effect,

Forbidding me to touch (as if thou meant)

I should the difference of thy state respect:

Being now a glorious, not a mortall bodie,

A life eternall, and not momentarie.

For sith the bodies immortalitie,

The glorie of the soule together knit,

Are both of them indowments heavenly

For such as in sweet Paradice doe sit:

Rights of another vvorld vvell maist thou deeme

This favour, than nothing of small esteeme.

[Page]

Though to my Father I have not ascended,

I shortly shall, let thy demeanure then

Not by the place vvhere I am, be intended,

But by that place vvhich is my due: and vvhen

With reverence thou farre off vvouldst fall,

I vvill consent that thou me handle shall.

If thou my former promises beleeve,

My present vvords may be a constant proofe,

Doe not thy eies and eares true vvitnesse give,

Must hands and face most feele for hearts behoofe:

If eies and eares deceived be by me,

As vvell may hands and face deluded be.

Yet if thou feare least I so suddaine part,

That if thou take not leave now of my feet,

With hamble kisse, vvith teares fetcht from thy heart,

Thou never shalt so fit a season meet:

License that doubt, for all these loves of thine,

There vvill be found a more convenient time.

But goe about vvhat now more hast requires,

Run to my brethren, tell them vvhat I say,

That I to satisfie their soules desires,

For them in Gallilee vvill goe stay:

And there before them shortly vvill I bee,

Where they my sacred heavenly face shall see.

[Page]

And I pr [...]ferring fore my vvish his vvill,

Even like a hungrie child departed from him,

Puld from a tear, vvhich soo [...]e of milke doth fill,

Or like a thirstie Hart, from brookes exil'd:

Sorrie that I by carrying ioyfull newes,

Should leave my Lord, vvhom I did rather chuse.

Alas then (said I) cannot others be

Made happie, but by my unhappie crosse,

Cannot their gaine come in by none but me,

And not by me, but by my heavie losse:

Must dawning of their day my evening be,

And to enrich themselves, must they rob me?

Alas goe seeke to better thee (deare hart)

And ease thy vvoe in some more happie brest,

Sith I unworthie creature for my part,

Am nothing freed from my late unrest:

But in the tast of high felicitie,

The vvant vvhereof doth vvorke more miserie.

Thus lead by dutie, and held backe by love,

I paced forward, but my thoughts goe backe,

Readie eftsoones a sounding fit to prove,

But that firme faith supported me from wracke:

And towards the Tombe in breathing oft I turn'd,

As it that aire with new refreshing burn'd.

[Page]

Sometimes poore soule my selfe I doe forget,

Love in a sweet distraction leading me,

Makes me imagine I my love have met,

And seemes as though his vvords vvere feeding me:

I deeme his feet are folded in my armes,

And that his comfort my chill spirit vvarmes.

But vvhen my vvits are all againe awake,

And this a meere illusion is found,

My heart halfe dead, it vvonted vvoe doth take,

And greater greefe my sicke soule doth confound,

That I (alas) the thing it selfe must misse,

Whose onely thought so much delightfull is.

And as I passed vvhere my Lord hath beene,

Oh stones (said I) more happier farre than I,

Most vvretched caitife, I alas have seene

When unto you my Lord did not denie

The touch of his for ever blessed feet,

Whereof my ill deserts makes me unmeet.

Alas, vvhat crime have I of late commit,

That cancels me out of his good conceit?

Or doth my Lord his vvonted love forget,

May I no more his vvonted love await?

Had I for tearme of life his love in lease,

And did my right expire in his decease?

[Page]

Oh in his feet vvith teares at first I vvrit

My supplication for his mercie sweet,

With sobs and sighe (poore soule) I pointed it,

My haire did cho [...]ely [...]old it, being vvet,

My lips impression humbly seal'd the same,

With reverent [...], which frō my sick soule came.

They vvere the dores that [...] first did give

Into his favour, and by them [...]

By kind ac [...]p [...]nce in his [...],

By them I did my [...]

Vnto his head [...]

In man, a [...] of [...] b [...]go [...]nesse plaine.

[...] alas I must contented be [...]

[...] bea [...]e a lower saile, and [...] to [...]une,

[...] downe my [...] that sores so high,

To meaner hopes, and leave aloft to c [...]ime:

Si [...]h [...]o [...]mer favours now are ma [...]kes too high,

Either [...]o levell at, or to come nigh.

But oh ambitious [...]ies for so vveake sight,

He is too bright a Sunne your lookes are ty'de,

And now are limitted to meaner light,

And rather like a Bart, than Eagle ey'de:

You must your selves t'in [...]eriour lookes submit,

For him to see, such substance is unfit.

[Page]

No, no, sith [...] his feet reiected,

How can I thinke, but that my vvant of faith

Is cause I am so slenderly respected,

An [...] that his heart to yeeld me love gainesaith:

Yea, that I am from all possession throwne,

Of his kind favour, vvhich vvere earst mine owne.

Yet vvhy should I stoope to a feare so base,

When vvant of faith vvith sinne vvas vvorse agreeved:

He did vouchsafe to gr [...]nt me of his grace,

And shall I now, cause faintly I beleeved,

Thinke that my Lord so rigorously vvill deale,

As to abridge me of this vvished vveale?

Is the sinceritie of my pure Love,

(Wherein he hath no partener at all)

In no respect availeable to move,

Or in account is it so light and small,

As that it may not hope some sparke to find

Of vvonted mercie, and his gra [...] so kind.

I vvill not vvrong him vvith so [...]iust a thought,

Sith his appearing doth approve the same,

His vvords o'rethrow that such suspition vvrought,

His countenance doth te [...]l I am to blame:

Why then should I from such a vaine surmise,

Sucke so much sorrow in such foolish vvise?

[Page]

Thus as I travailed in this iourney short,

My fantasies long voiages did make,

And heal'd my mind in such a vvavering sort,

Hope could not vvin, nor feare vvould not forsake:

But twixt them both my vision made me glad,

And greefe of my deniall made me sad.

But as I vvas in this perplexed vvise,

Rising and falling in uncertainetie,

The other holy vvomen I espie

That first vvith me came to the grave to see,

To vvhom the Angels had made demonstration

Of Christ my Lord and maisters resurrection.

The Conclusion.
Iesus met them, saying, All Haile.

[Page]

OH how profound are all thy iudgements Lord,

How doest thou take my sorrow to thy heart,

How doth thy eies such bleeding drops afford,

To see my vvounded love and greevous smart:

That thy refusall late required is

With such a grant so free and full of blis.

Full of content, the baulme of troubled mind,

That tooke no pleasure vvhere thy presence vvanted.

But oh how grace hath graced me to find

The love, vvherevvith my soule is cheefe acquainted:

His love's my life, by his love my life liveth,

For to my soule his love the life breath giveth.

[Page]

Now are the dolefull, darke, and pitcht-fac'd clouds

Dispearst and driven from my comforts face,

Those melancholy, moist, and vvat'rie shrouds,

That did the brightnesse of my ioies displace,

Wrapping me up, as in eternall night,

Vanisht they are, seeing my hearts delight.

Delight in him, to vvhom all love is debt,

Seal'd vvith the heart, the soule, and all the might,

A paiment that admits no vvorldly let,

To linger or defraud a heavenly right:

Which if I cannot pay as due requires,

Accept (O Lord) thy debtors true desires.

Let me thy everlasting prisoner be,

Chain'd in the linkes of an eternall love,

My vvant and vvill is only knowne to thee,

A vvilling debtour I vvill ever prove:

And vvhat I have, I freely doe bestowe,

Take all my vvorth, for part of that I owe.

Oh Christian soule take Marie to thy mirrour,

And if thou vvilt the like effects obtaine,

Then follow her in like affections fervour,

And so vvith her, like mercie shalt thou gaine:

Learn sinfull man of this once sinfull vvoman,

That sinners may find Christ, vvhich sin abandon.

[Page]

That love recovereth him, that sinne did lose,

That firme beleefe recalleth that againe

Which fainting faith did quite forsake to chose;

That vvhat nor force nor favour can obtaine,

Nor pollicie by mortall meanes bring in,

Continued teares of constant love can vvin.

Learne then of her for Christ no force to feare,

And out of Christ no comfort to desire

With Christ his love, all love (though ne're so deare)

To over-rule, to quench fond fancies fire:

Rise earely soule, in thy good motions morne,

Sleepe not in sloth, vvhen diligence may performe.

Run vvith repentance to thy sinfull hart,

Which should the Temple undefil'd have bin,

But through thy fault, deserves no better part

Than be the Tombe for Christ to burie in:

For vvanting life to tast this heavenly bread,

He seem'd to thee as if he had been dead.

Remove the loads that presse thee downe in sin,

The stone of former hardnesse roule away,

Looke to thy soule, if Christ be lodg'd therein,

And if thou find that there he doe not stay,

Then weepe without, in other creatures mind him,

Sith had in all, in any thou maist find him.

[Page]

Make faith thine eie, hope guide, and love thy light,

Seeke him, not his, for himselfe, not his meeds:

If faith have found him in a cloudie night,

Let hope seeke for him vvhen the day spring breeds:

If hope to see him, have thee luckly led,

Let love seeke further, in him to be fed.

If Sorrow knocke, Remorse is Mercies porter,

And ever opens to let Dolour in,

Vnto that dore be thou a quicke resorter,

Tis much to save the losse that comes by sin:

He that of Sorrow is true mournefull taster,

Doth feele sins smart, and find sins salving plaster.

Strive vvith thy thoughts, being all prepar'd together,

To rise out of mortalities foule mire,

Which hath no standing, nor firme footing neither,

Prevent the daunger, and in time retire:

Crave to be cleane of that same filth sinne urged,

For vvho is pure, that Iesus hath not purged?

He can the ruines of thy soule repaire,

He yet destributeth his mercies treasure,

The dore stands open yet, thy suite prepare,

Let not repentance stay old ages leasure:

When the Meridian of thy Sun's once past,

The night of Nature hies upon thee fast.

[Page]

Awake therefore, vvatch th'evils hourely nie,

Provide before thou be surpriz'd of breath,

Vpon the pale horse heedfull cast thine eie,

Note him that sits thereon, vvhose name is Death:

Be readie for the stroke he is to give,

For feare thou die, ere thou begin to live.

Oh mild Physician, how vvell didst thou know

Thy corosive so sharp did greeve my vvound,

Which did by ignorance, not errour grow,

Therefore no sooner felt, but helpe vvas found:

Thy linative appli'de, did ease my paine,

For though thou did forbid, twas no restraine.

And now to shew that thy deniall late,

Was but a cheeke to my unsetled faith,

And no reiecting of my fault vvith hate;

Thou letst me vvash thy feet in my teare bath:

I kisse them too, the seales of our redemption,

My love renewed vvith endlesse consolation.

Thus hast thou Lord full finished my teares,

Assured my hopes, contented my desire [...]

Repai'd my love [...]extirped [...] my fea [...]es,

Perfected ioies vvith all that heart requires:

And made the period of expiring greefes,

The preamble to ever fresh releefes.

[Page]

How mercifull a father art thou Lord

To poore forsaken Orphans in distresse,

How soft a iudge, that iudgement doth afford

With mildest grace, to sinners comfortlesse?

How sure a friend unto a syncere lover,

Whose pure and faithfull love doth alter never?

Thou then that art vvith diligence prepar'd,

Going vvith speed, standing vvith hopes lift hie,

Humbling thy heart, thy haughtie vvill impar'd,

If thou vvith Marie none but Christ vvould see,

Himselfe vvill to thy teares an answere give,

And his owne vvords assure thee he doth live:

That sweetly he, vnto thee being showne,

To others thou maist run, and make him knowne.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

Marie Magdalens lamentations for the losse of her master Iesus

Markham, Gervase, 1568?-1637.

Edition statement

1601

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A07162

ID [STC]

STC 17569

ID [STC]

ESTC S121922

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99857079

ID [PROQUEST]

99857079

ID [VID]

22750

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A07162)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 22750)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 554:15)

Source

— Marie Magdalens lamentations for the losse of her master Iesus, Markham, Gervase, 1568?-1637..

Extent

[64] p.

Printed by Adam Islip for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, dwelling at the little north dore of Paules, at the signe of the Gun,. London :: 1601.. (Attributed to Gervase Markham.) (In verse.) (Signatures: A-H⁴.) (The first leaf and the last leaf are blank.) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.)

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