Our Saviour, having sup'd his last, 'gan sup
The wholesome liquour of the saving cup;
Which did resemble that his precious bloud
Was to be shed for our eternall good:
Now a more bitter one to drink he hath,
The dregs of an incensed Fathers wrath.
Being to quaffe this wormwood-draught, alas,
No mar'l he pray'd the cup from him might passe.
Now his first conflict comes, now drops of bloud
Bedew the blushing earth, whereon he stood:
Those precious drops, which from him now down glide,
Usher the streams must issue from his side.
The inward torments of his soul were great,
The outward signes whereof was bloudy sweat;
But greater follow, armed soul diers stand
With holdberds, staves, and knotty clubs, in hand;
Ready to seise the prince of peace, and he
Who could have guards of Angels presently
Attending on his summons, now can brook
To be by mortall creatures pris'ner took:
O would they bind him never to depart,
The strongest chain were love, to hold the heart;
Or, happy they, could they so happy prove,
Themselves to be tane captives by his love:
That, that had bound them to the peace, and so
O'th' militant Church they had been souldiers too:
But Peter not endures it, with zeal stir'd,
Out of his sheath he draws his keen edg'd sword:
Peter, if pleasure thou in swords dost take,
The Gospels two edg'd sword thy weapon make;
But he who came to heal his peoples sinnes,
To heal the high-priests servants eare beginnes.
Who yet, poor creature, Gods call could not hear,
Because, alas, he wants the inward ear;
And now the shepherd took; the sheep, poor sheep
Are scatter'd, when their pastour doth not keep
Himself: the shepherd, said, I? he became
No more a shepherd now, but proves a lambe;
Whose fleece his servants faults for aye should cover,
That so his fathers wrath might them passe over.
He suffers them to leave him, and doth make
That th' means that he might never them forsake:
This surely was his deepest grief, who here
Deserted was, of all whom he held dear.
Accompani'd, but how? with foes, and none
But would much rather, so, be left alone.
Great are his suff'rings sure, heavy his doom,
Who suffers thus much e're his suff'rings come:
Yet, meek and silent, giveth no occasion
For any one to think he is in passion:
Although he be, so patient bears his state,
Though full of passion, yet not passionate.
Judas, perditions sonne, 'twas led the van
Of those who came to take the Sonne of man.
Foul treas'rer who, to gain a little pelf,
Hast treasured up great wrath unto thy self.
Our Saviour, gently, yet would call him Friend,
How much more rightly were he stiled Friend!
What wicked deed, base traitour, hast thou done!
Hast thou no other way to kisse the Sonne?
Blind Pharisees Christs bounty do not know;
He'll give himself, they need not buy him so:
Think you a price for his life can be given,
Who gives, that life, a price to purchase heaven:
The traitour doth not long out-live the fact;
But he who did incite him to this act,
Invites him to another, to destroy
His body, make that bear's soul company.
He hangs himself, compleating his sinnes score,
Who was insnar'd with love of hell before.
Peter, who so of late his Saviour lov'd,
Now runnes: the rock of Peters love is mov'd.
First led to Annas, next to Caiaphas;
To Pilate twice, to Herod once he was:
Both Jews and Gentiles his condemners be;
Romans, Barbarians seem in cruelty.
Those who were foes before, now think it good
First to cement their friendship in his bloud:
This reconcilements dire foundation
Was built on, yet without the corner-stone:
What wonder is it then that we have read
Both bloud, and building fell upon their head?
False witnesses were sought, whose consciences
Witnesse to them how false their witnesse is.
The temple, in three dayes he will destroy,
And at the three dayes end reedisie
Is of his body, yours too (would you yield
Temples unto the holy Ghost) would build:
This not enought, these Theo-cides begin
To smite him on the cheeks, O horrid sinne!
Whilst they disfigure thus with blows his face,
Gods image clean from out themselves they race;
Whilst on the face they smite him, happy wert
Their consciences could smite them on the heart.
Buffets are added too, and they shall hear,
If I may say't, on both sides of their ear:
Those buffetings, I may with holy Paul
Satans at least, or Satans servants call.
How think ye, he your prayers will hear, who thus
Have strove to deaf him both to you and us?
Those hands which formed them, they impiously
With blows would bring unto deformity:
Those hands they strike, to heav'n he upward throws.
They strike upon a palm that upward grows:
His eyes too in derision they blind,
They'd have his eyes, it seems, like to their mind.
How could those wretches think to kood-wink him
Who both lights organ gave and medium?
They mock him, the eternall God, and he
Will mock their hopes unto eternitie.
They brag they'r Isaac's seed, but who can know
Now whether they are Ishmaelites, or no?
First scoffing, and then down-right murd'ring, sure
They thought it difficult hell to procure;
Else, certainly, they never so would wrest
It doubly, both by earnest, and in jest:
But this is nothing yet; disloyally
Peter whoerst forsook, doth now deny
His Master, and doth curse himself; but he
Whom he denies, denies his curse shall be
Fulfild on him, but gives him penitence;
Eyes first to see, then weep for his offence.
He had decreed to die before, and hence
It was he spoke not in his own defence:
Had he, for his just cause, but pleaded so,
Injustice would be forc'd justice to do.
He could have utter'd one such sentence then,
Which should have forc'd his judge change his agen
Who yet unwilling was, that one so Just
Should die to satlsfie the peoples lust.
Fain would he have condemned one who was
An homicide, seditious Barabbas.
An homicide must be releas'd that they
The homicides might with their Saviour play:
Play, said I? I recant, it was not true;
Or if they play'd, at least, they play'd the Jew.
What madnesse seis'd you, that you should release
The peace's troubler, bind the Prince of peace?
Much troubled in her dream was Pilates wife;
And did her best to save our Saviours life.
He hears her not, O wretch, how could it be,
Unlesse all goodnesse were a dream to thee?
Like dreams thy joyes shall vanish, pleasures too;
And, but hells pains, thou shalt have nothing true.
Scribes, people, Pharisees, together cry
Out with him; crucifie him, crucifie
Their noise resounds, and rends the air again,
Ascending high'r then they shall ere attain.
That clamour, which cri'd crucifie him here,
Thund'ring at heaven, demands for vengeance there:
The voice ascended upwards, but alas,
That they the lower might descend it was.
Why washest thou thy hands? employ that art
(Yet that were bootlesse too) to cleanse thine heart,
Or in that bloud, from which thou sain wouldst free
Thy self, but wash, and thou shalt cleansed be:
But O their cry prevails, who cursing stood,
On them, and on their children be his bloud.
God, who ne're heard their pray'rs in ought but this,
Fulfill'd the tenour of their direfull wish;
Yet had they laid his bloud to heart, in stead
Of that, God had not laid it on their head.
Pilate begins himself now to bestirre,
Not like a judge, but Executioner.
The scourge foreshows what tortures are to come,
Of which that is but the Proaemium.
Deep print these lashes left; but we (unkind)
Forget to have them printed in our mind:
We may keep Gods commands, and yet keep these,
No sinne to have such graven images.
Stript naked from his clothes; if ever, now
Truth naked is, we boldly may avow:
Who of eternall rayes, himself before
Had stript; clogg'd with humanity, once more
Is stript of earthly garments, that so he
Might clothe us with his immortalitie:
But this was not enough; with more disdain,
Then ere they strip'd, they clothe him now again:
Little those miscreants thought, when thus they plaid,
That they in searlet had their judge araid;
This colour with his office well agrees,
That bloudy fact, and our iniquities;
Thus by anticipation be begins
To be apparrell'd in his peoples sinnes.
A wreath of thorns ingirts his temples, and
A reed, stead of a sceptre in his hand.
Those thorns, which crown his brows, may seem to say,
Who goes to heaven must go a thorny way.
How can the members better think to speed,
When he their head doth wear them on his head?
Never were thorns so rightly said t' inclose,
As now they are, a full-blown purple rose.
He'll near prove steady Christian, who sticks
Loth to embrace, kicking against these pricks.
His sceptre weak although it be, they need
Not fear that he will break the bruised reed;
And now they make obeysance to him: how
Their outward not their inward knee they bow!
Prophetick 'tis, though little they intend
It so, to him of right all knees must bend.
Hail, hail, long reigne the king, methinks I hear
Their clam'rous mock-shouts rend the troubled air:
As on those goodly cities of the Plain
He did, so wretches he on you will rain
Snares, sulphur, fire (your courages shall quail)
And dreadfull stones of, what you wisht him, hail.
Our Lord was spit upon, and we must too
Expect through spittle unto heaven to go:
But O they go about farre worse then it,
I fear they have not all their venome spit.
The reed which stood before in's sceptres stead,
Has left his hand, and's flown unto his head:
Which grieving their spites instrument to be,
Hath from that time to this sigh'd vocally.
Through strokes howe're the way may seem uneven,
He goes a beaten path, that goes to heaven:
Jesting is past, and now their play must be
Clos'd in a Tragicall Catastrophe.
His own clothes are put on, he in short space
Is led to's death, Mount Calvarie's the place:
Simon takes up his crosse, his others were
Crosses sufficient for himself to bear;
On whose back laid, besides his grief, we find,
The sinnes, and punishment of all mankind;
And now I come, where I (methinks) could stay,
Ravish'd in contemplation, for aye.
What a sad-joyfull object greets mine eye?
Seeing his sorrows, can I chuse but cry?
Both grief and gladnesse, here at once there lies;
And ev'n my very tears, are tears of joyes.
Can I refrain to pour a briny floud,
Which yet is drown'd in th' Ocean of his bloud?
Can I refrain to joy? those drops, I see,
Are made the oyl of gladnesse, Soul, to thee.
Yet, can I chuse but grieve, since paradice
Is purchas'd for me at so dear a price?
Yet, can I chuse but joy in contemplation,
That these his sorrows work my souls salvation?
Then share me joyntly, joy and sadnesse: part
Stakes in my leaping, yet dissolving, heart;
Or, since the world's a vale of tears, on earth
I'll weep; in heav'n will make eternall mirth.
The sonne of man is lifted up, O see
How heav'n and earth strive for the deity!
He in suspense, as dubious, yet is loth
To leave one for the other, but midst both;
Nor midst his sufferings, suffers to resigne
His humane nature, or put off's divine:
Yet though he doubly hath obscur'd his light
By humane nature, and with pains; too bright
He is for my aspect, my eyes grow dim;
Thus long with gazing upon glorious him;
He now drinks up the dregs of's cup, which are
A mixt compound of gall and vineger.
So he a dove in life, at his death shall
Take in, what's not innate unto him, gall.
The God of love drinks vineger; O pow'r
Of love, which overcame with sweet that soure!
He takes that wormwood potion down that we
Might in the gall of bitternesse ne're be.
His hands are nail'd but not a-crosse, he stands
As ready to embrace with open hands,
They've hit the proverb right. Sharp nails are sped
Through both the hands of him who is our head.
O let these wounds suffice he doth sustain,
Let us not crucifie him o're again.
Between two thieves he hangs, who held to be
Equall with God no part of robberie:
So I'twixt grace and sin, but fain from sin
Would be dissolv'd; O so a tract begin,
My cauterix'd, my iron heart! one thief
Upbraids: O th' impudence beyond belief!
And were't not Gospel, I should take't to be
As farre remote from all belief, as he
Impenitently sinfull, sinfull more
In this, then ere he shew'd himself before.
(If thou beest Christ) he did his worst I see
To robbe our Lord of his Divinitie.
The other meekly chides him, and begins
Now at his end t' ask pardon for his sinnes.
Good pious thief, who thus past hope hast stole
To heaven, and cheat'st the Devil of a soul.
A title's o're our Saviour writ, and all
In letters, like their own crime, capitall.
Now capitall it needs must be, because
Both o're his head, and 'against our Head it was:
Hebrew, Greek, Roman, which may signifie
He for all languages alike did die.
This is the title of our King; by this
He gives us title to a throne of blisse.
This is the title of our King; nor need it
Explained be, for he that runs may reade it.
Our Saviours sorrows are at heighth; each scribe,
As he by-passes, spends some quip, some gibe.
If thou be Christ (so said the thief)'s to me
Doubtfull, if he the Christ your Christ will be.
(If thou beest Christ, come down) what would you do?
Should he descend, you needs must lower go.
(That we this miracle beholding may
Give credence that thou art whom thou dost say)
(Come down, and save thy self) what would you have?
Should he himself, alas who should you save?
So difficult you are faith to receive,
Twill be a miracle if you believe.
Midst pangs beyond our reasons dull belief,
Eternall torments and internall grief,
Our Saviour cries in this extremitie
Eli, Eli, lamasabachthani.
Heav'n now, heav'n gates are shut, they now begin
T' refuse to let the King of glory in.
Those doors against their maker closed be,
By him for us op'd to eternity.
His Fathers ear is stopt, justice doth move
So much his fury that it clouds his love.
Hell gapes, and the infernall monarch glories
Hoping t' engulf him in his territories.
Vanisht Hosannaes are: all signes of gladnesse:
Through th' universe an universall sadnesse.
But the mistaking Jews believe amisse,
Elias to his help invoked is.
Elias was not of that mournfull song
The burden: but 'twas EL God farre more strong
Yet as that Sire in flaming chariots hurri'd,
To th' Apotheiosis was rapt and carri'd.
So he's to come, involv'd with flames of fire,
And turn the world to cinders in his ire.
Then happy those, whom guilt doth not appall;
Who theirs, can Israels carre, and horsemen, call.
There now remains one thing for him to do,
Then are his acts, and passions ended too.
He thirsts: who thirsty unto him are brought
He gives lifes waters for an heavenly draught.
That sponge of vineger, which they thought good
Enough for him, he'l fill it with his blood.
And as a signe their safety he doth mean
Purge them with Hyssop that they may be clean.
And now 'tis finish'd. O that I and all
Could in the houre of expiration call
On God, as he. My spirit I commit
My God to thee, thou gav'st, receive thou it.
Father, forgive their sinnes, they do not know
(Father, forgive their trespasse,) what they do.
O see his goodnesse! in his greatest pain
He did not leave to intercede for man:
Even in his change, when just he was to part,
His sp'rit flew forth in pray'rs to change their heart;
And with these words resigning quietly
His soul, he who can never die, doth die.
The sunne amaz'd reins in his steeds, and shrouds
His muffled face in black condensed clouds;
Thinking it more preposterous to see
The sunne of righteousnesse eclips'd, then he.
A three houres darknesse straight invelops all
The land: the night is a night typicall,
For each houre count a day, our Saviour hath
Just so long walked in the vale of death.
Nature's turn'd topsy-turvy from her station,
Earth's fabrick mov'd with fear moves her foundation.
The rocks now that grand Rock of help is shook
Tear their hard entrails up as thunder-strook;
Mosaick rites of right with him now ending,
'Gin vail to him, the veil o'th temple rending,
The heavens above flash lightnings out of measure;
The earth reveals her own, and Gods best treasure;
The saints arise, and shew themselves abroad,
And in that shewing shew the power of God.
Yet as the holy city now sees them,
They may see those i'th' new Jerusalem;
This the Centurion sees, and, on the quaking
O'th' earth, hath fixt his faith beyond all shaking.
The Jews high-feast is nigh at hand, and they
For greater celebration of the day,
Ask't that the crucifi'd might forth with be
Dispatcht outright, and taken from the tree;
Who, t' execute this hard command were sent,
Straight brake the two thieves legs. sans complement.
Do break them. without help of legs, the one
Will make a shift to paradise to run.
But when they to our Saviour came, whose breath
Was gone, they, satisfied with his death,
Broke not a bone: the Scriptures so had spoke.
Had they broke them, they Gods decrees had broke,
Those were the marble columnes his spouse praised,
On whom the basis of the Church were raised.
But one more boldly curious then the rest,
Resolv'd to put the truth unto the test,
And thrust his spear into his side, a spout
Of bloud and water severally gush'd out;
Both streams were for mankinds eternall good,
Onely deny'd to him that made the flood.
Why cast they lots for's coat, since none would be
'Mongst them content to wear his livery?
Oh think they, clad in that same woollen coat,
Each shall a sheep be thought, and not a goat?
Alas! they can't act Saints parts; without doubt
Th' all-knowing God will find dissemblers out.
Our Lord's yet on the Crosse, but in the even
Joseph takes heart of grace, prayes to be given
To him Christs body. Pilate hears him: gives
What Judas sold, by him whose guilt he lives.
His body is embalm'd. O could there be
A sent more aromatick then was he!
Could ought more sovereign then himself be had?
Heav'ns sovereign, precious balm of Gilead.
Wrapt up in fine white sindon, which (how e're)
Cannot his whiter innocence come near.
Clothe me with that pure raiment that I may
Appearing (at the last and generall day)
Not daunted; at that great mutation
Be found to have my wedding garments on.
His tomb's prepared of no rare Architect,
With Imagery of Persian marble deckt.
What other ornament could that grave need,
Wherein our Lord did deign to lay his head.
From any former dusts pollution free;
Gods holy one must no corruption see.
But soft. I am too rash that thus dare venture
Boldly into this hallow'd place to enter.
Yet oh! e're back I step, 'tis all I crave
To leave my sins behind me in his grave.
Alas the day-star's clouded from my sight;
Alas the day! rather, alas the night!
The Sun of righteousnesse is set, and I
Groping to find the way ith' dark must cry
At once my Saviour Lord, why leav'st thou me?
The Sunne of righteousnesse is set: to rise
After repose more splendent in our eyes.
The Sun of glory's set, what should we do
But turn our glory into sadnesse too?
Set in a sea of bloud: who's he forbears
At least to bathe him in a sea of of tears?
The Sun of glory's set and I have done;
Setting a period here with him my Sun.