My face they cover, though it be divine. Left on their double-dark fouls either shine: Servants and abjects flout me; they are witty: Was ever grief like mine? And now I am deliver'd unto death, Which each one calls for fo with utmost breath, That he before me well-nigh fsuffereth : Was ever grief like mine? Weep not, dear friends, fince I for both have wept, The foldiers led me to the common hall; Then with a scarlet robe they me array; Was ever grief like mine? Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear; So fits the earth's great curfe in Adam's fall From the earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall: Then with the reed they gave to me before, Was ever grief like mine? They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail, king: I am the floor, the fink, where they it fling: Yet fince man's fceptres are as frail as reeds, Was ever grief like mine? The foldiers alfo fpit upon that face Which Angels did defire to have the grace, Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout, They lead me in once more, and putting then Was ever grief like mine? And now weary of sport, glad to engross Was ever grief like mine? My cross I bear myself, until I faint: Was ever grief like mine? O all ye who pass by, behold and fee: Man ftole the fruit, but I must climb the tree; Was ever grief like mine? Lo, here I hang, charged with a world of fin, The greater world o' the two; for that came in By words, but this by forrow I must win: Was ever grief like mine? Such forrow, as if finful man could feel, But, O my God, my God! why leavest thou me, Never was grief like mine. Shame tears my foul, my body many a wound; Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound; Reproaches, which are free, while I am bound: Was ever grief like mine? Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down. Alas! I did fo, when I left my crown And father's fmile for you, to feel his frown: Was ever grief like mine? In healing not myself, there doth confist Was ever grief like mine? Betwixt two thieves I spend my utmost breath, Alas! what have I ftolen from you? death: Was ever grief like mine? A king my title is, prefix'd on high; Yet by my subjects I'm condemn'd to die Was ever grief like mine? They gave me vinegar mingled with gall, But more with malice: yet, when they did call, With Manna, Angels' food, I fed them all: Was ever grief like mine? They part my garments, and by lot dispose Nay, after death their spite shall further go; Was ever grief like mine? But now I die; now all is finish'd. My woe, man's weal: and now I bow my head: Only let others fay, when I am dead, Never was grief like mine. 5. The Thanksgiving. H King of grief! (a title strange, yet true, Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee, Shall I weep blood? why, thou hast wept such store, That all thy body was one door. Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, fold? 'Tis but to tell the tale is told. My God, my God, why doft thou part from me? But how then shall I imitate thee, and Copy thy fair, though bloody hand? Surely I will revenge me on thy love, And try who shall victorious prove. If thou doft give me honour; men shall fee, |