My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Mofes' face was veiled, so is mine,

Left on their double-dark fouls either shine:
Was ever grief like mine?

Servants and abjects flout me; they are witty:
Now prophefy who ftrikes thee, is their ditty.
So they in me deny themselves all pity :

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,
When all my tears were blood, the while you flept:
Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept :
Was ever grief like mine?

The foldiers led me to the common hall;
There they deride me, they abuse me all :
Yet for twelve heavenly legions I could call:
Was ever grief like mine?

Then with a scarlet robe they me array;
Which shews my blood to be the only way,
And cordial left to repair man's decay:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear;
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,
Though I my vine planted and water'd there:
Was ever grief like mine?

So fits the earth's great curfe in Adam's fall
Upon my head; fo I remove it all

From the earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:
Was ever grief like mine?

Then with the reed they gave to me before,
They strike my head, the rock from whence all store
Of heavenly bleffings iffue evermore :

Was ever grief like mine?

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail, king:
Whatever fcoffs or fcornfulness can bring,

I am the floor, the fink, where they it fling:
Was ever grief like mine?

Yet fince man's fceptres are as frail as reeds,
And thorny all their crowns, bloody their weeds;
I, who am truth, turn into truth their deeds:

Was ever grief like mine?

The foldiers alfo fpit upon that face

Which Angels did defire to have the grace,
And Prophets, once to fee, but found no place:
Was ever grief like mine?

Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout,
Who Crucify him, cry with one strong shout.
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:
Was ever grief like mine?

They lead me in once more, and putting then
Mine own clothes on, they lead me out again.
Whom devils fly, thus is he toff'd of men:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now weary of sport, glad to engross
All spite in one, counting my life their lofs,
They carry me to my most bitter cross :

Was ever grief like mine?

My cross I bear myself, until I faint:
Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,
The decreed burden of each mortal Saint:

Was ever grief like mine?

O all ye who pass by, behold and fee:

Man ftole the fruit, but I must climb the tree;
The tree of life to all, but only me:

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,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,
Till all were melted, though he were all steel.
Was ever grief like mine?

But, O my God, my God! why leavest thou me,
The Son, in whom thou doft delight to be?
My God, my God

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
All that falvation, which ye now refift;
Your fafety in my fickness doth fubfift:

Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two thieves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for fome robbery fuffereth.

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
A fervile death in fervile company:

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
My coat, the type of love, which once cured those
Who fought for help, never malicious foes:
Was ever grief like mine?

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;
For they will pierce my fide, I full well know;
That as fin came, fo Sacraments might flow:

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,
To thee of all Kings only due)

Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee,
Who in all grief preventest me?

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?
Was fuch a grief as cannot be.
Shall I then fing, skipping, thy doleful story,
And fide with thy triumphant glory?
Shall thy strokes be my stroking? thorns, my flower?
Thy rod, my pofy? crofs, my bower?

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 wealth; I will restore
All back unto thee by the poor.

If thou doft give me honour; men shall fee,
The honour doth belong to thee.