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O grant, sweet Goodness, that one eye may
Upon the dumb Devil cast out, and the slanderous Jews put to silence.
WO devils at one blow Thou hast laid flat,
A speaking devil this, a dumb one that;
That th' one spake, or that th' other held his peace?
And a certain Priest coming that way, looked on him, and passed by.
HY dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by,
Handling and turning them with an
The calm that cools thine eye does shipwreck mine, for O, Unmoved to see one wretched is to make him so!
Blessed be the Paps which Thou hast sucked.
He'll have His teat ere long, a bloody one,The mother then must suck the Son.
To Pontius washing his blood-stained Hands.
That thou need’st heap
Of honest parentage, of unstain'd race,
that she appears
Nothing but tears ; Each drop's a tear that weeps for her own waste.
Hark, how at every touch she does complain her! Hark, how she bids her frighted drops make haste,
And with sad murmurs chides the hands that stain her! Leave, leave for shame, or else, good judge, decree, What water shall wash this, when this hath washed thee.
The life thou took'st from him unto his death. Vain man! the stones that on his tomb do lie Keep but the score of them that made him die,
Upon the Infant Martyrs.
Makes me doubt if Heaven will gather
Verily I say unto you, Ye shall weep and lament.
Thou, Thou, dear Lord, even Thou alone,
weep, and weep, and will therefore
Upon our Lord's last comfortable Discourse with His Disciples.
LL Hybla's honey, all that sweetness can, Flows in thy song, O fair, O dying swan! Yet is the joy I take in't small or none; It is too sweet to be a long-lived one.
Dives askcing a Drop .
DROP, one drop, how sweetly one fair drop Would tremble on my pearl-tipp'd finger's top! My wealth is gone, O, go it where it will, Spare this one jewel, I'll be Dives still!
Give to Cæsar
And to God
LL we have is God's, and yet
Nor hath God a thinner share,
Whatever Cæsar's payments are;
All is God's; and yet, 'tis true,
But now they have seen and hated.
They saw Thee not, that saw and hated Thee:
No, no, they saw Thee not, O Life! O Love ! Who saw aught in Thee that their hate could move ?
Upon the Crown of Thorns, taken from our Blessed.
Lord's Head, all bloody. NOW'ST thou this, soldier ? 'tis a much changed plant, which yet
Thyself didst set. 'Tis changed indeed; did Autumn e'er such beauties bring
To shame his Spring ?* O! who so hard an husbandman did ever find
A soil so kind ? Is not the soil a kind one which returns
Roses for thorns ?
She began to wash His Feet with Tears and wipe them
with the Hairs of her Head.
that again. This flame thus quench'd hath brighter beams, This flood thus stainèd fairer streams.
• These two lines are not in the version of the Paris edition of 1652,
On St. Peter cutting off Malchus's Ear.
Well for thyself, I mean, not for thy Lord.
To strike at ears is to take heed there be
The world will love its darkness still ;
I doubt though, when the world's in hell,
I am ready not only to be bound but to die.
At those hard words man's cowardice calls fears.
On St. Peter casting away his Nets at our Saviour's
To cast thy nets on all occasions well.