Classic Poem

Now , Eie of Sp'rite, behold this Spectacle;
Christs Crosse him speed, Crosse on his Backe He beares;
That Tree, (that Soule-refreshing Vmbracle
Together with our Sinne) His shoulders teares:
" When Crosse, and Sinne, and Gods most heauie hate
" Depend on Flesh, they Flesh doe lacerate!

Ah! see how th' All-supporting shoulders bow
Vnder this Burden most importable!
And, how his Legs do double, as they goe;
As forc'd to beare much more than they are able:
(Disabled through our frailtie) lo, how He
Yeelds to th' oppression of this yeelding Tree!

Hee, all whose life was nothing but a Crosse
Of all Soule-vexing Crosses, life to wracke;
Those, by retaile he had, but This, in grosse,
Is laid on him; so, quite to breake his Backe:
Backe-broken loe, He wends, with these graue freights,
To cast this Crosse-like Anchor in Deaths Streights

No step He treads, but to those Streights they tend;
Crossed with Christs -Crosse, or a Crosse per se .
Hee Mutes, and Consonants did adde to th' end:
His Mothers bitter teares the Liquids be:
The Iewes the Vowels are, that spell his woe
That life expels; These make the Christ -crosse Row!

See how the sweat fals from his bloodlesse Browes,
Which doth illiquefact the clotted Gore:
His Burden paines him so with pinching Throwes,
That (lab'ring) loe, he faints with trauell sore:
His corp'rall powres annihilated quite
(With Paines incursions) loe yeeld now out-right.

Now at a Stand He staies yet hardly stands;
For, bloodlesse, breathlesse, powrelesse, is his Body:
Now faints that Pow'r that Heau'n and Earth commands;
His Body bloodlesse all, and yet all bloody;
Drawne out by boyst'rous Blowes sanguifiolent,
Which make him stand with Body double bent!

O see my Soule, ah cast thy carefull Eie
Vpon this Miracle-surmounting Wonder!
The Body of thy God is wrencht awry,
And double bow'd this massie Burden vnder!
Is He made crooked that was euer streight?
He is so made, but made so most vnright

Ah see how his most holy Hand relies
Vpon his knees, to under-prop his Charge:
Now Simon-Cyrene help, or els he dies,
The Crosse hath broke his Backe, it is too large:
Then, take It off, lest Malice be preuented,
And He die yer fell Furie be contented.

Weepe Daughters of Ierusalem amaine,
Here, wash his wearie Body with your Teares:
Though He, in Loue, doth will you them refraine,
Yet sith He, for your Loue, this Burden beares,
Help, with your sorrow, to condole his griefe
For, Mates in Moane, yeeld Miserie reliefe.

Weep Ioy and Mirth, although it crosse your kind
To see your kind Lord thus vnkindly Crost:
Crost all, in all; in Life, Death, Body, Mind;
But, crost least in his Crosse, that crost him most:
For that, though cruell, most did him relieue
Sith it did end, the Deaths, that Life did giue.

It's mercie the condemned, straight to rid
Out of the paines, to which condemn'd they be;
Christs cursed Crosse then shew this mercie did;
For which ere since, it's call'd a blessed Tree!
Where Paine, it selfe, doth pittie more than Men
Who will not pittie there, the Pained then?

It's sed, the longer that the world doth weare
The worse It is; the last Daies are the worst:
But, these last Times, though bad, doe nothing beare
That can, so martyr ought, that Nature nurst:
And did not Truth, it selfe, the same avow,
Who would beleeue this Tragedie were true?

Then who's a Particle of highest Pow're,
That will not weepe to see It brought so low?
What Eies so Gorgoniz'd, that can endure,
To see the All-vpholder forc'd to bow?
Then, sith Hee's bow'd that canopi'd the skie,
Let Earth in center of her Center lie;

Dismount your tow'ring Thoughts, aspiring Minds;
Vnplume their wings in flight pennipotent;
Sith Hee that flees on wing of swiftest Winds,
And with Heau'ns Monarch is equipolent,
Deignes to detrude his Super-excellence
So low, to checke base Earths magnificence.

O thou that back'st the Sun-bright Cherubins,
And gallop'st ore the glitt'ring Lamps of Heau'n,
Behold thy Sonne sole Lord of Seraphins,
Humbled to Earth; nay, with the Earth made eu'n!
O let his deiect highest Lowlinesse,
Our pride, and thy fell plagues, for pride, suppresse.

Remount vs by His fall, from whence we fell;
He's fall'n in't hands of Synne, of Griefes the Ground:
Those selfe same Hands, threw'vs from Heau'n to Hell;
Yet by's hard fall, O let vs backe rebound:
And for we are the Mammothrepts of Sinne,
Crosse vs with Christ , to weane our ioyes therein.
Vpon this Stand of Christ still could I stand,
To view, with Pitties Eies His Wondrous plight:
My Muse is grauell'd here in Silos Sand;
And all profunditie orewhelmes Her Spright,
That Weaknesse so should crosse th' Almighties Will,
As prest to goe, yet opprest standeth still!