Classic Poem

Now let a sacred Trance transport thy Spirit
O Man, to that vnholy-holy Mount;
Christ -crosse supporting Mount, where He did merit
By bitter death, from death, thy Lifes remount:
Mount-Tabor All will mount to see his glorie,
But few his griefe, will mount Mount Caluarie.

There see, ah see, (though torture-tyred quight)
How He (Weake Worme) creeps vp the Hill in Haste:
Yet, lo, the ruthlesse Iewes, with maine, and might,
(Beyond His might) do lugge him to His last:
As doubting feeble Flesh would faint, and die,
To crosse their, Crosse-intended, crueltie.

Fell Enuie dies with Death, but Malice liues
In Life and Death of those shee seekes to bite:
The death of whom her, halfe dead, oft reuiues;
Yet grieues that Death hath freed them from her spight:
Then Malice doth gainst Mercie most rebell;
For shee her foes pursues past Death and Hell!

When Ionathan (all fearelesse) scal'd the Rockes
Where, charg'd he was with troupes of Philistines,
His Man him equall'd in sustaining knocks:
Then (loe) our Ionathan (charg'd with our sinnes)
Now climes vp Caluerie, to foyle our fone,
And shall we (cowards) leaue him there alone?

When Sauls bold Squire had seene his Lord to fall
Vpon his sword, he forthwith did the same;
And, rather chose death with his Generall,
Than spare his life to die with liuing shame:
Then sith our Saule falles on his Iustice Sword
For vs, wee die should, likewise, for our Lord.

Now haue they scal'd this mestiue Mountaine top,
Ore-topt with dead mens Tops and fleshlesse Shins:
(A grim aspect!) but here with ioy they hop,
Sith here their Plaies Catastrophe begins:
Among Deaths Tropheies, th' Engine of his Death,
Is laid along the Dead-Skull-paued Earth.

See, see, my Soule, (ah harke how It doth cracke!)
The Hand of Out-rage, that deglutinates
His Vesture, glu'd with gore-blood to his Backe,
Which his enfestered Sores exulcerates!
Ah see a God! or rather Graue, God knowes,
For, now more like a Graue than God he showes:

There stands He shaking in a Feauer-fit,
While the cold Aire his Wounds confrigerates;
Where on some cold Stone (faint) Hee's faine to sit,
Which to it selfe his Sores conglutinates:
The while his Tort'rers make the Mortesse ready,
To hold the Crosse, that must sustaine him, steedie.

Which beeing done, see how their Teeth they grinde,
And rudely rend, not raise, him from that Stone:
There sticke the Cataplastrums still behinde,
As proofs how they doe part this Holy-One:
They beare him to the Crosse, but so they beare him.
As in their portage they doe rather teare him.

See now thereon how they long-straught him stretcht
And first on Hand, fast to the same they naile;
Meane while hard by doth stand a ruthlesse Wretch,
That gainst this Lambe, with open mouth, doth raile:
Alas the while, what dolor is He in!
Ah now, eu'n now, sweet Christ , thy woes begin!

There with one Hand, nail'd to the Tree, he lies,
Hand-fasted so to Dolors heaui'st Hand;
The while his foes protract their Tyrranies,
That so his Crosse might still lie at a Stand:
Who fret at Time that fled, they thought, too fast
And past, in pittie, from the pittie past.

Yet that no Time might scape, without offence,
They fill his Eares with Blasphemies the while;
The while Spight studies so to plague his sense,
That ceaselesse plagues Times pittie might beguile;
While He minds nothing but their onely good,
And freely bleeds, to saue them with his blood!

His holy Heart doth ake, more for their sinne
Than for the Torments which they make it prooue:
Who opes his Heart, to take his Plaguers in,
Till he Gods plagues, by Plagues, from them remooue:
Did euer Mercie Iustice so oreflow,
To saue Iniustice, while it workes her woe?

Mercie, orewhelm'd in woe, to iustice praies
To pardon vniust damned Cruelties;
And with deep sighes, and groanes her griefes bewraies
Lest Iustice should confound her Enemies:
O Mercie infinite! how much are Wee
(Loose in our Liues, and Manners) bound to Thee?

And yet this Mercie, Patience, Grace, and Loue,
Can nought auaile, their rage to mittigate;
Who trie what paine the perfect'st flesh may prooue
Yer Paines the vital Powres quite dissipate:
Trie ye Conclusions, Diuels, on your God,
That brookes your Ierkes to free you from the Rod?

Now Time, not Mercie, mooues their Hearts of Steele
(Because the Sunne wends (mourning) to the West)
To take the other Hand like paine to feele;
Yet still prorogue the Consummatum'est:
So, to the Crosse that Hand they slowely fixe,
And still his paine with mockes and mowes they mixe.

Both Hands thus nail'd; loe, how they skip for ioy,
To see the blood come spinning from his vaines:
And for they would his sight the more annoy,
Like, worse than fiends, they triumph in his paines.
Then glorious is his Triumphs excellence,
That such spight conquers with such patience!

His Hands thus handled, then his feet they take,
And with a Naile of more than ample size,
They boare them through; which makes them so to ake,
That It wrings Water from his Manhoods Eies!
Weepe Angells, Saints, and ye Celestiall Spheares,
To see your Glories Eies, ecclipst with Teares!

Thus beeing fixt vpon the senslesse Crosse
(Howbeit it crackt in token of its cares!)
Now here, now there, the same they turne, and tosse,
Which scarse can beare That, which her Burden bears:
If Heart of Oake, with these griefes, broken be,
What Hearts haue they, that ioy the same to see?

For, loe, with ioy to see the same they hie,
While He, sweet Christ , lies nail'd amidst the Throng:
Here stands one grenning, with his necke awry;
There stands another, lolling out the Tongue:
Meanewhile, O Christ , thy paines no Tongue can tell,
Saue onely Thine, that knew'st such paines too well!

Well, yet at length his Body vp they reare,
The poize whereof, constraines the Crosse to cracke:
Ah harke (my Muse) harke, harke, how in the Aire
It groanes to feele the God of Natures wracke:
Cracke on, sweet Crosse, and call for vengeance due,
Against those Wolues which Natures God pursue.

Thus beeing rear'd, He hou ring hangs on hie
In doubt, as yet, what place in the Aier to haue;
For, now this way he reeles, and by and by
The other way, Hee's tossed, like a Waue:
The while on Dolors Deepes, in stormes of Strife,
With Armes displai'd, He swimmes to lose his Life!

Now vp He is, and past the Pikes thus farre,
As one spu'd out of Heau'n, and cast from Earth;
For Heau'n, and Earth do both against Him warre,
Who trauels now, with our Redemptions birth:
The whiles the Fiend doth tempt Him, in these woes,
That so He might that blessed Burden lose.

But now, ah now ensues a pinching paine;
For, hauiug brought him to the Sockets Brimmes,
(That should the reeling Crosse, and Him sustaine)
They iog it in, to lacerate his lymmes;
No maruell though the Temples vaile did rent,
Beeing neere such tearing of th' Omnipotent!

O Christ , my Iesus , (deere celestiall Sweet)
In this annoy, thine ease, as should appeare,
Was nought but this, to rest thee on thy feete,
When as thy Hands with hanging wearie were:
And then to ease thy nummed feet againe,
Thou mak'st thy Hands thy heauie corps sustaine.

If for thine aking Head thou seekest ease,
Then loe, a Wreath of Thornes bewraps thy Browes;
Whose piercing pricks, thy Head doe so disease,
That it confounds the same with pinching Throwes:
That Head, whose Members It exhilerates,
Now agonizing anguish macerates.

All Members feele the anguish of the Head,
In Animals whose Soules are sensitiue;
Except, through Accident, the same be dead;
But Members to reioyce, when Head doth griue
Is most vnnaturall; but Grace in this,
Makes Heads annoy become the Bodies blisse!

If towards the Heau'ns for help thou cast thine Eies,
Lo, there thou seest thy Fathers Browes to bend,
Against Mans sinne, which on thy shoulders lies,
So that he lookes more like a foe than friend,
If to the Earth, for help, thou look'st againe,
Loe, there thy foes stand prest t'increase thy paine.

In this extreame thy friends fled euery one,
Albeit thou did'st foretell they should doe so:
Onely thy Mother and thy darling Iohn ,
Stood by thee still, wringing their hands for woe:
These, blessed Paire, repaired to thee then
When thou seem'dst left of God, and loath'd of Men.

The hatefull Homicide, the damned Theefe,
Which on thy left hand hoong, derides thy pow'r;
And for thou wouldst not yeeld thy selfe reliefe
Thou couldst not; he (wretch) thought, with thought vnpure:
So, many deeme thy Members left of Thee,
When they with mortall torments martyr'd be.

But Faith is most compleate, when Sense hath nought
Whereon to giue her, but the least repose;
When Meanes, whereby her Battailes must be fought
Faile vtterly; yet, Shee no ground to loose:
This faith is worthy of the Crosse, and Crowne
Because when all is lost, shee holds her owne!

This faith the Theefe, that on thy right hand hoong
Had in full force; for, what saw he in thee,
(Saue extreame Patience in a World of wrong)
That he should thinke thee God and Man to be?
Who iustifi'd thee, to be iustifi'd,
And praid to Thee, as to Man Deified!

O thou true Theefe, more true was neuer any,
Would in thy case I were for all thy paine;
Thy paines to day, shall passe to pleasures many
Too many for mans heart to entertaine!
O blessed Theefe (so blest was neuer Theefe)
To die with him, whose deaths thy Soules reliefe!

But now, O Christ , how far'st thou all this while?
Not well, I wot, though well it be for me:
Ah looke how all thy foes doe grenne, and smile,
To see thy vile aduancement on this Tree:
Come downe, say they, and saue thy selfe, for why,
Thou art Gods Sonne, and therefore canst not die.

But, these their words are most irronicall,
Proceeding from the depth of scorne, and hate:
And all their words and deeds tyrannicall;
Vndoing all that doe thy woes abate:
O! enuious Serpents hatcht in Hell belo,
What fiend a faultlesse Soule could torture so?

Downe from the height of his exalted Crosse
He casts his daz led Eies, with motion slow,
Vpon his blessed Mother; ah how closse
Her Heart with woe is shut, to feele his wo!
His woe shee feeles; for, of her Flesh is He,
Then all His Bodies paines, Her Bodies be.

His Bodies paine, Her Soule and Body pines;
Her extreame loue in all extremitie,
His passions feele; for, such Loue nere repines
To suffer with her Obiect feelingly:
If then, Her Loues life, Death of Deaths, indures,
Iudge what a Hell of woe Her Soule immures!

Woman (quoth He) behold, behold thy Sonne!
(Thus said in few, as He had said thus much;)
Behold his end, that at thy selfe begun;
Behold his Body, that nere Filth could touch,
Is now defil'd with Blood, and festred Sores,
Both which (thou seest) that Body all begores!

Behold thy Sonne! now nail'd unto a Tree.
Whom, to thy Breast, of yore, thy loue did naile
Behold his Head, which oft was wound by Thee,
Now Thornes, sharp set, doe wound, and sore assaile!
Those Limbes, which thou hast milk-bath'd on thy Lap,
Are now all ore besmear'd with Bloody Pappe.

Ah! see those Eies, in which thou woont st to prie,
As if therein thou saw'st a World of grace!
Now see them (sinking) stand, as Death stood by,
Whose gastly presence inserenes my face.
Woman, behold thy Sonne! plagu'd thus for this,
That Hee, for Mans deere loue, his IESVS is.

O! Heart-strings hold, or rather Heart-strings breake;
What Heart can hold, all this to see and heare?
Then can a Womans Heart (by nature weake)
The heauie weight of Gods fell vengeance beare?
The plagues he felt, Gods wrath for sinne inflicted,
For which, shee's fellow-feelingly afflicted!

O blessed virgin Marie! (holy Mould
That bare the blessed fruit of Iesse-flow'r)
Sith Grace, gainst Nature, made thy Heart to hold,
That must be full of Grace, so full of Pow'r!
O let Eternitie thy Lauds enshrine
Within all Mouthes, or Humane, or Diuine.

And well mai'st Thou be called full of Grace,
Sith that the God of Grace thy Wombe did fill!
And blessed art Thou, for that blessed Case,
Among all Men and Women of good will:
For, they must euer blesse Thee, that beleeue
Thou gau'st him Flesh, by which their Spirits doe liue.

O Starre! giuing light, for light, to Iacobs starre,
Shine Thou with light translucent in that Spheare
His Spheare surrounds, and mooueth without iarre;
In that immediate Orbe to His appeare
A glorious Lampe, to lend all Women light,
That walke, or wander in this worlds darke Night.

Let neuer Mouth be found so full of Gall,
As to exaugurate thy blessed Name;
But be Thou blest with praise perpetuall;
And let both Heau'n, and Earth sound out the same:
Sith Thou bar'st Him, that on his Body bare
The Pennance of our Sinne, thy cause of care.

My Mother, and thine owne (quoth He againe)
O Iohn behold, and, take thou mine as thine;
Be thou Her sonne, in all that doth pertaine
To all those blessed Sonnes, whose Sire is mine:
In loue, in care, in diligence, and dutie,
Be thou Her Sonne, sith this to Sonnes is sutie.

Comfort Her Heart, Her woe-crosse-wounded Heart;
Shee is a Wo-man, Man asswage Her Woe
With Manly Comforts; thou more cheerefull art,
Although thy Gall be full of griefe, I know,
Yet being strong, thou better mai'st sustaine It,
And help Her Heart, with Griefe split, to containe It!

You that passe by this place, behold me too,
And see if any paines be like to mine!
Read on my Head what I was borne vnto;
A CROWNE: and yet my Crowne my Head doth pine:
Witnes the Holes the same makes in my Browes,
And witnes That, that from those Fountaines flowes.

See, see ah see, how I, that made this All,
Am made (farre worse than All!) A meere Offence!
Looke in my face, if thou canst for thy Gall,
And seest ought there, like me, but patience?
For, there thou seest (bath'd in sanguine streames)
Where Paine, and Patience sits in high'st extreames!

O you that passe by me, see how I hang
In torment such, as no flesh ere did feele;
As if all paines, in one, were in each pang;
As if the Serpent more than stung my Heele:
The ease I haue, is Worlds of all disease;
Sith Man shall fare the better, farre, for These.

Number my Bones; for, now they may be so,
(Sith bare they be) and tell how many must
Make vp the true Anatomie of Wo;
For, in me you shall find that figure iust:
Sith PAINE was neuer proud of her degree,
Vntill, in Purple, shee was crown'd in me!

You that doe passe by me, see how my Palmes
For you are rent, and all their sinewes crackt;
O giue me then, at least, your Pitties Almes;
Sith for your Treasons (ah) I thus am Rackt:
Then, sith this Racke, from wracks doth set you free,
Can you doe lesse than loue the Racke for me?

My Paines not onely free you from annoy
(Yea, such annoy, as no thought can conceiue)
But make you owe, withall, all endlesse ioy,
Which, for your loue, in pangs of Death I giue:
Then, O deere Pilgrims, pittie you my paine,
And loue, O loue me, lest I die in vaine.

You that doe passe by me, my Feet behold,
(That in the way of Sinners neuer stood)
How they my Body beare, not as they should,
Yet as they should they beare It, for your good:
Then, wash my Feet (with Marie ) with one Teare,
Sith all your sinnes, they, with my Body, beare!

And see if you can any place espie
About that Body, free from Wounds, or Bloes;
If not, then pittie me, for whom I die,
Pittie, O pittie, my vnpittied woes:
But, if you cannot, woe be to me then;
For, I had nere felt woe, but for you Men.

The Fountaine of my Blood (my Liuer's) drie;
In vaine my thirstie Veines doe sucke the same:
No burning Cole can be more hot than I;
For, vehement paine, doth all my parts inflame:
In eu'ry Nerue, like wild fire, it doth rage,
Without one drop of Mercie It to swage.

See, see how Anguish makes my Soule to beat
My panting sides, for holding her in paine;
Who seeks (poore Soule) to shift her wearie Seat,
Which plagues her more, the more shee toiles, in vaine:
Sith thus in Loue, for Man, sh' endures this doule,
Then, in loue, pittie (Man) my painefull Soule.

And let it grieue thy Soule, my Soule to grieue,
That thus doth languish for the loue of thee:
O let not thine, with mine vnkindly striue;
But that, but one Soule be twixe thee, and me:
And let true Loue, in Deed One, both vs, make;
That am thus more than broken, for thy sake!

The time hath bin (as knowes ETERNITIE)
I rid vpon the glorious Cherubins;
And in my Hand held all Felicitie;
That now am made a Packe-horse for thy Sinnes!
I was, as God doth know, high as the High'st,
Till I, for thee, tooke on me to be Christ

There was a Time, I was; what was I not
That was not more than infinitly blest?
But now thy Curse is fall'n vnto my Lot,
And all to turne thy Curse vnto the best.
I giue my life for thine (as thou do'st proue)
Nay, Heau'n for Hell, and all but for thy loue!

The Time hath bin when Angels compast me,
Still chaunting Hymnes in honour of my name;
But, now am compast with a Company
Of wretched Wormes, that gnaw mine Honours fame:
Which fame to me, (witnesse my woes) is deere?
Then iudge what 'tis such blasphemies to heare!

No Sense, Pow'r, Part, in Body or in Soule,
Nor parts of those Parts, but, in all extreames,
Tormented are, in part, and in the whole;
And quite orewhelm'd with diuine furies streames!
Sith then, O Loue, I am thus plagu'd for Thee,
Pittie, O pittie, (Deere Loue) pittie me.

Sith God hath left me, as I Heau'n haue left;
And PAINE hath put me where her life doth lie;
Nay, sith my selfe, am of my selfe bereft;
Sith beeing LIFE, to giue thee Life, I die:
Sith, this , and more than this , is done for thee,
Pittie (Deere Loue) in Loue, O pittie me.

O! NATVRE, carefull Mother of vs all,
How canst thou liue, to see thy God thus die?
To heare his Paines, thus, thus for Pittie call,
And yet to find no grace in Pitties Eie!
Thy Frame, deere Nature, should be quite dissolu'd
Or thy whole Powers into Teares resolu'd!

His Anguish hauing this, in silence, said,
See, now, how He sore labours for the last;
The last deneere of Sinnes debt beeing defraid,
It now remaines that Death the Reck'ning cast:
But, heauy Death, because the Summe is great,
Takes yet some longer time to doe the feat.

But now, my Soule, here let vs make a Station,
To view perspicuously this sad aspect;
And, through the Iacobs -staffe of Christ his passion
Lets spie, with our right Eie, his Paines effect:
That in the Lab'rinth of his Languishment
We may, though lost therein, find solacement.

The Mind, still crost with Heart-tormenting Crosses;
Here, finds a Crosse to keepe such Crosses out;
Here, may the Loser find more than his losses;
If Faith beleeue, what, here, Faith cannot doubt:
For, all his Wounds, with voice vociferant,
Crie out they can, more than supply each want!

This holy Crosse is the true Tutament,
Protecting all ensheltred by the same;
And though Disasters face be truculent,
Yet will this Engine set it faire in frame:
This is the feeble Soules nere-failing Crouch,
And grieued Bodies hard, but wholesom'st, Couch.

Looke on this Crosse, when thou art stung with Care
It cures forth-with, like Moises metl'd Snake:
What can afflict thee, when thy passions are
Pattern'd by His, that Paines, Perfections make?
Wilt be so God vnlike, to see thy God
Embrace the Whip, and thou abhorre the Rod?

See, see, the more than all soule-slaying Paines
Which more than all, for Thee and all he prou'd
What Man, except a God he be sustaines
Such Hels of paine for Man, with Mind vnmou'd:
What Part (as erst was sed) of all his Parts
But tortur'd is with smarts, exceeding smarts!

His Vaines, and Nerues, that channellize his Blood,
By violent Conuulsions all confracted;
His Bones, and Ioynts, from whence they whilome stood,
With Rackings, quite disloked, and distracted:
His Head, Hands, Feet, yea all from Top to Toe,
Make but th' imperfect Corps, of perfect Woe!

O that mine Head, were Head of seau n-fold Nyle,
That from the same might flowe great Floods of Teares,
Therein to bathe his bloodlesse Body, while
His Blood effuz'd, in sight confuz'd, appeares:
Then should my Teares egelidate his Gore,
That from his Blood-founts, for me, flow'd before.

O burning Loue! O large, and lasting Loue!
What Angels tongue thy limits can describe?
That do'st extend thy selfe all Loue aboue,
For which all praise, Loue ought to Thee ascribe:
Sith skarce the Tongue of Gods Humanitie,
Can well describe this boundlesse Charitie!

Why doe I liue? alas why doe I liue?
Why is not my Heart Loue-sicke to the Death?
But, shall I liue, my louing Loue to grieue?
O no, O rather let me lose my Breath.
Then take me to thee, Loue, O let me die
Onely but for thy Loue, and Sinne to flie.

Stay me with Flagons, with Fruit comfort me;
Now I am sicke, Heart-sicke of sweetest loue;
Then let me liue (sweet Loue) alone in Thee;
For, Loue desires in That, belou'd, to moue:
I liue, and moue in Thee; but yet, O yet,
I liue to moue; that is, to make Thee fret?

Shall Fleshlesse frailtie, O! shall euer Flesh
Extercorate her filth Thee to annoy?
Or shall the same be euer found so nesh
As not't endure Paine-temporall, that light Toy?
The Heau'ns fore-fend that Flesh should so offend,
Sith God, in Flesh, was wrackt, Flesh marr'd to mend.

Looke Turkes, and Pagans on this Spectacle;
See, through the same, the errors ye are in:
This is true Faiths intire Subtectacle;
Propitiatorie Sacrifice for Sinne:
This is God crucifi'd, which ye despise
Because His Manhoods meekenesse hurts your Eies.

Tell me would euer Man but God, and Man,
Freely, of selfe accord, accord to beare
Gods Angers plagues, for Man, which no Man can
That on this God and Man inflicted were?
None but a God, whose Pow'r is infinite,
Can brooke the paines that are indefinite!

Let goe his Workes, meere Metaphysicall,
Which World will witnesse, though the World doth hate him,
(That might suffice to prooue Him God in All)
And looke but on the price his friends did rate him,
With all the plagues his powres, for Foes, sustaine
You must confesse 'tis God that bides such paine,
And that your faith is false, and Gospell vaine.

Who ioy vnmeasurable can beare, vnioy'd,
And Griefe intollerable sustaine, vngrieu'd,
Must needs be God; that is with neither cloy'd,
And of his grace, by neither, is depriu'd:
This is that God, that All-supporting Pow'r,
Our Faiths Foundation, and the Churches Tow'r!

To thee my God, my Lord, my Iesus Christ ,
Will I ascribe all Glorie, Pow'r, and Grace;
Thee will I serue (say Pagans what they list)
And, with the Armes of Loue, thee still embrace:
That for my loue, in loue, do'st deigne to die
This death of shame, my life to glorifie.

O let the Summe of all, be all and some,
Comprised in thy Heau'n-surmounting praise
That wast , that art , and shalt be , aye to come,
The Subiect of thy Subiects thankfull Laies:
Who, with aduanced voice, doe Carroll forth,
The praise of thine inestimable Worth!

And sith thy Soule, for me, is so conflicted,
My Soule, to thee, in griefes, shall be affected;
And, for thy Flesh, through loue, is so afflicted,
My Flesh for thy high loue, shall be deiected:
Soule, Flesh, and Spirit, for thy Spirit, Flesh, and Soule,
Shall (longing) pine, in Flesh-repining Dole.

Mine onely Schoole shall be Mount Caluerie,
The Pulpit but the Crosse; And Teacher none
But the meere Crucifixe to mortifie;
No Letters but thy blessed Wounds alone:
No Commaes but thy Stripes; no Periods
But thy Nailes, Crowne of Thornes, Speare, Whips, & Rods.

None other Booke but thy vnclasped side
(Wherein's contain'd all skils Angelical)
None other Lesson but Christ crucifi'd
Will I ere learne: for, that is all in all:
Wherein Selfe-Curiositie may find
Matter to please the most displeased Mind.

Here by our Masters Nakednesse, we learne
What Weeds to weare: by his Thorne-crowned head,
How to adorne vs; and, we may discerne
By his most bitter Gall, how to be fed:
How to reuenge, by praying for his foes;
And, lying on his Crosse, how to repose.

For, when we read him ouer, see we shall,
His Head with Thornes, his Eares with Blasphemies;
His Eies, with Teares; his honnied Mouth with Gall;
With Wounds, his Flesh; his Bones with Agonies
All full: and yet (withall) to heare him say,
So Man might liue, he would thus languish aye!
O Worke without Example! And O Grace
Without deseruing! Loue! O largest loue
Surmounting measure! that for Wormes so base
And basely bad, such Hels of woes doth proue!
Had we bin friends, what would he then haue done,
That, beeing his foes, no woes for vs doth shunne?

For, lo, he hangs in Torments most extreame,
Wrapt in the Intrals of ten thousand Euils:
While ( Christ ) thy foes thy noble name blaspheme,
And raue against thee like out-ragious Diuels:
From out their banefull Bulkes all spight they spue,
Till PAINE did Hydra-headed Paine subdue!