In sorrow deepe, I wake, I sleepe with griefe my Hart opprest;
My Watry eyes like winter skies bedew my mournefull breast.
For when I see my love for mee, in flames of love to burne,
My Lord, my Love, my God above, and why should I not mourne?

With feete, and hands transfixed hee stands uppon a fatall beame;
And from his side a wound most wide poures out a bloddie streame.
A peircinge Crowne his head pulls downe, his face quite wanne doth turne
He for my sake these paines did take, and why should I not mourne?

While in this paine, he did remaine, his drink was mixt with Gall.
His Corps lay bare, his Clothes they share, each as by lott did fall.
His Foes about did laugh and shout and at his vertues spurne,
Thus was his breath shutt up by death, and why should I not Mourne?

The earth did quake, the rockes did shake, and rented all in sunder.
The Corps from Graves and hollow Caves arose to see this wonder.
The sunne so bright forsooke his light and all most wanne did turne
Thus heaven and earth lament his death, and why should I not mourne?

Loe when I see uppon a Tree his breathless Body lye,
I grieve, I groane, I sigh, I moane, I payne, I Faint, I dye.
For thee Alone: my life being gone untill thou backe returne
In endlesse greife without reliefe I'll never cease to mourne.