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SANCTA MARIA DOLORVM, OR THE

MOTHER OF SORROWS.

A pathetical Descant upon the deuout Plainsong of

Stabat Mater Dolorosa.

1.

5

In shade of Death's sad tree

Stood dolefull shee.
Ah she ! now by none other
Name to be known, alas, but Sorrow's Mother,

Before her eyes,
Her's, and the whole World's ioyes,
Hanging all torn she sees; and in His woes
And paines, her pangs and throes :
Each wound of His, from euery part,
All, more at home in her one heart.

IO

1 Appeared originally in ‘Steps' of 1648 (pp. 7-9): reprinted in 1652 and 1670. As before, our text is that of 1652 (pp. 55-61); but see Notes and Illustrations at close. The illustration, engraved by MESAGER, is reproduced in our illustrated quarto edition, G.

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SINCTA MARIA DOLORVM.

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What kind of marble, than,
Is that cole mani

Who can look on and see,
Nor kerp such noble sorrowes company?

Sure cu'en from you

(Mly flints) some drops are que, To see so many unkind sworils contest

So fast for one soft brest : While with a faithfull, mutuall floud, llor cyes

bleed teares, IIis wounds weep bloodl.

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() costly intercourse
Of deaths, and worse-

Diuided loues. While Son and mother
Discourse alternate wounds to one another,
Quick deaths that grow

25 And gather, as they come and goe : llis nailes write swords in her, which soon her heart

layes back, with more then their own smart. ller swords, still growing with His pain, Turn speares, and straight come home again.

30

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35

Of borrow'd sins; and swimme In woes that were not made for Him.

Ah ! hard command

Of loue! Here must she stand,
Charg'd to look on, and with a stedfast ey

See her life dy :
Leauing her only so much breath
As serues to keep aliue her death.

40

O mother turtle-doue!
Soft sourse of loue !

That these dry lidds might borrow
Somthing from thy full seas of sorrow!
O in that brest

45 Of thine (the noblest nest Both of Loue's fires and flouds) might I recline

This hard, cold heart of mine!
The chill lump would relent, and proue
Soft subject for the seige of Loue.

50

VI.

O teach those wounds to bleed
In me; me, so to read

This book of loues, thus writ
In lines of death, my life may coppy it

With loyall cares.
O let me, here, clair shares !

55

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