_The blind men having received their sight follow Christ._
See Christ with outstretcht hand new stars create, Which on that hand with due observance wait. That hand, sure, is their heaven: these stars are they Which He will hold in His right hand one day. R. WI.
Quid te, quid jactas alienis fructibus, arbor? Quid tibi cum foliis non, sycomore, tuis? Quippe istic ramo qui jam tibi nutat ab alto, Mox e divina Vite racemus erit.
{ Tipt' epikompazeis keneon xeinô de te karpô, Kai phyllois semnê mê, sykomôre, teois? Kai gar hod' ekkrêmnês sou nyn meteôros ap' ernous, Ampelou ho kladôn essetai ouraniou.}
Why of strange fruits dost boast, O sycamore? Of leaves not thine who gave thee such a store? He who waves to and fro on bough of thine, A cluster soon will be of the True Vine. R. WI.
_On our crucified Lord naked and bloody._
Th' have left Thee naked, Lord: O that they had! This garment too I would they had deny'd. Thee with Thyselfe they have too richly clad, Opening the purple wardrobe of Thy side. O never could bee found garments too good For Thee to weare, but these of Thine own blood.
Could not once blinding me, cruell, suffice? When first I look't on thee, I lost mine eyes.
_Upon Ford's two Tragedyes, 'Love's Sacrifice' and 'The Broken Heart.'_
Thou cheat'st us, Ford; mak'st one seeme two by art: What is Love's Sacrifice but The Broken Heart?
_Vpon the Faire Ethiopian, sent to a gentlewoman._
Lo here the faire Chariclea, in whom strove So false a fortune and so true a love! Now after all her toyles by sea and land, O may she but arrive at your white hand! Her hopes are crown'd; onely she feares that than Shee shall appeare true Ethiopian.
I would be married, but I'de have no wife: I would be married to a single life.
High-mounted on an ant, Nanus the tall Was throwne, alas, and got a deadly fall; Vnder th' unruly beast's proud feet he lies All torne: with much adoe yet ere he dyes Hee straines these words: Base Envy, doe laugh on: Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaethon.
What, Mars his sword? faire Cytherea, say, Why art thou arm'd so desperately to-day? Mars thou hast beaten naked; and, O then, What needst thou put on armes against poore men?
Pallas saw Venus arm'd, and straight she cry'd: Come if thou dar'st; thus, thus let us be try'd. Why, foole! saies Venus, thus provok'st thou mee, That being nak't, thou know'st could conquer thee?