Oh all ye, who passe by, whose eyes and minde

To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde;

To me, who took eyes that I might you finde:

Was ever grief like mine?

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare,

Though he had all I had, did not forbeare

To sell me also, and to put me there:

Was ever grief like mine?

For thirtie pence he did my death devise,

Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,

Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:

Was ever grief like mine?

Therefore my soul melts, and my hearts deare treasure

Drops bloud (the onely beads) my words to measure:

O let this cup passe, if it be thy pleasure:

Was ever grief like mine?

These drops being temper'd with a sinners tears,

A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres:

Curing all wounds, but mine; all, but my fears:

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet my Disciples sleep: I cannot gain

One houre of watching; but their drowsie brain

Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:

Was ever grief like mine?

Arise, arise, they come. Look how they runne.

Alas! what haste they make to be undone!

How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne!

Was ever grief like mine?

With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,

Who am the way of truth, the true relief;

Most true to those, who are my greatest grief:

Was ever grief like mine?

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse?

Canst thou finde hell about my lips? and misse

Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse?

Was ever grief like mine?

···

O all ye who passe by, behold and see;

Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree;

The tree of life to all, but onely me:

Was ever grief like mine?

Lo, here I hang, charg'd with a world of sinne,

The greater world o’ th’ two; for that came in

By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

Was ever grief like mine?

Such sorrow, as if sinfull man could feel,

Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,