the Sacrifice (continued)

The Jews accuse me with despitefulnesse; 
and vying malice with my gentleness, 

pick quarrels with the only happinesse:

Was ever grief like mine?

I answer nothing, but with patience prove

If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love.

But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?

Was ever grief like mine?

My silence rather doth augment their crie;

My dove doth back into my bosome flie,

Because the raging waters still are high:

Was ever grief like mine?

Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucifie:

It is not fit he live a day, they crie,

Who cannot live lesse than eternally:

Was ever grief like mine?

Pilate a stranger holdeth off; but they, 

Mine own deare people cry, Away, away,

With noises confused frighting the day:

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet still they shout, and crie, and stop their eares,

Putting my life among their sinnes and feares,

And therefore wish my bloud on them and theirs:

Was ever grief like mine?

See how spite cankers things. These words aright

Used, and wished, are the whole world's light:

But honey is their gall, brightness their night:

Was ever grief like mine?

They choose a murderer, and all agree

In him to do themselves a courtesie;

 For it was their own cause who killed me:

Was ever grief like mine?

And a seditious murderer he was:

But I the Prince of Peace; peace that doth passe

All understanding, more than heav'n doth glasse:

Was ever grief like mine?

Why, Cesar is their only king, not I"

He clave the stonie rock, when they were drie;

But surely not their hearts, as I will trie:

Was ever grief like mine?

Ah! how they scourge me! yet my tendernesse

Doubles each lash: and yet their bitternesse

Windes up my grief to a mysteriousness;

Was ever grief like mine?

They buffet me, and box me as the list,

Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist,

And never yet, whom I would punish, miss'd:

Was ever grief like mine?

Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise;

Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies,

Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies:

Was ever grief like mine?

My face they cover, though it be divine.

As Moses face was veiled, so is mine,

Lest on the double-dark souls either shine:

Was ever grief like mine?

Servants and abjects flout me; they are wittie:

Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie.

So they in me denie themselves all pitie:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now I am deliver'd unto death,

Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,

That he before me well-nigh suffereth:

Was ever grief like mine?

Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept

When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept:

Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:

Was ever grief like mine?

More to come......