7. Yet may these unfledg'd griefes give fate some guesse,
These cradle-torments have their towardnesse.
8. These purple buds of blooming death may bee,15
Erst the full stature of a fatall tree.
9. And till My riper woes to age are come,
This knife may be the speare's præludium.
ON THE WOUNDS OF OUR CRUCIFIED LORD.[31]
O, these wakefull wounds of Thine!1
Are they mouthes? or are they eyes?
Be they mouthes, or be they eyne,
Each bleeding part some one supplies.
Lo! a mouth! whose full-bloom'd lips5
At too dear a rate are roses:
Lo! a blood-shot eye! that weeps,
And many a cruell teare discloses.
O, thou that on this foot hast laid
Many a kisse, and many a teare;10
Now thou shalt have all repaid,
What soe're thy charges were.