O’ the passion of God, yonder is a heavy court:
Some weeps, some wails, and some make great sport.
Lord Smirdis by Cruelty and Murder is slain;
But, Jesus! for want of him, how some do complain!
If I should have had a thousand pound, I could not forbear weeping.
Now Jesus have his blessed soul in keeping!
Ah good lord to think on him, how it doth me grieve!
I cannot forbear weeping, ye may me believe.
[Weep.
O my heart! how my pulses do beat: