Non magis hic loquitur, quam tacet ille tuas.

_Upon the dumbe devill cast out, and the slanderous Jewes put to silence._

Two devills at one blow Thou hast laid flat; A speaking devill this, a dumbe one that.

Was't Thy full victorie's fairer increase, That th' one spake, or that th' other held his peace? CR.

CLXV.

_Dicebant, Vere hic est Propheta._ Joan. vi. 14.

Post tot quae videant, tot quae miracula tangant, Haec et quae gustent, Christe, dabas populo: Jam Vates, Rex, et quicquid pia nomina possunt, Christus erat: vellem dicere, venter erat.

Namque his, quicquid erat Christus, de ventre repleto Omne illud vero nomine venter erat.

_They said, This is of a truth that Prophet._

When Christ had given the mult.i.tude so much, So many miracles to see, taste, touch; Now Prophet, King, the holiest name Heaven wishes, Was Christ: I'd rather call it 'Loaves and fishes.'

Whate'er Christ was, to their stay'd appet.i.te 'Twas all more truly 'Loaves and fishes' dight. R. WI.

CLXVI.

_Christus ambulabat in porticu Salomonis, et hyems erat._ Joan. x. 22.

Bruma fuit? non, non; ah, non fuit ore sub isto: Si fuit, haud anni, nec sua bruma fuit.

Bruma tibi vernis velit ire decentior horis, Per sibi non natas expatiata rosas.

At tibi ne possit se tam bene bruma negare, Sola haec, quam vibrat gens tua, grando[83] vetat.

_It was winter, and Jesus walked in Solomon's porch._

Was't winter? No, O no; beneath that Face: At least no natural winter there found place.

Winter for Thee would breathe Spring's beauteous hours, With roses crowd its unaccustom'd bowers.

But lest so sweetly Winter should retire, Lo, this hail hinders, hurl'd by Jewish ire. R. WI.

CLXVII.

_Dederunt nummos militibus._ Matt. xxviii. 12.

Ne miles velit ista loqui, tu munera donas?

Donas, quod possit, c.u.m tacet ipse, loqui.

Quae facis a quoquam, pretio suadente, taceri; Clarius, et dici turpius ista facis.

_They gave large money to the soldiers._

The soldiers' silence is't with money bought?

Thy gift will tell a tale, though they say nought.

Whatever with a bribe thou fain wouldst hide, More shamefully thou spreadest far and wide. R. WI.

CLXVIII.

_Beatae Virgini: de salutatione angelica._ Luc. i. 26-28.

?a??e suum neque Caesareus jam nuntiet ales; ?a??e tuum penna candidiore venit.

Sed taceat, qui ?a??e tuum quoque nuntiat, ales; ?a??e meum penna candidiore venit.

Quis dicat mihi ?a??e meum mage candidus autor, Quam tibi quae dicat candidus ille tuum?

Virgo, rogas, quid candidius quam candidus ille Esse potest? Virgo, quae rogat, esse potest.

?a??e tuum, Virgo, donet tibi candidus ille; Donas candidior tu mihi ?a??e meum.

?a??e meum de ?a??e tuo quid differat, audi: Ille tuum dicit, tu paris, ecce, meum.

_To the blessed Virgin: concerning the angelic salutation._

Its 'hail' Caesarean eagle need not bring; Thy 'hail' comes wafted on a whiter wing.

But let the 'all-hail' angel e'en be still; My 'hail' comes flitting on a whiter quill.

To say my 'hail' what whiter being can be Than that white being who utters thine to thee?

Virgin, dost ask what whiter than that white Might be? The Virgin who is asking, might.

That white one, Virgin, may give 'hail' to thee; But thou, more white, dost give my 'hail' to me.

My 'hail' o'er thy 'hail,' wouldst thou know its worth; He utters thine, but mine thou bringest forth. R. WI.

CLXIX.

_Pontio lavanti._ Matt. xxvii. 24.

Non satis est caedes, nisi stuprum hoc insuper addas, Et tam virgineae sis violator aquae?

Nympha quidem pura haec et honesti filia fontis Luget, adulterio jam temerata tuo.

Casta verecundo properat c.u.m murmure gutta, Nec satis in lacrymam se putat esse suam.

Desine tam nitidos stuprare, ah desine, rores: Aut dic, quae miseras unda lavabit aquas.

_To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands._

Is murther no sin? or a sin so cheape That thou need'st heape A rape upon't? Till thy adult'rous touch Taught her these sullied cheeks, this blubber'd face, She was a nimph, the meadowes knew none such; Of honest parentage, of unstain'd race; The daughter of a faire and well-fam'd fountaine As ever silver-tipt the side of shady mountaine.

See how she weeps, and weeps, that she appeares Nothing but teares: Each drop's a teare that weeps for her own wast.

Harke how at every touch she does complaine her; Harke how she bids her frighted drops make hast, And with sad murmurs chides the hands that stain her.

Leave, leave, for shame; or else, good judge, decree What water shal wash this when this hath washed thee. CR.

CLXX.

_In die pa.s.sionis dominicae._

Tamne ego sim tetricus? valeant jejunia: vinum Est mihi dulce meo, nec pudet esse, cado.

Est mihi quod castis, neque prelum pa.s.sa, racemis Palmite virgineo protulit uva parens.

Hoc mihi, ter denis sat enim maturuit annis, Tandem, ecce, e dolio praebibit hasta suo.

Jamque it; et o quanto calet actus aromate torrens, Acer ut hinc aura divite currit odor!

Quae rosa per cyathos volitat tam vina Falernos?

Ma.s.sica quae tanto sidere vina tremunt?