Page:Tixall Poetry.djvu/384

Or who shal devoide this grete hevinesse
Fro' me, woful Marie, woful Magalein?
My Lord is gon; alas! who wrought this tein?^[1]
This sodain chaunce persith my herte so depe
That nothing can I do but waile and wepe.—

My herte opprest with sodain avinture,
By fervent anguishe is bewrappid so
That long this life I ne maie not endure,
Socbe is my pain, soch is my mortall wo;
Nevirthelesse to what parte shal I go
In hope to findin myne owne turtill true,
My liv'is joye, my soverain Lord Jesu.

 

Having given an account of the crucifixion, she continues her lamentation,

 

Whiche rufull sight when that I gan beholde
Out of my witte I almoste tho distraught,
I tare my here, my handis wrang and folde,
And of the sight my hert dranke soche a draught
That many a fall swounyng there I caught;
I brused my bodie fallyng on the grounde,
Whereof I fele many a grevous wounde.—

Then knelid I downe in painis outrage,
Clipping the crosse within myne armis twain,
His blode distillid downe on my visage,
My clothis eke the droppis did distain;
To have dyid for hym I would full fain,
But whatshoulde it availe if I did so
Sith he is suspensus, in patibulo?

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1. Tein, or tene, Sax. grief.