Good
Friday: Rex Tragicus, or,
Christ
Going to His Cross
To
the sad place of executïon:
Thine
hour is come, and the tormentor stands
Ready
to pierce thy tender feet and hands.
Long
before this, the base, the dull, the rude,
The
inconstant and unpurgèd multitude
Yawn
for thy coming: some ere this time cry
'How
he defers, how loath he is to die!'
Amongst
this scum, the soldier with his spear,
And
that sour fellow with his vinegar,
His
spunge, and stick, do ask why thou dost stay.
So
do the scurf and bran too: go thy way,
Thy
way, thou guiltless man, and satisfy
By
thine approach each their beholding eye.
Not
as a thief shalt thou ascend the mount,
But
like a person of some high account:
The
cross shall be thy stage, and thou shalt there
The
spacious field have for thy theatre.
Thou
art that Roscius, and that marked-out man,
That
must this day act the tragedian,
To
wonder and affrightment: thou art he
Whom
all the flux of nations comes to see;
Not
those poor thieves that act their parts with thee:
Those
act without regard, when once a king,
And
God, as thou art, comes to suffering.
No,
no, this scene from thee takes life and sense,
And
soul and spirit, plot and excellence.
Why
then begin, great king! Ascend thy throne,
And
thence proceed to act thy passïon
To
such a height, to such a period raised,
As
hell, and Earth, and heaven may stand amazed.
God
and good angels guide thee; and so bless
Thee
in thy several parts of bitterness
That
those who see thee nailed unto the tree
May,
though they scorn thee, praise and pity thee.
And
we, thy lovers, while we see thee keep
The
laws of action, will both sigh and weep,
And
bring our spices to embalm thee dead:
That
done, we'll see thee sweetly burièd.
(1648)