Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 14/14

     Thus duty leading, and love withholding her, she
goeth as fast backward in thought, as forward in
pace ; ready to faint for grief, but that a firm hope
see him again supported her weakness. She often
turned towards the tomb to breathe deeming the very
air that came from the place where he stood to have
derived a virtue from his presence, and to possess a re-
freshing force above the course of nature. Sometimes
she forgetteth herself, and love entranceth her in a
golden distraction, making her to imagine that her
Lord is present ; and then she seemeth to ask him
questions, and to hear his answers : she dreameth that
his feet are in her folded arms, and that he giveth her
soul a full repast of his comforts. But, alas ! when
she cometh to herself, and findeth it but an illusion,
she is so much the more sorry, that if the mere ima-
gination is so delightful, she was not worthy to enjoy
the reality. And when she passes by those places where
her Master had been - O, ye stones, saith she, how
much happier are ye than I, most wretched creature !
since to you was not denied the touch of those blessed
feet, whereof my evil deserts have now made me un-
worthy. Alas ! what crime have I of late committed,
that hath thus cancelled me out of his good conceit,
and estranged me from his accustomed courtesy ? Had
I but a lease of his love, for the term of his earthly life ?
or did my interest in his affections expire with his de-
cease ? It was by embracing his feet that I first found
entrance into his favour ; by which I was graciously
entertained in his heart, and admitted to do homage
to his person, which was then a mortal mirror of im-
mortal majesty - earthly epitome of heavenly wis-
dom - containing in man a God's felicity.

     But, alas! I must be contented to bear a lower sail,
and to abase my desires to far humbler hopes, since
former favours are marks too high for me to aim at.—
mine eyes, why are ye so ambitious of heavenly
honours ? He is now too bright a sun for so weak a
sight : your looks are limited to meaner light; you
have the vision of the bat, not the glance of the eagle
you must humble yourselves to the twilight of inferior
things, and measure your views by your slender sub-
stance. Gaze not too much upon the blaze of eternity,
lest you lose yourself in too much self-delight - lest,
being too curious in inspecting his majesty, you be,
in the end, oppressed with his glory. No, no - since
I am rejected from the embrace of his feet, how can|
I otherwise presume, but that my want of faith has
dislodged me out of his heart, and thrown me out of
all possession of his mind and memory. - Yet why
should I stoop to so base a fear ? When want of faith
was added to a want of all goodness, he disdained not
to accept roe for one of his number ; and shall I now
think that he will so rigorously abandon me, on ac-
count of my faint belief? And is the sincerity of my
love, wherein he hath no partner, of so slender ac-
count, that it may not hope for some little regard of
his wonted mercy ? I will not wrong him with so
unjust a suspicion, since his appearance disproveth it,
his words overthrow it, and his countenance dissuadeth

it ; why, then, should I draw so much sorrow out of
so vain a surmise ?
     Thus Mary's fancies, wavering between the joy of
her vision and the grief of her denial, entertained her
in the way, and held her parley with such discourses
as are incident unto minds in which neither hope is
entirely master of the fields nor fear hath received aft
utter overthrow. But as she was in this perplexed
state, now falling, now rising in her own uncertain-
ties, she findeth on the way the other holy woman that
first came with her to the grave, whom the angels had
now assured of Christ's resurrection.

     And as they all passed forwards toward the disciples.
Behold, Jestus met them, saying, All hail. But they
came near, and took hold of his feet, and worshipped
him. Then Jesus said unto them. Fear not. Go, tell
my brethren that they go into Galilee, there they shall
see me.
     O Lord, how profound are thy judgments, how un-
searchable thy counsels ! Doth her sorrow sit so near
thy heart, or thy repulse rebound with such regret by
seeing her wounded love bleed so fast, that thy late
refusal must so soon be requited by so free a grant ?
Is it thy pity, or her change, which cannot allow that
she should any longer fast from her earnest longing ?
     But, O most mild Physician, well knowest thou that
thy sharp corrosive angered her tender wound, which

being rather caused by unwitting ignorance than wil-
ful error, was aa soon cured as known ; and therefore
tbou quickly applies! a sweet lenitive to assuage her
pain, that she might feel her repulse to be rather a fa-
therly check to her unsettled faith, than an austere re-
jection for any fault ; and therefore thou admittest
her to kiss thy feet - those two conduits of grace, and
teals of our redemption - renewing her a charter of
thy unchanged love, and accepting from her the sacri-
fice of her sanctified soul.
     And thus,gracious Lord, bast thou quieted her
fears, assured her hopes, fulfilled her desires, satisfied
her lore, dried up her team, perfected her joy, and
made the period of her expiring griefs the preamble
to her never-ending pleasures. - O how merciful a
Father thou art to friendless orphans, how lenient a
Judge to repentant sinners, and how faithful a friend
to sincere lovers ! How true it is, that thou never
leavest those that love thee, and thou lovest such as
rest their affiance in thee ! They will find thee liberal
above their desert, and bountiful beyond their hope -
a measurer of thy gifts, not by their merits, but of
thine own mercy.
     O Christian soul ! take Mary for thy mirror ; fol-
low her affection, that like effects may follow thy
own. Learn, O sinful man, of this once sinful woman,
that sinners may find Christ, if their sins be amended.
Learn, that whom sin loseth, love recovereth ; whom

faintness of faith chaseth away, firmness of hope re-
calleth ; and that which no other mortal force, favour
or policy can compass, the continued tears of a con-
stant love are able to attain. Learn of Mary, for
Christ to fear no encounters ; out of Christ, to desire
no comfort ; and with the love of Christ, to over-rule

the love of all things. Rise early in the morning of
thy good resolves, and let them not sleep in sloth,
when diligence may perform them. Run, with re-
pentance, to thy sinful heart, which should have been
It temple, but through thy fault has proved no better
than a tomb for Christ; since, having no life in thee
to feel him, he seemed to thee as if he had been dead.
- Roll away the stone of thy former hardness, remove
all the heavy loads that oppress thee in sin, and look
into thy soul whether thou canst there find the Lord.
If he be not within thee, stand weeping without, and
seek him till he be found. Let faith be thine eye,
hope thy guide, and love thy light. Seek him, and not
his: seek him for himself, and not for his gifts. -
Though to thy faith he be under a cloud, let thy hope
no less perseveringly seek him. If hope have led thee
to find him, let love urge thee the farther to seek into
him. To move in thee a desire to find, his goods are
precious ; and to keep thee in a desire to seek, his
treasures are infinite. Absent, he must be sought to
be had ; being had, he must be sought to be the
more enjoyed. Seek him truly, and no other for him ;

seek him purely, and no other with him ; seek him
only, and nothings beside him. And if at the first
search he appear not, think it not much to persevere
in tears, and to continue thy seeking. Stand upon
the earth, treading under thee all courtly vanities,
and touching them with no more than the soles of thy
feet - that is, with the lowest and least part of thy af-
fections. To look the better into the tomb, bow down
thy neck to the yoke of humility, and stoop from lofty
and proud conceits, that thy humbled and lowly looks
may find him whom swelling and haughty thoughts
have driven away. A submissive soul the soonest wins
his return ; and the deeper it sinks in self abasement,
the higher it climbeth to his highest favours. And if
thou perceivest in the tomb of thy heart the presence of
his two messengers - Sorrow for the bad that is past,
and Desire for the better that is to come - entertain
them with sighs, and welcome them with penitent
tears ! Yet, reckoning them but as the harbingers of
the Lord, cease not thy seeking till thou hast found
himself ; and if he vouchsafe thee his glorious sight,
offering himself to thy inward eyes, presume not of
thyself to be able to know him, but, as his unworthy
suppliant, lay thy petitions at his feet, that thou
mayest truly discern him, and faithfully serve him. -
Thus, preparing thyself with diligence, hastening with
speed, standing with high-lifted hopes, and stooping
with inclined heart, if, with Mary, thou cravest no


other solace of Jesus but Jesus himself, he will answer
thy tears with his presence, and assure thee of his
presence with his own words ; that having seen him
thyself, thou mayest make him known to others - say-
ing, with Mary ; I have seen our Lord, and these things
he said unto me.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 13/14

     Yes, all this while she hath sought thee without

finding, wept without comfort, and called without rec-

ceiving an answer : but now thou comest to satisfy her

seeking with thy presence, her tears with thy triumph,

and all her cries with this one word - Mary ! - for

when she heard thee call her in thy wonted manner,

and with thy usual voice, the mere sound of her name

issuing from thy lips wrought a most sudden and

strange alteration in her. By this single word her

senses are restored, her mind enlightened, her heart

quickened, and her soul revived. Yet what wonder,

that with one word he should raise the sunken spirits

of his poor disciple, since with a word he made the

world, and even in this little word showeth the omn-

potence of his power ?

     Mary she was called, as well in her had as in her re-

formed state ; and both her good and evil was all of

Mary's working. And as Mary imports no less what

she was, than what she is ; so is this one word, by his

virtue that speaketh it, a repetition of all her mise-

ries, an epitome of his mercies, and a memorial of all

her better fortunes : and therefore it laid so general a

discovery of herself before her eyes, that it awakened

her most forgotten sorrows, and summoned together

the whole multitude of her joys ; and would have left

the issue of the conflict between them doubtful, had

not the presence of her highest happiness decided the

contest, and given her joys the victory. - As he was the

sun of her soul, his going down left nothing but a

gloomy night of fearful fancies, wherein no star of

hope shone, and the brightest planets were changed

into dismal signs ; but the serenity of his rising

brought a calm and well-tempered day, that chased

away all darkness, dispersed the clouds of melancholy,

arid roused her from the lethargy of her astonished

senses.

     Ravished, therefore, with his voice, and impatient

of delays, she taketh the words out of his mouth, and

to his first, and yet only word, answered but one other,

calling him Rabboni ! - that is, Master. And then sud-

den joy rousing all other passions, she could no more

proceed in her own, than give him leave to go forward

with his speech. Love would have spoken, but fear

enforced silence. Hope had framed words, but doubt

melted them in the passage; and when her inward

conceits strove for utterance, her voice trembled, her

tongue faltered, her breath failed. In fine, tears is-

sued in lieu of words, and deep sighs instead of long

sentences ; the eye supplying the tongue's default,

and the heart forcing out the unsyllabled breath at

once, which the conflict of her passions would not

suffer to be sorted into the several sounds of intelli-

gible speech.

     Such is their state that are overcome with a surfeit

of sudden joy, at the attaining of something vehe-

mently desired : for as Desire is ever ushered in by

Hope, and waited on by Fear, so is it credulous in en-

tertaining conjectures, but hard in grounding a firm

belief. And though it be ready to snatch at the least

shadow of the comfort it wishes, yet the more vehe-

ment the desire, the more perfect the assurance it re-

quires; and as long as this assurance is wanting, it is

rather an alarum to summon up all the passionts, than

a motive for quieting the desire. As Hope presumeth

the beat, and inviteth Joy to congratulate her on good

success ; so Fear suspecteth it too good to be true,

and calleth up sorrow to bewail the uncertainty.

     Mary, therefore, though she suddenly answered

upon hearing his voice, yet because the novelty was

so strange, his person so changed, his presence so un-

suspected, and so many miracles laid at once before

her wondering eyes, she found a sedition in her

thoughts, till a more earnest view of him exempted

them from all doubt. And then, though words would

have broken out, and her heart sprung to the perform-

ance of the duty she owed him ; yet^ every thought

striving first for utterance, and to have the first place

in his gracious hearing, she was forced, as an indif-

ferent arbitress among them, to seal them all up in

silence, and to supply the want of words by more sig-

nificant actions. She therefore ran to the haunt of

her chiefest delight, and filing at his sacred feet, she

offered to bathe them with tears of joy, and to sanctify

her lips with kissing his once grievous, but now most

glorious, wounds.

     She staid not for any more words, being now made

blessed by the Word himself, thinking it a greater be-

nefit at once to feed all her wishes in the homage, ho-

nour, and embracing of his feet, than in hearing all

that speech could utter.

     And, as the nature of love coveteth not only to be

united, but, if it were possible, to be wholly trans-

formed out of itself into the thing it loveth ; so doth

it most affect that which most uniteth, and preferreth

the least union before the most distant contentment.

And therefore to see him, did not suffice her ; to hear

him did not quiet her; to speak with him, was not

enough for her ; and except she might touch him, no-

thing could please her. But though she humbly fell

down at his feet to kiss them, yet Christ forbade her

saying ; Do not touch me, for I am not yet ascended ta

my Father.

     O Jesu, what mystery is in this ! When dead in sin,

she touched thy mortal feet that were to die for her

sake ; and being now alive in grace, may she not

touch thy glorious feet, that are no less revived for her

benefit ? She was once admitted to anoint thy head;

and is she now unworthy of access to thy feet ? Dost ,

thou now command her from that, for which thou

^wert wont to commend her ; and, by praising the

deed, didst move her frequently to perform it ? Since

other women shall touch thee hereafter, why is she

now rejected ? What meanest thou, O Lord, by thus

debarring her from so desired a duty ? And since, among

all thy disciples, thou hast vouchsafed her such a pre-

rogative as to honour her eyes with thy first sight, and:

her ears with thy first words, why deny her the privi-

lege of thy first embrace ? If the multitude of her

tears have won so great a fayour for her eyes, and her

longing to hear thee so singular a recompense for her

ears, why dost thou not admit her hands to touch, and

her lips to kiss, thy holy feet, since the one with many 

plaints, and the other, with their readiness to all ser-

vices, seem to hare earned no less a reward. But not-

withstanding all this, thou preventest the effect of the

offer, by forbidding her to touch thee ; as if thou

hadst said - "O Mary, know the difference between a

glorious and a mortal body - between the condition of

a momentary, and of an eternal life : for since the im-

mortality of the body, and the glory both of the body

and the soul are the endowments of a heavenly inha-

bitant, and the rights of another world, think not this

fervour to seem ordinary, nor leave to touch me a com-

mon thing. It were not so great a wonder to see the

stars fall from their spheres, and the sun forsake the

heavens and come within the reach of a mortal arm.

As for me, that am not only a saint, but the Sovereign

of saints, and the sun whose beams are the angels'

bliss, to show myself visible to the pilgrims of this

world, and to display eternal beauties to corruptible

eyes. Though I be not yet ascended to my Father, I

shall shortly ascend ; and therefore measure not thy

demeanour towards me by the place where I am, but

by that which is due unto me, and then thou wilt rather

fall down afar off with reverence, than presume to

touch me with such familiarity. Dost thou not believe

my former promises ? Hast thou not a constant proof

by my present words ? Are not thine eyes and ears

sufficient testimonies ? Must thou also have thy hands

and lips witnesses of my presence ? - Touch me not,

Mary, for if I deceive thy sight, or delude thy hear-

ing, I can as easily beguile thy hand, and frustrate thy

feeling. If I be true in any one thing, believe me so

in all. Embrace me first in a firm faith, and then

thou shalt touch me with more worthy hands. It is

now necessary to wean thee from the comfort of my

external presence, that thou mayest learn to lodge in

me the secrets of my heart, and teach thy thoughts to

supply the offices of the outward senses : for in this

visible shape I am not long to be seen here, being

shortly to ascend unto my Father, But what thine

eye then seeth not, thy heart shall feel, and my silent

parley will find audience in thy inward ear. Yet if

thou fearest lest my ascending should be so sudden,

that if thou dost not now take leave of my feet with

thy humble kisses and loving tears, thou shalt never

find the like opportunity again ; expel from thee that

needless suspicion. I am not yet ascended unto my

Father, and for all such duties there will be a more

convenient time. But now, go about that which re-

quireth more haste, and run to my brethren, and in-

form them what I say. That I will go before them into

Galilee ; there shall they see me."

     Mary, therefore, preferring her Lord's will before

her own wish, yet sorry that her will was unworthy of

no better event, departed from him like a hungry in-

fant forced from a full breast, or a thirsty hart chased

from a sweet fountain. She judged herself but an

unlucky messenger, though of most joyful tidings,

being banished from her Master's presence, to carry

news of his resurrection. Alas ! said she, and cannot

others be happy, without my unhappiness ? or cannot

their advantage be gained but through my loss ?—

Must the dawning of their day be the close of mine,

and my soul be robbed of such a treasure, in order to

enrich them ? Oh, my heart ! return thou to enjoy

him. Why goest thou with me, that am forced to go

from him ? In me, thou art but in prison ; in him,

is thy only paradise. I have buried thee long enough

in former sorrows, and yet now when thou wert half

revived, I am constrained to carry thee from the

spring of life. Alas ! go seek to better thy life in some

more happy breast, since I, ill deserving creature ! am

nothing different from what I was, but in having

taken a taste of the highest delight, that the know-

ledge and want of it might drown me in the deepest

misery.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 12/14

     If thou hadst remembered God's promise, that his
holy, one should not sec corruption - if thou hadst be-
lieved that his godhead, by remaining with his body,
must have preserved it from perishing - thy faith had
been more worthy of praise, but thy love less worthy
of admiration ; since the more corruptible thou didst
conceive him, the more difficulties thou didst over-

come, and the greater was thy love in being able to
conquer them. But thou wouldst have thought thine
ointments rather hams than helps, if thou hast been
settled in that belief ; and for so heavenly a corse, all
earthly spices would have seemed a disgrace. But if
thou hadst firmly trusted in his resurrection, I should
no longer have wondered at thy constant endeavours
since all hazards in gaining him would have been repaid
with usury, if, lying in thy lap, thou mightst have
seen him revive, and his disfigured and dead body be-
come beautified in thine arms with a divine majesty. -
If thou hadst hoped for so good a fortune to thy tearful
eyes, that they might have been first cleared with the
beams of his desired light, or that his eyes might have
blessed thee with the first fruits of his glorious looks -
if thou hadst imagined any likelihood to have made thy
dying heart happy, by taking in the first gasps of his
living breath, or to have heard the first words of his
pleasing voice : - finally, if thou hadst thought to have
seen his ii\juries turned to honours, the marks of his
sufferings to ornaments of glory, and the depth of his
heaviness to such a height of felicity, whatever thou
hadst done to obtain him had been but too slender a
price for so sovereign a treasure.
     What meanest thou, then, O comfort of her life !
to leave so constant a well-wisher so long uncomfort-
ed, and so severely to punish one who so well deserv-
eth pardon ? Dally no longer with so known a love,
which so many trials avouch to be so true ; and since
there is nothing in her that is displeasing to thee, let
her taste the benefit of being only thine. She did not
follow the tide of thy better fortune, to shift sail when
the stream did alter course; she began not to love
thee in thy life, and yet to leave thee after death ;
neither was she such a guest at thy table, as to act the
stranger in thy necessity. She left thee not in the
lowest ebb ; she revolted not in the last extremity. In
thy life, she served thee with her goods ; in thy death,
she departed not from the Cross ; after death, she
came to dwell with thee at thy grave. Why, then,
dost thou not say with Naomi — Blessed be the name of
our Lord, because what courtesy she afforded to the
quick, she hath also continued toward the dead.

     Do not, sweet Lord, any longer delay. Behold she
hath attended thee these three days - she hath not what
to eat nor wherewith to foster her famished soul,
unless thou, by discovering thyself to her, dost minister
unto her the true bread, and provide her with the
food that hath in it the taste of all sweetness. If,
therefore, thou wilt not have her to faint on the way,
refresh her with that which her hunger requireth, and
at the same time restore the life of her soul.
     But fear not, Mary - thy tears will prevail : they are
too mighty orators to let any suit fail ; and though
they were to plead at the most rigorous bar, yet have
they so persuasive a silence, and so conquering a com-


plaint, that by yielding they overcome, and by en-
treating they command. They can chain the tongues
of all accusers, and soften the rigour of the severest
judge ; yea, they can win the invincible, and bind the
omnipotent. When they seem the most pitiful, they
possess the greatest power ; and.when the most ne-
glected, they are the most victorious. Penitent tears
are sweetened by grace, and rendered more purely
beautiful by returning innocence. It is the dew of
devotion, which the sun of justice draweth up ; and
upon what face soever it falleth| it maketh it amiable
in the eye of God.
     Yes these tears have better graced thy looks, than
thy former alluring glances ; they have settled worth-
ier beauties in thy face than all thy artificial adorn-
mentas. Yea, they have quenched the anger of God,
appeased his justice, recovered his mercy, invited his
love, purchased his pardon, and proved the spring of
all thy favours. Thy tears were the procurers of thy
brother's life, the inviters of those angels for thy com-
fort, and the suitors that shall be rewarded with the
first sight of thy revived Saviour. Rewarded they
shall be, but not refrained ; altered in their cause,
but their course continued. In the mean time, raise
up thy fallen hopes, and gather confidence both of thy
speedy comfort, and thy Lord's well-being. - Jesus
saith unto her, Mary, She turning, saith unto him,
Rabboni, that is to say. Master,


     O, loving Master ! thou didst only defer her conso-
lation in order to increase it, that the delight of thy
presence might be so much the more welcome, as,
through thy long absence, it was much desired, and
yet with so little hope. Thou wert pleased that for
thee she should expend so many sighs, tears, and
plaints, and didst purposely adjourn the date of her
payment, to requite the length of the delay with a
larger loan of joy. Perchance she knew not her for-
mer happiness till she had been weaned from it; nor
had formed a right estimate of the treasures with which
thy presence had enriched her, till her extreme po-
verty taught her their inestimable worth. But now
thou shewest her, by sweetest experience, that though
she repaid thee with her dearest tears, with her fondest
sighs, and tenderest love, yet small was the price she
bestowed in respect to the value she had received. 
She sought thee dead, and imprisoned in the tomb,
and now she findeth thee both alive and at full liberty.
She sought thee enwrapped in a shroud, and now she
findeth thee invested in the robes of glory, and both
the owner and giver of all felicity.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 11/14

     If he took him out of love, thy offer to recover
him is an open defiance, since malice is as obstinate in
defending, as it js violent in offering wrong ; and he
that would be cruel against thy Master's dead body,
is likely to be more furious against his living disciple.
But thy love had no leisure to examine so many
doubts. Thy tears were interpreters of thy words, and
their innocent meaning was written in thy sorrowful
countenance. Thine eyes were rather pleaders for
pity, than heralds of wrath ; and thy whole person
presented such a pattern of extreme anguish, that no
man could have conceived any other impression from
thy presence : and therefore what thy words wanted,
thy action supplied ; and what his ear might mistake,
his eye could understand. - It might be, also, that
what he wrought in thy heart was concealed from thy
sight ; and haply his voice and demeanour did impart
such compassion of thy case, that he seemed as willing
to afford, as thou wert desirous to have his help. -
And so, presuming on his behaviour that thy suit
would not suffer repulse, the tenor of thy request doth
but argue thy hope of a grant.
     But what is the reason, that in all thy speeches
which, since the loss of thy Master, thou hast uttered,
where they have put him always forms a part ? The name
thou saidst once to the apostles, lately to the angels,
and now thou dost repeat it to this supposed gardener.
Very sweet must this word be in thy heart, since it is
so often on thy tongue ; and it could never be so
ready on thy lips, if it were not very fresh in thy
memory.
     But what wonder, that that should taste so sweet,
which was first seasoned in thy Master's mouth ? His
lips were the treasury of truth, the fountain of life,
and the choir of perfect harmony ; so that whatsoever
they delivered, thine ear devoured, and thy heart
treasured up. And now that thou wantest himself,
thou hast no other comfort than his words, which
thou deemest so much the more effectual to persuade,
as they derived their force from so heavenly a speaker.
His sweetness, therefore, it is, that maketh this word
so sweet ; and for love of him thou repeatest it so
often, because he, in a like case, said of thy brother,
Where have you put him ? O how much must thou
love his person, when thou findest so sweet a feeling in
his phrase ! How much must thou desire to see his
countenance, when thou pronouncest his words with
such fervour ! And how eagerly wouldst thou kiss his
sacred feet, that dost so willingly utter his shortest
speeches !
     But what dost thou mean by forming so bold a re-
solution, and so resolutely to say, that thou wilt take
him away? Joseph was afraid, and durst not take
down his body from the cross but by night - yea, and
even then not without Pilate's warrant: but thou
neither stayest until night, nor regardest Pilate, but
stoutly declares that thou thyself wilt take him away.
Is thy courage so high above thy nature, thy strength
so for beyond thy sex, and thy love so far above mea-
sure, that thou neither dost remember that all women
are weak, nor that thyself art but a woman ? Thou
exemptest no place, thou preferrest no person ; thou
speakest without fear, thou promisest without con-
dition : as though nothing were impossible, if sug-
gested by love.
     But, as the darkness could not fright thee from set-
ting forth before day, nor the watch prevent thy
coming to the tomb ; as thou didst resolve to break
open the seals, though with the danger of thy life, and
to remove the stone from the mouth of the sepulchre,
though thy force should not serve thee ; what wonder,
if thy love, being now more incensed for its loss, and
stung with a fresh wound, should resolve upon any
though never such strange extreme.
     Love is not controled by reason. It neither regard-
eth what can be, nor what shall be done, but only
what itself desireth to do. No difficulty can daunt,
no impossibility appal it. Love is title just enough,
and armour strong enough, for all assaults, and is it-
self a sufficient reward for all labours. It asketh no
recompense ; it expecteth no advantage. Love's fruity
are lovers effects, and its pains prove its gains : it con-
siders behoof more than benefit ; and what of its duty
it should, not what of its power it can.
     But how can Nature be so mastered by affection,
that thou canst take such delight in, and cherish such
love to, a dead corse ? How tenderly soever the mo-
ther loved her child when living, yet she cannot
choose but loath it when dead. The most loving bride
cannot endure the presence of her deceased spouse ;
and he whose embrace was delightful in 1ife, becomes
an object of horror after death. Yea, this is the na-
ture of all, but principally of women, that the very
conceit, much more the sight of the departed, fills
them with fearful and appalling impressions, and stir-
eth in them so great a horror, that notwithstanding
the most vehement love, they think it long till the
house be rid of their very dearest friends, when once
they are attired in death's unlovely livery. - Thy sister
was unwilling that the grave of her own brother
should be opened ; and art thou not afraid to see the
dead corse of thy Lord to touch it, yea, to embrace
and bear it naked in thy arms ?

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 10/14

     For this did Christ, in the canticles, invite us to a
heavenly banquet, after he was come into his garden,
and had reaped his myrrh and his spice, to forewarn
us of the joy that after this harvest should presently
ensue, namely, that having sowed in this garden a
body, the mortality whereof was signified by these
spices, he now reaped the same, neither capable of
death, nor subject to corruption. For this also was
Mary permitted to mistake, that we might be informed
of the mystery, and see how aptly the course of our
redemption did: answer the process of our condemn-
ation.
     But though he be the gardener that hath planted
the tree of grace, and restored us to the use and eating


of the fruit of life - though it be he that soweth his
gifts in our souls, quickening in us the seeds of vir-
tue, and rooting out of us the weeds of sin ; - yet is he,
nevertheless, the same Jesus he was ; and the borrow-
ed presence of a mean labourer neither altereth his
person, nor diminislieth his right to divine titles.
     Why, then, canst thou not as well see what in
truth he is, as what in shew he seemeth? It is be-
cause thou trusteth more to thy senses than to thy be-
lief, and sufferest thy fancy to find more than faith
will avouch : it is for this cause that thy love was
thought worthy to see him, yet thy faith unworthy to
know him. Thou didst seek for him as dead, and
therefore dost not know him seeing him alive ; and
because thou believest not of him as he is, thou dost
only see him as he seemeth to be. I cannot say thou
art faultless, because thou art so unwilling in thy be-
lief ; but thy fault deserveth favour, because thy cha-
rity is so great ; and therefore, O merciful Jesu, let
an excuse be pleaded for her whom thou art minded to
forgive.
     She thought to have found thee as she left thee, and
she sought thee as she last saw thee ; being so over-
come with sorrow for thy death, that she had neither
room nor respite in her mind for any hope of thy
life; and was so deeply entombed in the grief of thy
burial, that she could not raise her thoughts to any
conceit of thy resurrection.
     But oh, Mary, since thou art so desirous to know
where thy Jesus is, why dost thou not name him when
thou askest for him ? Thou saidst to the angels, that
they had taken away thy Lord, and now the second
time thou askest for him. When thou speakest of him
what him dost thou mean ? or how can a stranger
understand thee, when thou talkest of thy Lord ? —
Hath the world no other Lords but thine ? or is the
demanding by no other name but him, sufficient to
define whom thou demandest ?
     But such is the nature of thy love ! It judgeth
that no other should be entitled Lord, since the whole
world is too little for thy Lord's possession ; and that
all creatures cannot choose but know him, since all
the creatures of the world are too few to serve him. -
And as his worth can requite all loves, and his love
alone content all hearts, so thou deemest him to be so
well worthy to be owner of all thoughts, that thou
thinkest no thought can be well bestowed upon any
other.
     Yet thy speeches seem more sudden than sound -
more peremptory than well pondered. Why dost thou
say so resolutely, that if this gardener have taken him,
thou wilt take him from him ? Thou shouldst con-
sider whether he took him from love or malice. If it
were for love, thou mayest assure thyself that he will
be as wary to keep, as he was venturous to obtain him,
and therefore thy policy was weak, in saying thou
wouldst take him away, before thou knowest where he
was, since none are so simple as to betray their trea-
sure.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 9/14

O, Mary, is it possible that thou hast forgotten Je-
sus ? Faith has written him in thine understanding,
love in thy will, both fear and hope in thy memory ;
and how can all these registers be so cancelled, that, so
plainly seeing, thou shouldst not know the contents ?


For him only thou tirest thy feet, thou bendest thy
knees, thou wringest thy hands ; for him thy heart
tbrobbeth, thy breast sigheth, thy tongue complain-
eth ; for him thine eye weepeth, thy thought sorrow-
eth, thy whole body fainteth, and thy soul languish-
eth. In a word, there is no part of thee but is busy
about him ; and notwithstanding all this, hast thou
now forgotten him ? His countenance avoucheth it,
his voice assureth it, his wounds witness it, thine own
eyes behold it ; and dost thou not yet believe that this
is Jesus ? Are thy eyes, so sharp for seeing, become so
weak-sighted, that they are dazzled with the sun, and
blinded with the light ? But there in such a shower
of tears between thee and him, that though thou seest
the shape of a man, yet thou canst not discern him.-
Thine ears also are still so possessed with the melan-
choly echo of his last speeches, uttered in a faint and
dying voice, that the force and loudness of his living
words make thee imagine it the voice of a stranger ;
and therefore as he seemeth unto thee so like a stran;
ger, he asketh this question of thee - Woman, why
weepest thou ? whom seekest thou ?

     O desire of her heart, and only joy of her soul ! why
demandest thou why she weepeth or whom she seeketh ?
It is but a short time since she saw thee, her only hope,
hanging on a tree, with thy head pierced with thorns,
thine eyes full of tears, thine ears full of blasphemies,
thy mouth full of gall, thy whole person mangled and


disfigured ; and dost thou ask her why she weepeth ?
Scarce three days have passed since she beheld thine
arms and legs racked .with violent pangs, thy hands
and feet pierced with nails, thy side wounded with a
spear, thy whole body torn with stripes, and gored in
blood ; and dost thou, her only grief, ask her why she
weepeth ? She beheld thee upon the Cross with many
tears, and most lamentable, cries, yielding up the
ghost ; and, alas ! asketh thou why she weepeth ? -
But now is her misery complete. She had still che-
rished one hope, which was, that, as some relief of her
afflictions, she might have anointed thy body : but that
hope is also dead, since thy body is removed, and she
now standeth hopeless of all help ; and demandest
thou why she weepeth, and whom she seeketh ? Full
well thou knowest that she desireth none but thee;
that she loveth none but thee, that she contemneth all
things beside thee ; and canst thou find in thy heart
to ask her whom she seeketh ? - To what end, O sweet
Lord, dost thou thus suspend her longings, protract
her desires, and martyr her with these tedious delays ?
Thou alone art the fortress of her faint faith, the an-
chor of her wavering hope, the very centre of her vehe-
ment love ; to thee she trusteth, upon thee she relieth,
and of herself she wholly despaireth. She is so ear-
nest in seeking thee, that she can neither seek nor
think of any other thing ; and her whole soul is so


busied in musing upon thee, that all her senses are
abstracted, and unable to discern thee.
     Being, therefore; so attentive to that which she
thinketh, what wonder she noticeth not him whom
she seeth ? And since thou hast so perfect a know-
ledge of her thought, and she so little power to dis-
cover thee by her sense, why demandest thou, whom
she seeketh, and why she weepeth ? Canst thou ex-
pect her to answer, -that she seeks for thee, and weeps
for thee, unless thou wilt unbind her thoughts, that
her eyes may fully see thee ; or, while thou wishest to
be concealed dost thou expect that she should be able
to know thee ?
     But oh, Mary, it is not without cause that he asks
thee this questions Thou wouldst have him alive, and
yet thou weepest because thou dost not find him dead.
Thou art sorry that he is not here, and for this very
cause thou shouldst rather be glad : for if he were
dead, it is most likely he would be here ; but not being
here, it is a sign that he is alive. He rejoiceth to be
out of his grave, and thou weepest because he is not
in it. Alas ! why bewailest thou his glory, and in-
jurest the reviving of his body, by considering it as the
robbing of his corse ? If he is alive, for what dead
man dost thou mourn ? and if he be present, whose
absence dost thou lament ? But she, taking him to be
a gardener, said unto him. Master, if thou hast carried

him from hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and 1
will take him away.

     O, wonderful effects of Mary's love! If love be a
languor, how liveth she by it ? If love be her
how dieth she in it ? If it bereaved her of sense, how
did she see the angels ? If it quickened her sense, why
knew she not Jesus ? Dost thou seek for one, whom,
when thou hast found him, thou knowest him not ?-
Or if thou dost know him when thou findest him, why
dost tbou seek, when thou hast him ?

     Behold, Jesus. is come! He whom thou seekest it is
that talketh with thee. O Mary, call up thy mind,
and open thine eyes. Hath thy Lord lived so long, la-
boured so much, died with such pain, and shed such
showers of blood ; and hast thou bestowed such cost,
so much sorrow, and so many tears, for no better man
than a gardener ? Alas ! is the sorry garden the best
inheritance that thy love can afford him, or a garden-
er's office the highest dignity that thou wilt allow
him ? - But thy mistaking hath in it a further mystery.

     Thou thinkest not amiss, though thy sight be deceiv-
ed : for as our first Father, in the state of grace and
innocence, was placed in a garden of pleasure, and
as the first office piloted him was to be a gardener,
so the first man that ever was in glory appeareth first
in a garden, and presenteth himself in a gardener's
likeness, that the beginnings of glory might resemble
the entrance of innocence and grace. And as a gar-


dener caused the fall of mankind, and was the parent
of sin, and the author of death ; so is this gardener the
raiser of our ruins, the ransom of our offences, and
the restorer of life. In a garden, Adam was deceived,
and taken captive by the devil ; - in a garden, Christ
was betrayed, and taken prisoner by the Jews : - in a
garden, Adam was condemned to earn his bread by the
sweat of his brow ; and after a free gift of the bread
of angels, in the last supper, in a garden Christ did
earn it us by a bloody sweat of his whole body. By
disobediently eating the fruit of a tree, our right to
that garden was by Adam forfeited ; and by the obedi-
ent death of Christ upon a tree, a far better right is
now recovered.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 8/14

     And first, of the ransom. - Were we to ask thee, how
love could enrich thee, when thy worldly possessions
were gone ; or how a dead man could repay thee the
value of the ransom ; already I hear thee reply -
Ah, the love of so sweet a Lord hath no correspond-
ence with wordly wealth! Without him I should
be poor, though empress of the world : with him, I
should be rich, though I possessed nothing but him-
self. They that have most are accounted richest, and
such are thought to have most, as have all they de-
sire and therefore as in him alone is the uttermost of
my desires, so he alone is the sum of all my substance.
It were too happy an exchange to have God for all the
riches of the worlds and too rich a poverty to enjoy
the only treasure in the world ! If 1 were so fortunate
a beggar, 1 would disdain the wealth of Solomon;
and my love being so highly enriched, my life would
never complain of want.

     And secondly, of obtaining thy Lord by entreaties.-
With enemies so cruel, canst thou think it possible
for such a suit to speed ? Would thy love shield thee,
from their rage, or tyrants stoop to a woman's tears ?
It is thus I hear thee reply - Though I were to sue
to the greatest tyrant, yet the equity of my suit is more
than half a grant. If many drops soften the hardest
stones, why should not many tears supple the most

Stony hearts ? What anger so fiery, that may not be
quenched with tears ? My suit itself would sue for
me, and would quicken pity in the most iron hearts.-
But suppose that, by touching a rankled sore, my
touch should anger it, and my petition, at the first, in-
cense him that heard it $ he would, perchance, revile
me in words, and then his own injury would recoil
with remorse, and be unto me a pattern how to pro-
ceed in my request. And if he should accompany his
words with blows, and his blows with wounds may
be my stripes would smart in his guilty mind, and his
conscience bleed in my bleeding wounds ; and my in-
nocent blood so soften his adamant heart, that his own
inward feelings would plead my cause, and peradven-
ture obtain my suit. But if, through extremity of
spite, he should kill me, his offence might easily re-
dound to my felicity : for he would be as careful to
hide me, whom he had unjustly murdered, as him
whom he had feloniously stolen ; and it is not unlikely
but he would hide me in the same place where he had
laid my Lord. And as he hated us both for one cause,
him for challenging, and me for acknowledging that
he was the Messiah so he would use us both after the
same manner. And thus the comfort that my body
wanted my soul would enjoy, in seeing a part of myself
partner of my master's misery ; with whom to be mi-
serable, I esteem a higher fortune than without him
to be most happy.


     And thirdly, of recovering thy Lord by force, or ad-
venturing a theft to obtain thy desire. - And art thou,
then, armed so completely in love, that thou thinkest
it sufficient armour ? Doth thy love endue thee with
such a Judith's spirit, that thou canst foil whole arm-
ies ? Can it thus alter sex, change nature, and exceed
all art ? And if it be a sin to steal profane treasure,
can it be less than sacrilege to steal the Lord's Anoint-
ed ? How ready is thy reply ! - If there were no
other means of recovering him but force, I see no rea-
son why it may not well become me. It often hap-
peneth that Nature, armed with love, and pressed
with need, exceedeth itself in might, and summoneth
all hope in success ; and as the equity of the cause
breathes courage into the defenders, making them the
more willing to fight, and the less unwilling to die ;
so guilty consciences are ever timorous, still starting
with sudden frights, and afraid of their own suspicions ;
ready to yield before the assault, upon distress of their
cause, and despair of their defence. Since, therefore,
to recover a right, and to redress so deep a wrong, is
so just a cause, nature will enable me, love encourage
me, grace confirm me, and the Judge of all justice
fight in my behalf.

     And if it seem unfitting to my sex in talk, much
more in practice, to deal with material affairs ; yet
when such a cause happeneth as never had pattern,
such effects must follow as are without example. -

There never was a wrong like this committed, nor
when committed, suffered to pass unrevenged. Since,
then, the angels neglect, and men forget, O Judith,
lend me thy prowess, for I am bound to regard it. -
But suppose that my force were unable to win him by
an open enterprise, what scruple should keep me from
seeking him by secret means ? Yea, and if by plain
stealth, will it be thought a sin, and shall I be con-
demned for a theft ? If this be so great a sin, and
so heinous a theft, let me live and die such a sinner,
and be condemned for such a theft ! -

     But, alas ! while I thus stand devising what to do,
I know nothing of him. I neither know who hath
him, nor where they have placed him : I am still
found to dwell on the same theme, that they have taken
away my Lord, and I know not where they have put
him. -

While Mary was thus lost in a labyrinth of doubts,
intermingling her words with tears, she beheld the
angels rise with a kind of reverence, as though they
had done honour to one behind her. She turned back,
and saw Jesus standing : but she knew not that it was
Jesus.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 7/14

But oh, cruel tongue ! why pleadest thou thus
against him, whose situation is, I fear, so pitiable,
that it might rather move all tongues to plead for him ;
for perchance he is in their hands, whose unmerciful
hearts are making merry with his misery, and building
the triumphs of their impious victory upon the ruins of
his disgraced glory ? And now, O grief ! because I
know not where he is, I cannot imagine how to help

him; for they have taken him away, and I know not
where they have put him.
     Alas ! Mary, why dost thou consume thyself with
these cares ? His heavenly Father knoweth, and he
will help him; the angels know, and they will guard
him; his own Spirit knoweth, and that will assist
him. And what need is there that thou, silly woman,
shouldst know it, that canst no way profit him ? But
I, feel in what vein thy pulse beateth, and by thy desire
I, discover thy disease* Though both heaven and earth
did know it, and the whole world had notice of it, yet
except thou also wert made privy to it, thy woes would
be as great, and thy tears as many. That others see the
sun, doth not lighten thy darkness ; neither can others'
eating satisfy thy hunger. The more there are that
know of liim, the greater is thy sorrow that, among
so many, thou art not taught worthy to be one ; and
the more there are that can help him, the more it
grieveth thee that thy poor help is not accepted among
them. Though thy knowledge needeth it not, thy
love doth desire it ; and though it avail not, thy de-
sire will seek it. If all know it, thou wouldst know
it with all : if no other, thou wouldst know it alone;
and from whomsoever it be concealed, it must be no
secret with thee. Though the knowledge would dis-
comfort thee, yet know it thou wilt ; yea, though it
would kill thee, thou couldst not forego the know-
ledge of it.

     The Lord is, to thy love, like drink to the thirsty :
if they cannot have it, they die for drought ; if they
are long without it, they pine away with the longing.
And as men in extremity of thirst are still dreaming of
fountains, brooks, and springs, being never able to
have other thought, or to utter other word, but of
drink and moisture ; so lovers, in the vehemence of
their passion, can neither think nor speak but of what
they love ; and if that be once missing, every part is
both an eye to watch, and an ear to listen, for what
hope or news soever may be had. If it be good, they
die till they hear it ; though bad, yet they cannot live
without it. Of the good, they hope that it is the very
best ; and of the evil, they fear it to be the worst :
and yet, though never so good, they pine till it be told ;
and be it never so evil, they are importunate to know
it ; and when they once know it, they can neither bear
the joy, nor brook the sorrow, both the one and the
other being enough to kill them.

     And this, O Mary, I guess to be the cause why the
angels would not tell thee of the estate thy Lord was
in : for had it been to thy liking, thou wouldst have
died for joy ; if otherwise, thou wouldst have sunk
down for sorrow. And therefore they leave this news
for him to deliver, whose word, if it give thee a wound,
has also the salve to cure it, be it never so deadly.

     But, alas ! afflicted soul, why doth it so deeply grieve
thee that thou knowest not where he is ? Thou canst


not better him, if he be well - thou canst as little suc-
cour him if he be ill : and since thou fearest that he is
rather ill than well, why shouldst thou know it, so to
end thy hopes in mishap, and thy great fears in far
greater sorrows ? Alas ! to ask thee why, is, in a
manner, to ask one half starved why he is hungry :
for as thy Lord is the food of thy thoughts, the relief
of thy wishes, the only repast of all thy desires ; so is
thy love a continual hunger, and his absence an ex-
treme famine.

     But why doth thy sorrow dwell so much upon the
place where he is ? Was it not enough for thee to
know who had him ? Must thou also know to what
place he is conveyed ? A worse place than a grave no
man will offer, and many will allow a far better man-
sion ; and therefore thou mayst boldly think, that
wheresoever he be, he is in a place fitter for him than
where he was. Thy sister Martha confessed him to be
the Son of God; doth thy belief agree with her con-
fession ? For what place more suited for the Son, than
to be with the Father, the business for which he hath
been so long from him being fully finished ? If he be
the Messiah, as thou didst once believe, it was said of
him, that he should ascend on high, and lead captivity
captive. And what is this height but heaven ; what
this captiyity but death ? Death, therefore, is become
his captive ; and what more likely than that, with the

spoils thereof, he is ascended in triumpb to eternal
life?
     But, if thou canst not lift thy mind to so favourable a
belief, yet mayst thou well suppose he is in paradis.
If he came to repair the ruins of Adam's fall, and
to be the common parent of our redemption, as
Adam was of our original infection, reason itself
seems to require, that having all his life endured
the penalty of Adam's exile, he should, after death,
re-enter in possession of that inheritance which
Adam lost. If sorrow at the Cross did not make thee
as deaf, as grief at the tomb maketh thee forgetful,
thou didst hear himself say to one of the thieves, that
the same day he should be with him in Paradise. -
And if it be reasonable that no shadow should be more
privileged than the body, no figure in more account
than the figured truth, why shouldst thou believe that
Elias and Enoch have been in Paradise these many
ages, and that he, whom they but as types resembled,
should be excluded from thence ? And yet if the base-
ness and misery of his passion have laid him so low in
thy conceit, that thou thinkest Paradise too high a
place to be likely to possess him ; the very lowest sta-
tion that reason can assign him cannot be meaner than
the bosom of Abraham. Let not, therefore, the place
where he is trouble thee, since it cannot be worse than
the grave ; and there are infinite reasons to conjecture
that it must be better.


     But suppose that he were yet remaining on earth,
and taken by others out of his tomb, what would it
avail thee to know where he were ? If he be with such
as love and honour him, they will be as wary to keep
him as they are loth he should be lost ; and therefore
will either often change, or never confess the place;
knowing that secrecy is the surest guard to defend so
great a treasure. If those have taken him that hate
and malign him, thou mayest well judge him past thy
recovery. Thou wouldst haply make sale of thy living,
and seek him by ransom : but it is not likely they
would  sell him to be honoured, whom they bought to
be murdered.- If price would not serve, thou wouldst
have recourse to prayer. But would prayer soften such
ftinty hearts ? If they scorned so many tears offered
for his life, would they regard thy entreaty for his
corse ? If neither price nor prayer would prevail;
thou wouldst attempt it by force. But, alas ! silly
soldier, thy arms are too weak to manage weapons;
and the issue of thy assault would be the loin of thy-
self. - If no other way would help; thou wouldst pur-
loin him by stealth, and think thyself happy in con-
triving such a theft. - Oh, Mary, thou art deceived,
for malice would have many locks ; and to steal him
from a thief that could steal him from the watch, re-
quireth more cunning in the art  than thy want of
practice can afford thee. - Yet if this be the cause why
thou enquirest of the place,- thou showest the force of


thy rare affection and deserves the laurel of a perfect
lover.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 6/14

     Whatsoever thou hearest that moveth delight, pre-
senteth but the loss of thy Master's speeches, which,
as they were the only harmony that thy ears affected,
so,as they are now hushed in deathfuul silence, all other
words and tunes of comfort are to thee but as the Is-
raelitish music on the banks of the rivers of Babylon,
memories of a lost felicity, and proofs of a present
unhappiness. And though love increaseth the conceit
of thy loss, which endeareth the meanest things, and
doubteth the estimate of things which are precious

guilt of their souls. - Perchance some secret disciples
have wrought this exploit, and in spite of the watch
have taken him from hence, with due honour to pre-
serve him in some fitter place. Being, therefore, as
yet uncertain who hath him, the greater probabilities
lie on the better side. Why dost thou call sorrow be-
fore it cometh, which, without calling, cometh but too
fast ? Why dost thou create sorrow, where it is not,
since thou hast true sorrow enough, and imaginary
ones are of no avail ? It is folly to suppose the worst,
when the best may be hoped ; and every mishap bring-
eth grief enough with it, though we do not go first to
neet it wit hour fears. - Quiet, then, thyself, till time
try out the truth ; and it may be, thy fear will prove
greater than thy misfortune.

     But I know thy love is little helped with this lesson ;
for the more it loveth, the more it feareth ; and the
more desirous it is to enjoy, the more doubtful it is of
losing. It hath neither measure in its hopes, nor mean
in its fears; hoping the best upon the least surmises,
find fearing the worst upon the weakest grounds. Yet
while it both fears and hopes at one and the same time,
neither does fear withhold hope from the highest at-
tempts, nor hope strengthen fear against the smallest
suspicions : but despite all fears, love's hopes will
mount to the highest pitch and despite all hopes,
love's fears will stoop to the lowest ebb. To bid thee,
therefore hope, is not to forbid thee to fear ; and tho'

it may be for the best that thy Lord is taken from thee,
yet since it may be also for the worst, that will never
content thee. Thou thinkest hope doth enough to
keep thy heart from breaking ; and fear little enough
to force thee to no more than weeping ; since it is
as likely that he hath been taken away upon hatred by
his enemies, as upon love by his friends.
     Hitherto, sayst thou, his friends have all failed him,
and his foes prevailed against him ; and therefore,
as they that would not defend him alive, are less
likely to regard him dead, so they that thought one
life too little to take from him, are not unlikely, after
death to wreak new vengeance upon him. And tho'
this doubt were not, yet whosoever hath taken him,
hath wronged me in not acquainting me with it; for
to take away mine without my consent, can neither he
offered without injury, nor suffered without sorrow -
And as for Jesus, he was my Jesus, my Lord, and my
Master : he was mine, because he was given unto me,
and born for me he was the author of my being, and
so my Father ; be was the worker of my well-being,
and therefore my Saviour ; he was the price of my
ransom, and therefore my Redeemer ; he was my Lord
to command me, my Master to instruct me, and my
Pastor to feed me. He was mine, because his love
wa» mine ; and when he gave me his love, he gave me
himself, since love is no gift unless the giver be given
with it : yea, it is no love, unless it be as liberal of


that it is, as of that it hath. In a word, if the food be
mine that I eat 5 the life mine wherewith I live ; or he
mine, all whose life, labours, and death were mine ;
then dare I boldly to say, that Jesus is mine ; for on
his body I feed ; by his love I live ; and for my good,
without any need of his own, hath he lived, laboured,
and died. And therefore though his Disciples, though
the Centurion, though the Angels have taken him, they
have done me wrong, in defrauding me of my right ;
for I never mean to resign my interest in him.
     But what if he hath taken himself away, wilt thou
also lay injustice to his charge ? Though he be thine,
yet thine to command, not to obey thy Lord to dis-
pose of thee, and not thee to be disposed : there-
fore, as it is no reason that the servant should be mas-
ter of the master's secrets, so might he remove - and
perchance he hath, without acquainting thee whither ;
revivmg himself by the same power with which he
raised thy dead brother, and fulfilling the words that
he so often uttered concerning his resurrection.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 5/14

     Oh, my only Lord, thy grief was the greatest that
ever was in man, and my grief as great as ever hap-
pened to woman ; for my love has imparted to me no
small portion of thine own, thy loss has redoubled the
torment of my own, and all creatures seem to have
made over theirs to me, leaving me as the vicegerent
of all their sorrows. - Sorrow with me, at the least,
thou tomb ! and thaw into tears, ye hardest stones ! -
The time is come, that ye are licensed to cry aloud,
and bound to atone for the silence of your Lord s dis-
ciples, of whom he himself said to the Pharisees, that
if they held their peace, the very stones should cry out
for them. - Yes, since fear hath sealed up every lip, and
madness made mute every tongue, let the stones cry


out against the murderers of my Lord, and betray the
robbers of his sacred body. It was doubtless the spite
of some malicious Pharisee, or ill -minded Scribe, who,
not content with those torments he suflfered in life, of
which every one, to any other, would have been worse
than death, hath now stolen away his dead body, to
practise upon it some savage cruelty, and to glut their
pitiless eyes and brutish hearts with the unnatural
usage of his helpless corse.
     Doth not his tongue, whose truth is infallible and
whose word omnipotent, commanding both the winds
and the seas, and never disobeyed by the most insensible
creature - doth it not promise to arm the world, and
make the whole earth fight against the senseless in de-
fence of the just ? And who more just than the Lord of
justice ? Who more senseless than his barbarous mur-
derers, whose insatiable thirst of his innocent blood
could not be staunched with their cruelly butchering
him at his death, unless they proceeded further in this
brutal impiety to his dead body ? Why, then, do not
all creatures address themselves to revenge so just a
quarrel upon such senseless wretches, bereft of all rea-
son, forsaken by humanity, and destitute of all feeling
both toward God and man
     Oh, Mary, why dost thou thus torment thyself with
these tragical surmises? Dost thou think that the
angels would sit still, if their master were ill-used?
Did they serve him after his fasting in the desert, and

would they desert him in the solitude of the tomb ?
Did they comfort him before his apprehension, and
would they not defend him when he was dead ? If in
the garden he might have had twelve legions at his
call, has his power too so died with his body, that he
is now unable to command them ? Was there an an-
gel found to help Daniel, to save Tobias, yea, and to
defend Balaam's poor beast from his master's rage ;
and is the Lord of Angels of so little account, that, if
his body stood in need, there should be never an angel
to defend it ? Thou seest two here present to honour
bis tomb, and how much more careful would they be,
to do homage to his person ? Believe not, Mary, that
they would smile, if thou hadst such occasion to weep.
They would not so gloriously shine in white, if black
and mourning weeds did better become them. Yield
not greater credit to thy uncertain fear and deceived
love, than to their assured love and never-erring cha-
rity. Can a material eye see more than a heavenly
spirit ; or the glimmering of the twilight yield better
vision than the beams of their eternal sun ? Thinkest
thou they would wait by the winding-sheet, if the
corse were abused ; or be here for thy comfort, if
their Lord did need their service ? No, no - he was
neither any thief's booty, nor Pharisee's prey ; neither
are the angels so careless of him as thy suspicion
presumeth. And if their presence and demeanour
eannot alter thy conceit, look upon the clothes, and

they will teach thee thine error, and clear thee of thy
doubts. Would any thief, thinkest thou, have been
so religious as to have stolen the body, and left the
garments ? Yea, would he have been so venturous as
to have stayed the unshrouding of the corse, the well-
ordering of the sheets, and folding up of the napkins ?
A guilty conscience doubteth want of time, and there-
fore dispatcheth hastily. It is in hazard to be disco-
vered, and therefore practiseth in darkness and secrecy.
It ever worketh in extreme fear, and therefore hath no
leisure to place things orderly. What did the watch,
while the seals were broken, the tomb opened, the body
unfolded, and all things disposed in older ? But if all
this cannot yet persuade thee, believe, at least, thine
own experience, and assure thyself, that if the corse
has been removed either by malice or fraud, the lines
and myrrh would never have been left ; and neither
would the angels look so cheerfully, nor the clothes
lie so orderly, but to import some happier accident
than thou conceivest.

     To free thee still more from fear, consider these
words of the angels - Woman, why weepest thou? - for
what do they signify but as much, in effect, as if they
had said - " Where angels rejoice, it befitteth not that
a woman should weep ; and where heavenly eyes are
witnesses of joy, no mortal eye should control them
with testimonies of sorrow. With more than manly
courage, thou didst, before our coming, aim thy feet


to run among swords, and thy body to endure all ty-
rants' rage and art thou now so much a woman, that
thou canst not command thine eyes to forbear tears ?
If thou wert a true disciple, so many proofs would per-
suade thee but now thy incredulous humour maketh
thee unworthy of that title, and we can afford thee no
better a name than that of woman and therefore. Oh,
woman, why weepest thou ? — Jf there were here any
corse, we might think that sorrow for the dead en-
forced thy tears ; but now that thou findest it a place
of the living, why dost thou stand here weeping for
the dead ? Is our presence so uncomfortable, that thou
shouldst weep to behold us ? or is this the course of thy
kindness to entertain us ? If they be tears of love, to
testify thy good will, as thy love is acknowledged, so
let these signs be suppressed. If they be tears of anger,
to denounce thy displeasure, they should not here have
been shed, where all anger was buried, but none de-
served. If they be tears of sorrow and duty, they are
bestowed in vain here, where the dead alone are re-
ceived. If they be tears of joy, distilled from the
flowers of thy good fortune, fewer of these would suf-
fice, and fitter were other tokens to express thy con-
tentment. And therefore. Oh, woman, why weepest
thou ? Would our eyes be so diy, if such eye-streams
weie beho\eful ? Yea, would not the heavens rain
tears, if thy suppositions were truths ? Do not
the angels, in their visible semblances, always repre-

ent the Lord's invisible pleasures, shadowing their
shapes to the drift of his intentions ? When God was
incensed, they brandished swords ; when he was ap-
peased, they sheathed them in the scabbard when he
would defend, they resembled soldiers ; when he would
terrify, they took terrible forms ; when he would
comfort, they carried gladness in their eyes, sweetness
in their countenances, mildness in their words, favour,
graced and comeliness in their whole presence. Why,
then, dost thou weep, seeing us to rejoice ? Dost thou
imagine us to degenerate from our nature, or to for-
get any duty, whose state is neither subject to change,
nor capable of the least offence ? Art thou more privy
to the counsels of the Eternal, than we that are daily
attendants at his throne of glory ? Oh, woman ! deem
not amiss against an evidence so apparent, and, at our
request, exchange thy sorrow for our joy."
     But oh, glorious angels, why do ye move her to joy,
if ye know why she weepeth ? Alas ! she weepeth for
the loss of him, without whom all joy is to her but
matter of new grief. While he lived, everyplace where
she found him was to her a paradise ; every season
wherein he was enjoyed, a perpetual spring ; every
exercise wherein he was served, a special felicity : the
ground whereon he went, seemed to yield her sweeter
footing ; the air wherein he breathed, became to her a
spirit of life, being once sanctified in his sacred breast.
In a word, his presence brought with it a heaven of

delights, and his departure seemed to leave an eclipse in
all things ; nay, more, even the places that he had once
honoured with the access of his person were to her so
many sweet pilgrimages, which in his absence she used
as so many altars to offer up her prayers, feeling in
them, long after his departure, the virtue of his former
presence : and therefore, to feed her with conjectures
of his well-being, is but to strengthen her fear that
evil has befallen him ; and the alledging of likelihoods
by those that know the certainty, importeth the cause
to be so lamentable, that they are unwilling it should
be known. Your obscure glancing at the truth is no
sufficient acquittance of her grief ; neither can she, out
of these disjoined guesses, spell the words that must be
the conclusion of her complaint. Tell her, then, di-
rectly, what is become of her Lord, if you mean to de-
liver her out of this anguish ; for whatever else you
say of him doth but rather increase her grief than as-
suage it.
     Yet hearken, O Mary, and consider their speeches.
Think what answer thou wilt give them, since they
press thee with so strong a persuasion. But I doubt
thy mind is bewildered - thou art wholly absorbed in
the bloody tragedy of thy slaughtered Lord : his death
and loss have gained such absolute possession over all
thy powers, that neither can thy sense discern, 'nor thy
mind conceive, any other object than his murdered
corse. Thy eyes seem to tell thee that every thing in-

viteth thee to weep ; carrying such outward show, as
though all that thou seest were attired in sorrow, to
solemnise, with general consent, the funeral of thy
Master. Thy tears persuade thee that all sounds and
voices are tuned with mournful notes ; that the echo
of thine own wailings is the cry of the very stones and
trees and that as the cause of thy tears is so unusual,
into the very rocks and woods God had inspired a feel-
ing of thine and their common loss. And therefore it
soundeth to thee as a strange question - Why thou
weepest - since all that thou seest and hearest seemeth
to induce thee, yea, to enforce thee to weep. If thou
seest any thing that beareth colour of mirth, it is unto
thee like the rich spoils of a vanquished kingdom to
the eye of a captive prince, which remind him of
what he had, not what he hath ; and which are but
the upbraidings of his loss, and the occasion of
sharper sorrow.

Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 4/14

O too fortunate a lot for so unfortunate a woman to
crave ! No, no - I do not crave it, for, alas! I dare not.
Yet if such an oversight be committed, I do now before-
hand forgive that sinner and were it no more presump-
tion to wish it while alive, than to suffer it when dead;

if I knew the party that should first pass by me. I would
woo him with my tears, and hire him with my prayers,
to bless me with this felicity. And though I do not
wish any to do it, yet this (without offence) I may say
to all, that I love this sindon above all clothes in the
world, and I esteem this tomb more than any prince's
monument ; yea, I think that corse highly favoured
that shall succeed my Lord in it ; and for my part, as
I mean that the ground where I stand shall be my
death-bed, so am I not of Jacob's mind, to have my
body buried far from the place where it dieth, but even
in the next and readiest grave, and that too as soon as
my breath faileth, since delays are bootless where
death has won possession.

But, alas ! I dare not say any more. Let my body
take such fortune as befalleth it; my soul, at the
least, shall dwell in this sweet paradise, and from this
brittle case of flesh and blood pass presently into the
glorious tomb of God and man. It is now enwrapped
in a mass of corruption it shall then enjoy a place of
high perfection. Where it is now, it is more by force
than by choice, and like a repining prisoner in a loathed
gaol ; but then in a little room it shall find perfect
rest, and in the prison of death the liberty of a joyful
life. O sweet tomb of my sweetest Lord! while I
live I will stay by thee ; when I die I will cling unto
thee ; neither alive nor dead will I ever be drawn from
thee . Thou art the altar of Mercy, the temple of

Truth, the sanctuary of Safety, the grave of Death,
and the cradle of Eternal Life« O cistern of my inno-
cent Joseph, take me into thy dry bosom, since I, and
not he, gave just cause of offence to my enraged
brethren ! But, alas ! in what cloud hast thou hidden
the light of our way ? Upon what shore hast thou
cast the preacher of all truth ? To, what Israelite hast
thou yielded the purveyor of our life ? Oh, unhappy
that I am ! why did I not before think of that which
I now ask ? Why did I leave him when I had him,
thus to lament him now that I have lost him ? If I
had watched with perseverance, either none would
have taken him, or they should have taken me with
him. But through too much preciseness in keeping
the law, I have lost the law-maker j and by being
too scrupulous in observing his ceremonies, I have
proved irreligious in losing himself; for I should
rather have remained with the truth, than have for-
saken it to solemnise the figure. The Sabbath could
not have been profaned in standing by that corse
by which profane things are sanctified, and whose
touch doth not defile the clean, but cleanseth the
most defiled. But when it was time to stay, I depart-
ed : - when it was too late to help, I returned; and
now I repent my folly, when it cannot be amended.—
But let my heart dissolve in sighs, my eyes melt in
teats, and my desolate soul languish in dislikes ; yea,
let all that I am and have endure' the punishnent it de-


serves ; so that if lie was incensed with fault, he
may be appeased with my penance.

Thus when her timorous conscience had accused her
of so great an omission, and her tongue enforced the
evidence with those bitter accusations. Love, that was
now the only umpire in all her causes, condemned her
eyes to a fresh shower of tears, her breast to a new
storm of sighs, and her soul to be the perpetual pri-
soner to restless sorrows.

But O, Mary, thou deceivest thyself in thy own de-
sires, and it well appeareth that excess of grief hath
produced in thee a defect of due providence. And
wouldst thou, indeed, have thy wishes come to pass,
and thy words fulfilled ? Tell me, then, if thy heart
were dissolved, where wouldst thou harbour thy Lord ?
What wouldst thou offer him ? How wouldst thou
love him? Thine eyes have lost him, thy hands cannot
feel him, thy feet cannot follow him ; and if he be at
all in thee, it is thy heart that hath him ; and wouldst
thou now have that dissolved, from thence also to exile
him ?

O, Mary, thou didst not remark what thy master
was wont to say, when he told thee that the third day
he should rise again ; for if thou hadst heard him, or
at least understood him, thou wouldst not be thus
overwhelmed and embarrassed. And therefore repair
to the angels, and enquire more of them, lest the Lord


he displeased, that, coming. from him, thou wilt not
entertain them.
     But Mary's devotions were all fixed upon a nobler
Saint, and she had so firmly bound her thoughts
to his affection alone, that she rather desired to un-
know those whom she knew already, than to burthen
her mind with the knowledge of any new acquaintance ;
she could not force her will, long since possessed with
the highest love, to stoop to the acceptance of any
meaner friendship. It was for this, that though she
did not scornfully reject, yet did she with humility
refuse, the angels' company, thinking it no discourtesy
to leave them, in order to devote herself more wholly
to her Lord, to whom both she and they were wholly
devoted, and owed the utmost debt of love and duty.
Sorrow, too, being now the only interpreter of all that
sense delivered to her understanding, made her con-
sider their demand in a more doubtful than true
meaning;

If (said she) they came to ease my affliction, they
could not be so ignorant of the cause ; and if they
were not ignorant of it, they would never ask it :-
why then did they say, Woman, why weepest thou? -
If their question did import a prohibition, the necessity
of the occasion doth countermand their counsel ; and
fitter it were they should weep with me, than I obey
them by not weeping. If the sun were ashamed to
show his brightness, when the Father of lights was
darkened with such disgrace if the heavens, dis-
figuring their beauties, suited themselves to their
Maker's form ; - if the whole frame of Nature were al-
most dissolved, to see the Author of Nature so unna-
turally abused ; - why may not angels, that best know
the indignity of the case, make up a part in this la-
mentable concert ? and especially now, when, by the
loss of his body, the cause of weeping is increased, and
yet the number of mourners lessened : for the apos-
tles are lied, and all his friends afraid, and poor I left
alone to supply the tears of all creatures. 0 who will
give water to my head, and a fountain of tears unto my
eyes, that I may weep day and night, and never cease
weeping ?

Gloria in Excelsis Deo!

Here is a Christmas Card to family, friends and readers everywhere:

No room to spare in Bethlehem

Quem in civitate Bethlehem
laetando genuisti:
neque dolorem aliquem
gignendo pertulisti. Ave Maria.

In Bethlehem Whom, a Holy Seed,
     Thou didst bring forth with gladness;
In that thy wondrous labour freed
     From human pangs and sadness. Hail Mary.

The Nativity of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. JJ Tissot. Brooklyn Museum.

Quem regis David genere
mox natum adorasti;
ac vagientem ubere
virgineo lactasti. Ave Maria.


Scion of Royal David's line,
     New-born thou didst adore Him;
Whose nurturing breast with love benign
     A wailing Infant bore Him. Hail Mary.







Quem pannis fasciis
constrictum reclinasti;
et suis obsequiis
te totam mancipasti. Ave Maria.


Whom in the manger thou didst lay,
     With swathing bands enfolding,
And Him to cherish, day by day,
     No pains or care withholding. Hail Mary.

Gloria in Excelsis Deo!

Quem magno cum tripudio
angeli laudaverunt;
pacemque cum gaudio
in terris cecinerunt. Ave Maria.

Whom brightest Angels at His birth,
     With laud and carol hailing,
Praised God; announcing Peace on earth,
     Good will and love unfailing. Hail Mary.

The adoration of the Shepherds

Quem pastorem omnium
pastores cognoverunt;
dum in praesepe Dominum
iacente invenerunt. Ave Maria.

Whom wondering shepherds as of all
     The Shepherd Prince declaring,
Yet found, a stable mean and small
     With ass and oxen sharing. Hail Mary.

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Rosarium Aureum.