Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears (Southwell): Part 3/14

Thou wilt say, that though he forbade thee to weep
for him, yet he left thee free to weep for thyself ; and
since thy love hath made thee one with him, thou
weepest but for thyself when thou weepest for him.
Yea, but (sayst thou) to bar me from weeping, is to [345]
abridge me of liberty, and restraint of liberty is a pe-
nalty, and every penalty supposeth some offence ; but
it is no offence to weep for myself. Nay, if this
be a fault, I will never amend it ; and let them that
think it so, do penance for it. For my part, since I [350]
have lost my mirth, 1 will make much of my sorrow ;
and since I have no joy but in tears, I may lawfully
shed them. And what need had he to weep upon the
Cross, but for our example ? which, if it were good for
him to give, it cannot be evil for me to follow. No, [355]
no — ^it is not my weeping that causeth my loss, since a
world of eyes and a sea of tears could not worthily be-
wail the loss of such a master.

Yet since neither thy seeking findeth, nor Thy weep-
ing prevaileth, satisfy thyself with the sight of angels. [360]
Demand the cause of their coming, and the reason of
thy lord's removal ; and since they first offer thee oc-
casion of parley, be not thou too dainty of thy dis-
course. It may be they can calm thy sorrows, and quiet
thy unrest, and therefore conceal not from them thy [365]
wounds, lest thou lose the benefit of their cure.

But nothing can move Mary to admit of comfort, or
entertain any company, for to one alone, and for eycr,
she hath vowed herself ; and she will never lend her
ear long except it be to him, nor borrow help except [370]
from him, lest by seeking to allay her smart she
should lessen her love. But drawing into her mind all
pensive conceits, she museth and pineth in a consum-
ing languor, taking comfort in nothing but being com-
fortless. — Alas ! (saith she,) small is the light that a [375]
star can yield when the sun is down, and a sorry ex-
change to go gather the crumbs, after the loss of a
heavenly repast. My eyes are not used to see by the
glimpse of a spark ; and in seeking the sun, it is
either needless or bootless to borrow the light of a [380]
candle. If they come to disburthen me of my heavi-
ness, their coming will be burthensome unto me, and

they will but load me, the more they labour my relief.
They cannot persuade me that my master is not lost,
for my own eyes will disprove them. They can less [385]
tell me where he may be found, for they would not be
so simple as to stay so long from him, or if they can
forbear him, surely they do not know him, whom none
can truly know and live long without. All their de-
murs would be tedious, and their discourses irksome. [390]
Impair my love they might, but satisfy it they could
not ; he that first accepted the debt can alone be the
payment. They either want power, will, or leave to
tell me my desired or at the first word they would have
done it, since angels are not used to idle speeches, and [395]
to me all talk is idle that doth not tell me of my master.
They know not where he is, and therefore they are come
to the place where he last was, making the tomb their
heaven, and the remembrance of his presence the food
of their felicity. Whatsoever they could tell me, if [400]
they told me not of him, and whatsoever they could
tell me of him, if they told me not where he were, both
their telling and my hearing were but a wasting of
time. I neither came to see them, nor desire to hear
them. I came not to see angels, but him that made [405]
both me and angels, and to whom I owe more than
both to men and angels and to thee I appeal, O most
loving Lord ! whether any afflicted heart doth not truly
defray the tribute of an undivided love. To thee I
appeal, whether I have joined any partner with thee in [410]
the small possession of my poor self. And would to
God I were as privy to where thy body is, as thou, who
art the only Lord and owner of my soul !

But, alas, sweet Jesu, where thou wert thou art
not, and where thou art I know not. Wretched is the [415]
state that I am in, and yet how to better it I cannot
imagine. Alas, O my only desire, why hast thou left
me wavering in these uncertainties, and my perplexed
and doubtful thoughts to wander in so wild a maze ;
If I stay here where he is not, I shall never find him : [420]
if I go farther to seek, I know not whither. To leave
the tomb is death ; and to stand helpless by it, an in-
curable disease y so that all my comfort is now con-
cluded in this — am free to choose whether I will stay
without help, or go without hope ; that is, in effect, [425]
with what torment I will end my life. And yet even
this were too happy a choice for so unhappy a creature.
If I might be chooser of my own death, O how quickly
should choice be made, and how willingly would I run
to its execution ! I would be nailed to the same [430]
cross with the same nails, and in the same place, my
heart should be wounded with the same spear, my head
with his thorns, my body with his whips. Finally, I
would taste all his torments, and tread all his embrued
and bloody steps. But O, ambitious thoughts, why [435]
gaze you upon so high a felicity ? why think you of
so glorious a death, that are privy to so infamous a
life ? Death, alas ! I deserve — nay, not one, but infi-
nite deaths. But so sweet a death, seasoned with so

many comforts the very instruments whereof were [425]
able to raise the dead, and render pure the most defiled
soul, would be too small a scourge for my great of-
fences ; and therefore I am left to feel as many deaths
as I live hours, and to pass as many pangs as I hate
thoughts of my loss, which are as many as there are [430]
minutes, and as violent as if all were summed up in
one. But since I can neither die as he died, nor live
where he lieth dead, I will live by his grave, and die
on his sweet tomb. No, no - though I have been rob-
bed of the saint, I will at least have care of the [435]
shrine ; and though it be spoiled of the most sove-
reign host, yet shall it be the altar where I will daily
sacrifice my heart, and offer up my tears. Here will I
ever lead - yea, here do I mean to end my wretched
life, that I may at least be buried by the tomb of my [440]
Lord, and take my iron sleep near this couch of stone,
which his presence hath made the place of sweetest re-
pose. It may be, also, that this empty sindon lieth
here to no use ; and this tomb being open, without
any in it, may give occasion to some merciful heart [445]
that shall first light upon my unburied body, to wrap
me in his shroud, and to inter me in this tomb.