St. xxx. line 1. Our text (1652) misprints 'Say the bright brothers.' 1646 and 1670 read 'Say watry Brothers.' So SANCROFT MS. 1648 gives 'ye,' which I have adopted. The misprint of 'the' in 1652 originated doubtless in the printer's reading 'ye,' the usual mode of writing 'the.' Line 2. 1646 and 1670 read 'Yee simpering ...' So the SANCROFT MS. Line 3, ib. 'fertile' for 'fruitfull.' Line 4, ib. 'What hath our world that can entice.' So the SANCROFT MS. Lines 5 and 6, ib. 'what is't can borrow You from her eyes, swolne wombes of sorrow.' So the SANCROFT MS. St. xxxi. line 2. 1646 and 1670 read 'O whither? for the _sluttish_ Earth:' and I accept 'sluttish' for 'sordid,' which is also confirmed by SANCROFT MS. Line 4, ib. 'your' for 'their;' and as this is also the reading of 1648 and SANCROFT MS., I have accepted it. Line 5. 1646 and 1670 omit 'Sweet.' Line 6, ib. read 'yee' for 'you.' St. xxxii. and xxxiii. In 1646 and 1670 these two stanzas are thrown into one, viz. 23 (there), which consists of the first four lines of xxxii. and the two closing lines of xxxiii. as follows, 'No such thing; we goe to meet A worthier object, our Lords feet.' In the SANCROFT MS. also, and reads as last line 'A worthy object, our Lord Jesus feet.' On the closing lines of st. xxxii. cf. Sospetto d'Herode, st. xlviii. I have not thought it needful, either in these Notes or hereafter, to record the somewhat arbitrary variations of mere orthography in the different editions, as 'haile' for 'hail,' 'syluer' for 'silver,' 'hee' for 'he,' and the like. But I trust it will be found that no different wording has escaped record. G. SANCTA MARIA DOLORVM, OR THE MOTHER OF SORROWS _A patheticall Descant vpon the deuout Plainsong of Stabat Mater Dolorosa._[23] I. In shade of Death's sad tree Stood dolefull shee. Ah she! now by none other Name to be known, alas, but Sorrow's Mother. Before her eyes, 5 Her's, and the whole World's ioyes, Hanging all torn she sees; and in His woes And paines, her pangs and throes: Each wound of His, from euery part, All, more at home in her one heart. 10 II. What kind of marble, than, Is that cold man Who can look on and see, Nor keep such noble sorrowes company? Sure eu'en from you 15 (My flints) some drops are due, To see so many unkind swords contest So fast for one soft brest: While with a faithfull, mutuall floud, Her eyes bleed teares, His wounds weep blood. 20 III.