One eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more, To fix those full-fac't glories. O, he's poore Of eyes that has but Argus' store! Yet, if thou'lt fill one poore eye with Thy Heaven and Thee, O grant, sweet Goodnesse, that one eye may be All and every whit of me. CR. ANOTHER VERSION. With one eye! Ah! but rather to me give A hundred or a hundred-thousand, Lord. All Argus' eyes were no superlative To view the glories Thy three heavens afford. Or, O my God, if unto those who die, It be Thy will only to give one eye, Grant my whole body that one eye to be, That thus I may forever gaze on Thee. G. XXVII. _Hydropicus sanatur._ Luc. xiv. 2-4. Ipse suum pelagus, morboque immersus aquoso Qui fuit, ut laetus nunc micat atque levis: Quippe in vina iterum Christus, puto, transtulit undas; Et nunc iste suis ebrius est ab aquis. Himself is his own sea; Dropsy his malady In sad severity. But Christ the Lord he sees, Who touching him him frees; Now joyous and at ease. Again, as I opine, The Lord transmutes to wine By miracle divine; And now, still more and more, His own wine-water store Pours mirth at ev'ry pore. G. XXVIII. _Non erat iis in diversorio locus._ Luc. ii. 7. Illi non locus est? Illum ergo pellitis? Illum? Ille Deus, quem sic pellitis; ille Deus. O furor! humani miracula saeva furoris! Illi non locus est, quo sine nec locus est. _There was no room for them in the inn._ No place for Him! So Him you drive away; You drive away your God, your God. O, stay! O height of human madness! wonders rare! No place for Him! without Whom no place were. G. XXIX. _In lacrymas Lazari spretas a Divite._ Luc. xvi. Felix, ô, lacrymis, ô Lazare, ditior istis, Quam qui purpureas it gravis inter opes: Illum cum rutili nova purpura vestiet ignis, Ille tuas lacrymas quam volet esse suas. _Upon Lazarus his teares._ Rich Lazarus, richer in those gems, thy teares, Than Dives in the roabes he weares: He scornes them now; but, O, they'l suit full well With th' purple he must weare in Hell! CR. ANOTHER RENDERING. O happy Lazarus! richer in thy tears Than he who midst his riches purple wears. Hell's purple flames red-glowing shall be his: Ah, then how shall he count thy tears a bliss! XXX. _Indignatur Caiphas Christo se confitenti._ Matt. xxvi. 65. Tu Christum, Christum quod non negat esse lacessis: Ipsius hoc crimen, quod fuit ipse, fuit. Tene Sacerdotem credam? Novus ille Sacerdos Per quem impune Deo non licet esse Deum. _Caiphas angry that Christ confesses He is the Christ._