Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5 Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10 And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. [X. _1635-69:_ VI. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ XI. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_] [4 mee.] mee; _1633_] [5 pictures _1633 and MSS.:_ picture _1635-69_] [8 deliverie.] deliverie _1633-69_] [9 Chance, _W:_ chance, _1633-69_] [10 dost] doth _1633_ dwell,] dwell. _1633_] [12 better] easier _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_] [13 wake] live _B_, _S96_, _W_] [14 more; death, _Ed:_ more, death _1633-69_] XI. Spit in my face you Jewes, and pierce my side, Buffet, and scoffe, scourge, and crucifie mee, For I have sinn'd, and sinn'd, and onely hee, Who could do no iniquitie, hath dyed: But by my death can not be satisfied 5 My sinnes, which passe the Jewes impiety: They kill'd once an inglorious man, but I Crucifie him daily, being now glorified. Oh let mee then, his strange love still admire: Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment. 10 And _Iacob_ came cloth'd in vile harsh attire But to supplant, and with gainfull intent: God cloth'd himselfe in vile mans flesh, that so Hee might be weake enough to suffer woe. [XI. _1635-69:_ VII. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _omitted_ _B_, _S96:_ _added among_ Other Meditations. _O'F:_ XIII. _W_] [3 onely] humbly _W_] [6 impiety] iniquitye _D_, _H49_] [8 glorified.] glorified; _1633_] [12 intent:] intent _1633_] XII. Why are wee by all creatures waited on? Why doe the prodigall elements supply Life and food to mee, being more pure then I, Simple, and further from corruption? Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? 5 Why dost thou bull, and bore so seelily Dissemble weaknesse, and by'one mans stroke die, Whose whole kinde, you might swallow and feed upon? Weaker I am, woe is mee, and worse then you, You have not sinn'd, nor need be timorous. 10 But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us Created nature doth these things subdue, But their Creator, whom sin, nor nature tyed, For us, his Creatures, and his foes, hath dyed. [XII. _1635-69:_ VIII. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ _omitted_ _B_, _S96:_ _among_ Other Meditations. _O'F:_ XIV. _W_]