The world is right jealous, for reason that best: God first jealous was, long before all the rest.[227] 220 He’s soul. The two worlds His august body form.[228] The body, through soul must receive good or harm. Whoso in his worship turns truly to God, Foul shame ’twould be for him to bow to faith’s rod. Whoever’s a keeper of wardrobe to king, Brings loss to his sovereign by petty trading. With potentate, whoso, by grade, council holds, If placed as a guard at a gate, roundly scolds. Admitted to honour by kissing of hands, To stoop, kiss the foot, degradation now stands. 225 To kiss foot of sovereign’s a great honour, sure. Compared with hands-kissing, ignominy pure. A king would be jealous of servant so base His foot who should kiss, when his hand was the place. God’s jealousy wheat is on full threshing-floor; Man’s jealousy, chaff blown away out of door. Know: Jealousy rise doth take, still, in our God; Man’s jealousy budded from that noble rod. Let’s quit that deep subject; take up plaint and wail, Against the great hardship of love’s chastening flail.[229] 230 I cry, for that He loves to hear all my cries. My moans, lamentations, are what He enjoys. How should I cease wailing at His fell caprice? I’m not of His darlings, nor in His service. How should I not be, in my soul, black as night? Deprived of His look, sweetness, warmth, and mild light. All his disagreements are pleasant to me. My life I’d give up, sacrifice I would be. I love all my anguish; I dote on my pain, So long as it pleases my heart’s treasured swain. 235 My sorrow’s my eyes’ choicest collyrium; My tears are as pearls from deep-sea tedium. Tears poured forth by lovers at His adored feet, Are pearls; though we’re used them as tears to misgreet. My soul’s Soul’s the tyrant of whom I complain. Complaint I make not. I describe but my pain. My heart but pretends it has been too much hurt; Excuse is this merely. I smile at such blurt.