| |
| THERE was a King of old, | |
| That did in Jewry dwell; | |
| Whether a God, or man, or both, | |
| I’me sure I love him well. | |
| |
| Love him! why who doth not? | 5 |
| Did ever any wight | |
| Not goodnesse, beauty, sweetnesse, love— | |
| Not comfort, love, and light? | |
| |
| None ever did, or can; | |
| But here’s the cause alone | 10 |
| Why he of all few lovers finds: | |
| Alas! he is not knowne. | |
| |
| There are so many faire, | |
| Hee’s lost amoung the throng; | |
| Yet they that seek him no where else, | 15 |
| May finde him in a song. | |
| |
| This King, then, was a man, | |
| Whose mother was a maide; | |
| Himself was God, and, if you doubt, | |
| Himself his mother made. | 20 |
| |
| A wonder sure it was, | |
| But so is all the rest: | |
| For whilst she bore him in her wombe, | |
| She wore him on her breast. | |
| |
| A King he was so high, | 25 |
| As by him all kings raigne; | |
| Yet was his pompe not very great— | |
| Twelve was his usuall traine. | |
| |
| And though no other prince | |
| Did give a better pay, | 30 |
| Yet when he stood in greatest need | |
| His subjects ran away. | |
| |
| This King he was a priest, | |
| He was the sacrifice; | |
| And he also the aulter was, | 35 |
| The gift yt sanctifies. | |
| |
| And though the sacrifice | |
| The priests did ever eate, | |
| The aulter, sacrifice, and priest, | |
| And all here made our meate. | 40 |
| |
| This God, Man, King, and Priest, | |
| Almighty was, yet meeke: | |
| He was most just, yet mercifull; | |
| The guilty did him seeke. | |
| |
| He never any failed | 45 |
| That sought him in their need; | |
| He never quenched the smoaking flaxe, | |
| Nor brake the bruised reed. | |
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| He was the truest friend | |
| That ever any tryed; | 50 |
| For whome he loved he never left— | |
| For them he lived and dy’d. | |
| |
| And if you’ld know the folke | |
| Yt brought him to his end, | |
| Reade but his title, you shall finde | 55 |
| Him styled ‘the sinner’s friend.’ | |
| |
| His life all wonder was, | |
| But heer’s a wonder more, | |
| That he yt was all life and love, | |
| Should be belov’d no more. | 60 |
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| Ile love him while I live; | |
| To those that be his foes, | |
| Though I them hate, I’ll wish no worse | |
| Than his deare love to loose. | |
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