Explore Poems GO!

Sonnets

Mors Christi.

And am I here, and my Redeemer gone ?
Can he be dead, and is not my life done ?
Was he tormented in excesse of measure,
And doe I live yet? and yet live in pleasure ?
Alas ! could sinners finde out ne'r a one
More fit than thee for them to spit upon ?
Did thy cheekes entertaine a traytor's lips ?
Was thy deare body scourg'd and tome with whips.

So that the guiltlesse blood came trickling after?
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM