The teares of the daugh∣ters of Ieru∣salem,
Thrice happy women that obtaind such grace
From him whose worth the world could not containe;
Immediately to turne about his face,
As not remembring his great griefe and paine,
To comfort you, whose teares powr'd forth apace
On Flora's bankes, like shewers of Aprils raine:
Your cries inforced mercie, grace, and loue
From him, whom greatest Princes could not mooue
To speake on word, nor once to lift his eyes
Vnto proud Pilate, no nor Herod, king,
By all the Questions that they could deuise,
Could make him answere to no manner of thing;
Yet these poore women, by their pitious cries
Did mooue their Lord, their Louer, and their King,
To take compassion turne about, and speake
To them whose hearts were ready now to breake.