Classic Poem

Now , Soule returne, with thy sole Soules returne
It will not be, they will not pittie him;
Againe He goes, no torment serues their turne,
But Death, with torment, must part Life, from Lymme:
Now, Barrabas is free'd, Christ iudg'd to die;
One spils, the other sheds blood, diuersly!

That Man-destroyer is from Death preseru'd;
This Man-preseruer, Death must straight destroy:
Right's made away, and Wrong is still reseru'd;
In nought but in Christ crucifi'd they ioy:
So, doe good Christians too, but here's the ods,
They are the Diu'ls Demeasne, but Christians, Gods.

The ruthlesse Crucifige now they crie,
Like hungry Hounds that close pursue the Pray;
Whose blood to sucke, their pliant Iudge they plie
With ceaslesse clamours, Him to make away:
And thus (to vrge him to't) they crie at once,
His blood be on vs and our little ones.

These Cries, for blamelesse Blood, diuerberate
The high resounding Heau'ns conuexitie:
That bloods lowd Cries the skies doe penitrate
With shrill Vindicta's irresistably:
" If Men haue blood for blood, by Iustice course
" Gods blood in Equitie hath much more force

Mans blood is spilt, for spilling blood of Man;
Because Mans spirit alone, resembleth Gods;
But God's the thing it selfe; by Iustice than
Betweene both bloods is ods, surmounting ods!
The Ransome of the World is rich, (Christ knoes)
Who spils it then deserues a world of woes.

The damned Doomes-man hath him iudg'd to death,
(The Diu'll that Diu'll elinguate for his doome)
O wau ring Weather-cocke! what wayward breath
Turn'd thee about, from thy first holy-doome;
Doth thy damn'd double Tongue iudge him to die,
Whom selfe same Tongue, before, did iustifie?

Past is thy Iudgement on this Iudge of All;
His iudgement on thee is, as yet, to come:
Thy doome, in thy owne Thoughts was partiall;
But He, on thee, shall giue a righteous doome:
Pilate farewell; till then, Christ bids th' adue,
When fiends shall plague thee, as fiends plague him now!