_In spinas demtas a Christi capite cruentatas._
Accipe, an ignoscis? de te sata germina, miles.
Quam segeti est messis discolor illa suae!
O quae tam duro gleba est tam grata colono?
Inserit hic spinas: reddit et illa rosas.
_Upon the thornes taken downe from our Lord's head bloody._
Knowst thou this, souldier? 'tis a much-chang'd plant, which yet
Thyselfe didst set;
'Tis chang'd indeed: did Autumn e're such beauties bring
To shame his Spring?
O, who so hard an husbandman could ever find
A soyle so kind?
Is not the soile a kind one, thinke ye, that returnes
Roses for thornes? CR.