Who would know Sin, let him repair Unto...

Who would know Sin, let him repair Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair, His skin, his garments bloody be. Sin is that press and vice, which forceth pain To hunt his cruel food through every vein. Who knows not Love, let him assay And taste that juice, which on the cross a pike Did set abroad; then let him say If ever he did taste the like. Love is that liquor sweet and most divine, Which my God feels as blood; but I as wine.