Of the terrours at the Death of our Saviour

What tempest's this, that from the Tree of Death
Would shake this fruit of Life? what angry breath
Of Heav'n teares up my tender-rooted heart?
Doth the rude world into confusion start?
Or Nature, bending to her finall wracke,
Heare the maine Engine of her motion cracke?
The Temple rends its cloaths, the Rocks (that were
Angry at harder hearts) their Centers teare,
Heav'ns blood-shot eye winkes close for griefe and dread,
The Earth grows sicke, and vomits up her dead,
The Sea howles out, while the loud winds in rage
Hisse at those Actors on their Tragicke Stage,
That, having lost both shape and reasons sparke
In that blacke day, seeme Dragons in the darke.
O poisonous sinne! whose force the solid ground
Thus breakes, and threats whole Nature to confound.