A Feast for Wormes: The Proposition

TIs not the Record of great Hectors glory,
Whose matchlesse Valour makes the World a Story;
Nor yet the swelling of that Romans name,
That onely Came, and Look'd, and Overcame;
Nor One, nor All, of those brave Worthies nine,
(Whose Might was great, and Acts almost divine,
That live'd like Gods, but dy'd like Men, and gone)
Shall give my Pen a Taske to treat upon:
I sing the praises of the KING of Kings.
Out of whose mouth a two-edg'd Smiter springs,
Whose Words are Mystery, whose Works are Wonder,
Whose Eyes are Lightning, and whose Voice is Thun-der;
Who like a Curtaine spreads the Heavens out,
Spangled with Starres, in Glory round about:
'Tis He, that cleft the furious waves in twaine,
Making a High-way passage through the Maine,
'Tis He, that turn'd the waters into Blood,
And smote the Rocky stone, and caus'd a Flood;
'Tis He, that's justly armed in his Ire,
Behinde with Plagues, before with flaming Fire,
More bright than mid-day Phoebus, are his Eyes,
And whosoever sees his Visage, dyes.
I sing the Praises of Great Iudahs Lyon,
The fragrant Flowre of Iesse, the Lambe of Sion,
Whose Head is whiter than the driven Snow,
Whose visage doth like flames of Fier glow:
His Loynes begirt with golden Belt, his Eyne
Like Titan, ridinst in his Southerne Shine,
His Feet like burning Brasse, and as the noise
Of surgie Neptunes roaring in hi Voice,
This is that Paschall Lambe whose dearest Blood
Is soveraige Drinke, whose Flesh is saving Food:
His precious Blood, the Worthies of the Earth
Did drinke, which (though but borne of mortall birth)
Return'd them Deities: For who drinkes This,
Shall be receiv'd into Eternall Blisse;
Himselfe's the Gift, which He himselfe did give,
His Stripes heale us, and by His Death we live;
He acting God and Man, in double Nature,
Did reconcile Mankinde, and Mans Creator.
I, heere's a Taske indeed; If Mortalls could
Not make a Verse, yet Rockes and Mountaines would:
The Hills shall dance, the Sunne shall stop his Course,
Hearing the subiect of this high Discourse:
The Horse, and Gryphin, shall together sleepe,
The Wolfe shall fawne upon the silly Sheepe,
The crafty Serpent, and the fearfull Hart,
Shall joyne in Consort, and each beare a part,
And leape for Ioy; when my Vrania sings,
She sings the praises of the King of Kings.