[Meditationes seu Contemplationes devotissimae]

¶ O what gratuitous and thus proved love. O what unexpected dignity. O what stupendous sweetness, for the King of Glory to be crucified for a most despised servant, or rather, a little worm. Scarcely would anyone die for a just man, and he himself died for enemies and the unjust. Look back, faithful soul, with the mental eye, to how great a debt of remuneration you are bound to the suffering Lord. Recall the bloody sweat, the slaps, the insults, the pressure of the scourges, the thorny crown, the anguish of the cross, the hanging on the gibbet, the head inclined, the languishing eyes, the pierced hands, the feet dug through, the side perforated, the food mixed with gall, the acidic drinks of the sponge, the service of the reed and hyssop, the spittle of the blasphemers, the blows of the rod, the thieves standing by, the kneeling mocks, the derisive gestures, the famous title, the lots of the garment, the divisions of the vestments. What more? The vilest torture of death and the sum of abominable reproaches. O what hard and bitter things you suffered for men, good Jesus: hard words, harder beatings, and the hardest and horrifying torments of the cross. Let all the faithful, therefore, praise and adore, who through your passion and death have been called from darkness to light, from death to life, from corruption to incorruption, from exile to the homeland, from mourning to joy.

¶ Concerning the compassion of the most glorious Virgin Mary, and also the lamentation of the passion and most bitter death of her most beloved son

Let it not pass you by, faithful soul, to contemplate, and while contemplating, to suffer together with the glorious Virgin, whose soul the sword of his passion had pierced most bitterly. Think how, when she had seen her son struck with many blows, beaten with stones, crowned with thorns, all her inward parts were moved, and her spirit failed, and there was no voice nor sense. ¶ Remember besides, devout soul, how, with the herald shouting and Pilate commanding, when her son, carrying his cross for himself, was dragged to the torture, and a concourse of people was made after him, of whom some were mocking and jeering, and others were throwing mud and dung and other impurities upon his head. With what sorrow she followed, with his most sad mother, with the women who had followed him from Galilee, ministering to him, by whom she was held up as if dead. Certain dreadful, terrible predators had touched him, and the impious and Tartarean legions, looking upon him, began to be terrified and trembling, and started to inquire, saying,