But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
And those Pearls of dew fhe wears,
Prove to be presaging tears,
Which the fad morn had let fall
On her haft'ning Funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travel fore,
Sweet reft feize thee evermore,
That, to give the world increase,
Shortned haft thy own life's lease.
Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan,
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And fome Flowers, and fome bays,
For thy Herfe, to ftrew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fit'ft in glory,
Next her, much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,
Who after years of barrenness,
The highly favour'd Joseph bore
To him, that serv'd for her before;
And at her next birth, much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bosom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light:
There with thee, new welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her foul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.
OW the bright Morning-Star, Day's harbin
Comes dancing from the Eaft, and leads with her
The Flow'ry May; who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowflip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doft inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm defire;
Woods and Groves are of thy Dreffing,
Hill and Dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we falute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and with thee long.
On SHAKESPEAR. 1630.
HAT needs my Shakespear for his honour'd
Bones
The labour of an age in piled Stones,
Or that his hallow'd reliques fhould be hid
Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?
Dear Son of memory, great heir of Fame,
What need'ft thou fuch weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Haft built thy felf a live-long Monument.
For whilft, to th' fhame of flow-endeavouring art Thy eafy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,
Thofe Delphick lines with deep impreffion took,
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving,
Doft make us Marble-with-too-much conceiving s
And fo Sepulcher'd in such pomp doft lie,
That Kings for fuch a Tomb would wish to die.
On the University Carrier, who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reafon of the Plague.
ERE lies old Hobfon, Death hath broke his
girt,
And here, Alas! hath laid him in the dirt;
Or elfe the ways being foul, twenty to one
He's here stuck in a flough, and overthrown.
'Twas such a shifter, that, if truth were known,
Death was half glad when he had got him down;
For he had any time these ten years full,
Dodg'd with him betwixt Cambridge and the Bull,
And furely, death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd:
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end, was come,
And that he had ta'en up his latest Inn,
In the kind Office of a Chamberlain
[night, Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that Pull'd off his, Boots, and took away the light.
If any ask for him, it shall be said,
Hobfon has fupt, and's newly gone to bed.
Another on the fame.
ERE lieth one, who did most truly prove
That he could never die while he could move: So hung his destiny, never to rot
While he might still jogg on and keep his trot,
Made of Sphear-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at ftay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And like an Engine mov'd with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceas'd, he ended strait.
Reft, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm,
Too long vacation haften'd on his term.
Meerly to drive the time away, he ficken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quicken'd:
Nay, quoth he, on his fwooning bed out-stretch'd,
If I mayn't carry, fure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,
For one Carrier put down to make fix bearers.
Eafe was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He dy'd for heaviness that his Cart went light:
His leifure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdenfom,
That even to his last breath (there be that say't)
As he were preft to death, he cry'd more weight;
But had his doings lafted as they were,
He had been an immortal Carrier.
Obedient to the Moon, he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the Seas,
Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increafe:
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,
Only remains this Superscription.
On the new Forcers of Confcience under the LONG PARLIAMENT.
Ecause you have thrown off your Prelate Lord
And with stiff Vows renounc'd his Liturgie,
To feize the widow'd whore Pluralitie
From them, whose fin ye envy'd, not abhorr'd; Dare ye for this adjure the Civil Sword
To force our Confciences, that Chrift set free,
And ride us with a claffic Hierarchy
Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford!
Men whofe Life, Learning, Faith, and pure Intent
Would have been held in high Efteem with Paul,
Muft now be nam'd and printed Hereticks,
By fhallow Edwards and Scotch what d'ye-call.
But we do hope to find out all your tricks, [Trent,
Your plots, and packing, worse than thofe of
That fo the Parliament
May with their wholesome and preventive mears
Clip your Phylacteries, though baulk your Ears,
And fuccour our juft Fears;
When they shall read this clearly in your charge,
New Prefbyter is but Old Prieft writ Large.
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