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Thou know'st it must be now thy only bent
To keep in compass of thy predicament:
Then quick about thy purposed business come,
That to the next I may resign my room.
Then Ens is represented as Father of the PreDICAMENTS
his two Sons, whereof the eldest stood for SUBSTANCE with his Canons; which Ens, thus speaking, explains.
Good luck befriend thee, Son! for, at thy birth,
The faery ladies danced upon the hearth;
Thy drowsy nurse hath sworn she did them spy
Come tripping to the room where thou didst lie,
And, sweetly singing round about thy bed,
Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head.
She heard them give thee this, that thou shouldst still
of mortals walk invisible :
Yet there is something that doth force my
For once it was my dismal hap to hear
A Sibyl old, bow-bent with crooked age,
That far events full wisely could presage,
And, in Time's long and dark prospective glass,
Foresaw what future days should bring to pass ;
“ Your son,” said she, (“nor can you it prevent)
Shall subject be to many an Accident.
O’er all his brethren he shall reign as king,
Yet every one shall make him underling;
And those, that cannot live from him asunder,
Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under;
In worth and excellence he shall out-go them,
Yet, being above them, he shall be below them ;
From others he shall stand in need of nothing,
Yet on his brothers shall depend for clothing.
To find a foe it shall not be his hap,
And Peace shall lull him in her flowery lap;
Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door
Devouring war shall never cease to roar;
Yea, it shall be his natural property
To harbour those that are at epmity.
What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not
Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot?”
The next QUANTITY and QUALITY spake in Prose; then
RELATION was called by his Name.
RIVERS, arise; whether thou be the son
Of utmost Tweed, or Oose, or gulfy Dun,
OrTrent, who, like some earth-born giant, spreads
His thirty arms along the indented meads ;
Or sullen Mole, that runneth underneath;
Or Severn swift, guilty of maiden's death;
Or rocky Avon, or of sedgy Lee,
Or coaly Tine, or ancient hallow'd Dee;
Or Humber loud, that keeps the Scythian's name;
Or Medway smooth, or royal-tower'd Thame.
THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET
What needs my Shakspeare, for his honor'd bones,
The labor of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid ?
Dear Son of memory! great Heir of fame!
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou, in our wonder and astonishment,
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
For whilst, to’the shame of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easy numbers flow; and that each heart
Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book,
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ;
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;
And, so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.
WHO SICKENED IN THE TIME OF HIS VACANCY ; BEING FOR
BID TO GO TO LONDON, BY REASON OF THE PLAGUE.
Here lies old Hobson; Death hath broke his girt,
And here, alas ! hath laid him in the dirt;
Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He's here stuck in a slough, 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 this ten years full,
Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and The Bull.
And surely Death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage faild;
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end was come,
And that he had ta’en up bis latest inn,
In the kind office of a chamberlain
Show'd him his room where he must lodge that
night, Pulld off his boots, and took away the light: If any ask for him, it shall be said, “ Hobson has supp'd, and's newly gone to bed."
Here 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 jog on and keep his trot,
Made of sphere-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceased, he ended straight.
Rest, 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 hasten’d on his term.
Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale bě quicken'd;
“Nay,"quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd,
“ If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But yow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make six bearers.”
Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light.
His leisure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That even to his last breath (there be that say't), As he were press'd to death, he cried, More
weight;" But, had his doings lasted 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 (strange to think) his wain was his increase : His letters are deliver'd all and gone, Only remains this superscription.
THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE
BECAUSE you have thrown off your prelate Lord,
And with stiff vows renounced his liturgy,
To seize the widow'd whore Plurality
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorr’d; Lare
for this adjure the civil sword To force our consciences that Christ set free, And ride us with a classic hierarchy Taught ye by mere A. S.' and Rotherford = ?