Heav'n's gifts, which do like falling stars appear
Scatter'd in others; all, as in their sphere,
Were fix'd, conglobate in his foul; and thence
Shone thro his body, with fweet influence;
Letting their glories fo on each limb fall,
The whole frame render'd was celeftial.
Come, learned Ptolemy, and tryal make,
If thou this hero's altitude can't take:
But that tranfcends thy fkill; thrice happy all,
Could we but prove thus aftronomical.
Liv'd Tycho now, ftruck with this ray which fhone
More bright i'th' morn', than others beam at noon,
He'd take his aftrolabe, and feek out here
What new star 'twas did gild our hemifphere.
Replenish'd then with fuch rare gifts as these,
Where was room left for fuch a foul disease?
The nation's fin hath drawn that veil, which shrouds
Our day-fpring in fo fad benighting clouds,
Heaven would no longer truft its pledge; but thus
Recall'd it; rapt its Ganymede from us.
Was there no milder way but the small-pox,
The very filthinefs of Pandora's box?
So many spots, like næves on Venus' foil,
One jewel fet off with fo many a foil;
Blisters with pride'fwell'd, which through's flesh
Like rofe-buds, ftuck i'th' lilly-fkin about.
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rifing did commit :
Which, rebel-like, with it's own lord at ftrife,
Thus made an infurrection 'gainst his life.
Or were these gems fent to adorn his skin,
The cab'net of a richer foul within ?
No comet need foretel his change drew on,
Whofe corps might feem a conftellation.
O! had he dy'd of old, how great a ftrife
Had been, who from his death fhould draw their
life?
Who should, by one rich draught, become whate'er
Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæfar, were?
Learn'd, virtuous, pious, great; and have by this
An univerfal metempfychofis.
Must all these aged fires in one funeral
Expire? all die in one fo young, so small?
Who, had he liv'd his life out, his great fame
Had fwol'n 'bove any Greek or Roman name.
But hafty winter, with one blaft, hath brought
The hopes of autumn, fummer, fpring, to nought.
Thus fades the oak i'th'fprig, i'th'blade the corn; Thus without young, this Phoenix dies, new-born. Muft then old three-legg'd grey-beards with their
Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three ages out?
Time's offals, only fit for th' hospital!
Or to hang antiquaries rooms withal!
Muft drunkards, lechers, spent with finning, live
With fuch helps as broths, poffets, physic give?
None live, but such as should die? fhall we meet
With none but ghoftly fathers in the street?
Grief makes me rail; forrow will force its way;
And show'rs of tears tempeftuous fighs best lay,
The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes
Will weep out lafting streams of elegies.
But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone,
Now thy beloved, heaven-ravish'd spouse is gone,
Whose skilful fire in vain ftrove to apply
Med'cines, when thy balm was no remedy,
With greater than platonic love, O wed
His foul, tho not his body, to thy bed:
Let that make thee a mother; bring thou forth
Th' ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth;
Transcribe th' original in new copies; give
Haftings o'th' better part: fo fhall he live
In's nobler half; and the great grandfire be
Of an heroic divine progeny :
An iffue, which t'eternity fhall last,
Yet but th'irradiations which he caft.
Erect no maufoleums: for his best
Monument is his spouse's marble breast.
Written after his FUNERal.
ND now 'tis time; for their officious hafte,
Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, Did let too foon the facred éagle fly.
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