VII.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd pow'r employ,
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concert,
Ay sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne
To Him that sits thereon

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,
Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly;

That we on earth with undiscording voice

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportion'd Sin

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Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din 20 Broke the fair music that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd

In perfect diapason, whilst they stood,

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long

To his celestial consort us unite,

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To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

VIII.

AN EPITAPH.

ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

THIS rich marble doth inter

The honour'd wife of Winchester

6. Concent; from the Italian concento, harmony.
14. Rev. vil. 9.

7. Ezek. 1. 26.
pason, a harmony running through the whole
scale of notes in every key.

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told: alas! too soon,

And calls Lucina to her throes;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I seen some tender slip,
Saved with care from Winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain,
Who only thought to crop the flow'r
New shot up from vernal show'r;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,

96. Lucina, the goddess said by the ancients to be present at births.Atropos, one of the fates.

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And those pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears,
Which the sad Morn had let fall
On her hast'ning funeral.

Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;

After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest seize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shorten'd hast thy own life's lease.
Here, beside the sorrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,

And some flowers, and some bays,

For thy hearse, to strow the ways,

Sent thee from the banks of Came,

Devoted to thy virtuous name;

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Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitst in glory,

And at her next birth, much like thee,

Through pangs fled to felicity,

Far within the bosom bright

Of blazing Majesty and Light:

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There with thee, new welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

IX.

SONG.-ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth and youth and warm desire;

63. Syrian shepherdess, Rachel. See Gen. xxix. 9.

Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

X.

ON SHAKSPEARE. 1630.

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WHAT needs my Shakspeare for his honour'd bones The labour of an age in piled stones,

Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid

Under a starry-pointing 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 th' 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,

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Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;
And so sepulcher'd in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

XI

ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER.

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Who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid 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.

Hobson is reckoned among the most celebrated Cambridge characters. He was the first who set up an establishment for hack horses, and his resolution in obliging whoever canie to hire to take the one which stood next him, gave birth to the wellknown saying of Hobson's choice, this or none. He made a considerable fortune, and there is a picture of him at Cambridge, for which a very considerable sum has been repeatedly offered and refused. When I was there, it was in the Norwich waggon office, to the walls of which I was told it belonged by an inalienable right.

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'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 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

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Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd 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.

XII.

ANOTHER ON THE SAME.

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.

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Time numbers notion, 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

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Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.
Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be 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 vow, 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 burthensome,

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