For if fuch holy fong
Inwarp our fancy long,
Time will run back, and fetch the age of Gold, And on the holy hearth,
And fpeckled vanity,
Will ficken foon and die,
And leprous fin will melt from carthly mould, And hell itfelf will pufs away,
And leave her dolorous manfion to the peering day.
The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying found
Affrights the flamens at their fervice quaint; And the chill marble feems to fweat,
While cach peculiar power forgoes his wonted
Of him, to' whose happy-making fight alone,
When once our heav'nly-guided foul fhall climb,
Then all this earthy groinefs quit,
Attir'd with stars, we fhall for ever fit,
In perfect diapafon, whilft they flood,
In firft obedience, and their state of good.
O may we foon again renew that fong,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God e'er long
To his celeftial confort us unite,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, To live with him, and fing in endless morn of
VI. Upon the Circumcifion.
YE flaming Powers, and winged Warriors bright,
That erft with mufic and triumphant fong,
First heard by happy watchful fhepherds' ear,
So fweetly fung your joy the clouds along,
Through the foft filence of the lift'ning Night;
Now mourn, and if fad share with us to bear
Your fiery effence can diftil no tear,
Burn in your fighs, and borrow
Seas wept from our deep forrow:
He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere
Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas how foon our fin
![[blocks in formation]](http://google.cat/books/content?id=WYYpjYbfrv4C&output=html_text&pg=PA166&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=falute&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0mD-x_uPhPjHgBLjFnOV7n9Qfi3A&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=48,698,497,444)
BLES pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious fifters, Voice and Verfe,
Wed your divine founds, and mix'd power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd fenfe able to pierce,
And to our high rais'd phantafy prefent
That undisturbed fong of pure concent,
Ay fung before the faphir-colour'd throne
To him that fits thereon
With faintly fhort, and folemn jubilee,
Where the bright feraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic hoft in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires.
With thofe juft fpirits that wear victorious palms,
Hynins devout and holy pfalms
Singing everlatingly;
That we on earth with undifcording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noife;
As once we did, till difpropertion'd Sin
Jarr'd against Nature's chime and with harsh din
Broke the fair mufic that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whofe love their motion
fway'd
VIII. An Epitaph on the Marcbionefs of Winchefer.
THIS rich marble doth inter
The honour'd wife of Winchester.
A viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Befides what her virtues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More than fhe could own from earth.
Summers three times eight fave one
She had told; alas too foon,
After fo fhort time of breath,
To house with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and Fate had had no ftrife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces sweet,
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her requeft
The god that fits at marriage feaft;
He at their invoking came,
But with a fcarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he flood
Ye might difcern a cypress bud,
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,
And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;
But whether by mifchance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorfelefs cruelty
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree :
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth;
And the languifh'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
Sav'd with care from Winter's nip,
So have I feen fome tender flip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by fome unheedy fwain,
Who only thought to crop the flow's
New hot up from vernal fhow'r;
But the fair bloffom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And thofe pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be prefaging tears,
Which the fad Morn had let fall
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
On her haft ning funeral.
Peace and quict ever have;
After this thy travel fore
Sweet rcft feize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shortened haft thy own life's leafe.
Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble houfe doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And fome flowers, and fome bays,
For thy herfe, to ftrow the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fitst in glory,
Next her much like to thee in ftory,
That fair Syrian fhepherdefs,
Who after years of barrennefs,
The highly favour'd Jofeph bore
To him that ferv'd for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bofom bright
Of blazing Majefty and Light:
There with thee, new welcome faint,
Like fortunes may her foul acquaint
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchionefs, but now a Queen.
![[blocks in formation]](http://google.cat/books/content?id=WYYpjYbfrv4C&output=html_text&pg=PA167&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=falute&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3UVraT5eb8Hb_SLRiPweNG6h1F0w&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=28,606,453,427)
The labour of an age in piled ftones,
Or that his hallow'd reliques fhould be hid
Under a starry-pointing pyramid?
Dear fon of Memory, great heir of Fame,
What need'it thou fuch weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and aftonishment
Has built thyfelf a live-long monument.
For whilft to th' fhame of flow-endeavouring Art
Thy eaty numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Thote Delphic lines with deep impreffion took;
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving,
Doit make us marble with too much conceiving;
And fo fepulcher'd, in fuch pomp doft lie,
That kings for fuch a tomb would wish to die.
XI. On the University Carrier, who fickened in the time of bis vacancy, being forbid to go to Londan, by reafon of the plague.
HERE lies old Hobfon; Death hath broke his
And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt;
Or elfe the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He's here ftuck in a flough, and overthrown.
'Twas fuch 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
Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the
Bull.
And furely Death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly courfe of carriage fail'd;
But lately finding him fo 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.
Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light:
If any afk for him, it shall be faid,
Hobfon has fupt, and's newly gone to bed.
XII. Another on the fame.
HERE lieth one who did most truly prove,
That he could never die while he could move;
So hung his deftiny, never to rot
While he might ftili jog on and keep his trot,
Made of fphere-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion (yet without a crime
'Gainft 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 ail 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.
Merely to drive the time away, he ficken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quick-
en'd;
Nay, quoth he, on his fwooning bed out-ftretch'd,
If I mayn't carry, fure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the cross doctors all ftood hear
For one carrier put down to make fix bearers.
Eafe was his chief difeafe, 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 burthenfome,
That ev'n to his laft breath (there be that fay't)
As he were prefs'd 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 courfe reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the feas,
Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increase:
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,
Only remain this fuperfcription.
XIII. Ad Pyrrbam. Ode V. Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat effe miferos.
Quis multa gracilis te puer in rofa
Perfufus liquidis urget odoribus,
Grato, Pyrrha, fub antro?
Cui flavam religas comam
|