Hierarchies Of Angels who in rapsodies of love Chants Hallelujahs to the Gods above Though we with the proud and ambitious flie Kisse the world's flames and so as Martyrs die The body as the Prophet's mantle fell In rageing Rivers which with billows swell By all transcendancy I dare avouch Thou scan'd Heaven in Elia's fiery Couch On the death of the most Heroick Lord SHEFFIELD AN ELEGY ANd why a tear in tune from Poëts Eyes Words holocausted up in Elegies Like to his Corps Embalm'd in perfum'd spice Were to strew flowers upon Paradise A Comment pleaseth to darke things annext But mysteries Reveales this unknown text Inteares we th' Red-sea passe but wit's Twilight Comes short of Canaan in it's Pisgah-sight Nor can the Cloud which us poor Isralites guides Part per-pale Rainbow clear'd be on both-sides Eye-beamed streames dissects yet we do try Ope-Superficies as Anatomy For those who Angels would imbrace thus they 're Gull'd with faire seemings of Condensed aire Nor is his nature lesse Man-sprung-divine Saints would do homage to 's immortall shrine Persians adore his eye Indy his Cherubs face Emparadiz'd with white Seraphick grace O for Old Plato that his eyes might see The Non-created wish made Entitie Hee 'd swell in Cups of Nectar for to seek Virtue Incarnate on that Heavenly cheek O for Pythagoras Ravished Soul to swear He 's metempsochos'd to a starry sphere Since he deserves the skie lamenting Rome We 'le grant th' Horizon but his proper Tombe Though we can't say therelyes great Sheffield's soul Enshrin'd i th' Pyramid of that high Pole Cause constellations from their orders be Roul'd by the Havens large Cosmographie Nimrod Orion swallows Comets are Oft shrunk Osyris lost in the Dog-star 'T will please to say his deified fate In Mars in Jove or Phoebus did translate Could Caesar dye said some or tell me can Any survive the voice fits God not man If they do live as Saints as men they talke Who e're did yet in Sempiternum walk The platonists are surs to die who were Unsure to have their great Platonick-year Great Aristotle spake as if he went A sorage 'bove the highest Element Methinks that Etelechia stamptâ—unknown His body was a little too-high flown The Roman-urns outlasts the men unborn As Pagans-evening were th' Antipod's morn Death 's but a sleep and bodies when they dye Divests the slip Cloathes of mortallity For t'h Soul's Eoan lustre's rarely kept When'ts from darke Lanthorn of the body crept And old Methusalem might much surpasse Times registers in monumentall-brasse He 's now Entomb'd and therefore let him lye Th' Immortall reliques of a Deity On his honored Friend Mr. ROBERT WILSON a Famed Musitian GReat Phoebus spent large rivalls every day T' inspire the muses with a well-sung Lay As if the way to banqu'rupt their controle Were to amaze then ravish the blind Soul Thus our Coy-maiden thoughts had in suspence Those sublime Raptures of 's inteligence Till he committed Rape by sweet desire Affected with that am'rous-courtier Lyre And like chaste Daphne to his high renown Our vestall minds becomes his flowry Crown T' was Phoebus large prerogative to men The fam'd Musitian he 's Apollo then What rare Eulogâ—â—ms did the Poëts paint Whose words now shallow are and Colours faint On Orpheus modulations Philters prov'd To make rude Satyrs like fair Nymphs belov'd With his harmonious straines as almost dye T' injoy the feature of this rarity Feature said I â—es They saw him sit Like the inspired Oracle of wit Those sensitive adorers thought indeed Some beautious Sybill hid i th' oaten reed But those were highflown fond Hyperbolies And Pearled praise of Diamond flatteries For all those attributes could never raise His glories to a Panygerick phrase What we do wonder call is but his due And types transparent to a better view Orph'us is but his Eccho we may give A note 'bove Ela's breath superlative To stile him Anti-Orph'us which word were Too narrow to extend that charracter Had we a riper Judgment to discry The cripled state of lame Tautology Melodius Daulia Histories do feigne Proud Ter'us did to Terquine's sport constrain It 's fiction so but that his winning Lay Sould ravish her i th' verdent fields of May Doth verifie the story since't holds good She breathes the high-wept harmony in flood As if condol'd the rape rejoyc't the gain Of honyed Ditties in a sugred strain For as by Metenpsuchosis his fate Did in this nice Platonick transmigrate She seems to tune her pleasant notes and sings As he brave Musick to th' harmnnious strings She aemulates those tones but being outvâ—'d Like Sapho's birds doth quote him deifi'd Aske not what Syrens are Here 's harmony Riddles Oedipean there opened lye And you will say these Sougsters all agree In th' high-breath'd notes of his Suaviloquie Sober Vlysses Envious at his Charmes Mercuriâ—an would impale in his joy'd armes Those dulcid concords arrogant to be A part'ner in th' inchanting Symphonie Aske not what Angels are or any choyce Of Superlun'ry Saints listâ—n to his voyce And you 'le conclude that dulciloquious lay Chants forth their holy Haleluiah Ask not how Cherubs their sweet aites distills From th' unheard Oracle of silent Quills Or spheres speaks Musick in the tong-ty'd mind But Wilson quote and then the word 's defin'd S â— Andrew HAile Rosy-morne from forth thy Lilly-bed Like milk-way Cream with rud strawberried Haile to those beautious features peaâ—â—'d i th' skye Like Nâ—ptun's brave Sea-daughtered Deity Is this sweet Plato's great admir'd return Chaste Phoenix rising from that Roman Vrne After Embalmed on that funerall Pyre Comes recreated to Prometh'an fire And here 's a Revolution Old age spent Tends to a youth-renewing Eliment While Pagan Gods but fond interment gets Dayes are the tombes out lasting Mahomets But stay a Comet in the skyes alone Is it this Genious resurrection Whose Torch Apolloes fiery beams displayes Disheveled in the flamy-bearded Rayes Or i' st the starr by Scripture-Miracles Which of some hidden mistick Manna tells Diviners let us know it soon wee 'l be Magi t' observe this rare divinity Or English Persians turn'd by holy state Adore this Heaven having candidate Speak Planitaries you who Nectar quaffe With Jove cannot a Methematick-staffe Reach the sublimest Hierarchies i' st him Cherub Angelâ— Saint or Seraphim Who mounts the Eastern Coursiers to out sâ—an Sol in his Climinant Maridian For were the Grecian Augurs Pliant here T' anatomize the surface of this Sphere They 'd say in yonder bright-disvailed Pole Inshrined lyes an Immateriall soul This holy Morn indeed lookt red espy'd A Blush of him appear'd as deifi'd Beame sdarting mildly in the smiling breasts S. Andrew sure in Sagitarius rests We might believe but Virgo farr-off shines I mean weet Mary in our Gospel-lines 'T was not in vaineâ—t his dawn of day to greet Th' unseen Saints our heard-discourse did meet For spirits though invisible they be Yet alwayes moves in an Vbiquity Suppose S. Andrew's soul a Rose
the soft allurments with which Endymion made Luna discend from her high sphear to his homely Cell What else are these oft-repeated groans but magicall tearms charming philters and Amatory numbers Nay and I know not whether to admire the strong motions in that which is beloved or in the Lover those delineaments of flatteries those smiling faces moving with inchanting perswasions where Love a circle there exerciseth his execrations Why Rosamond in her flourishing Epitâ—th was called Rosa-mundi may be thus noted that Loves powerful Magickneverscrued her beauties to a higher perfection then the sading flower Had Demosthenes bin inspired with this love as he was with eloquence the Old Heathens might have hummed him with the deserved applause of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 See where he goes in learned fame It is Demosthenes by name Which Persius Englished in Latine by a mild Satyr Et Pulchrum est digito monstrari dicier hic est 'T is a grand honour 〈◊〉 be known And that 's the man with fingers shown The Poets Libri were their Liberi which after ages put to Nurses use but when they are the Off-spring of great love all things comes to suck hony from their breasts for my part I would have my last fate survive in it's memoriall which speaks more then a glorious Urn though I were entombed like Pompey with a Hic citus est magnus Here Pompey dead Lyes rarely buried For I do remember Alexander when hee came to the Tomb of Achilles and saw that stout Greek shut like a mirror in a Cabinet in sobasea Mausolaeum presently weptin words Haeccine sunt Trophaea Can the World afford no better honors had he bin monumentized with i'ts Oriental gems he would have bin the Son of Jupiter whose mother is Immortality My scrip is always open O for that this great Maecenas would throw in some crums the Channell of my life is almost dried O for this Spring of flowing goodnesse for it's charity is not grown cold nor doth those lustres here dwindle like the Morning starrs into an Eve as the Caldeans writ their good men in Hyrogliphicks and intelligible words that they might mould away in the rust of oblivion For it was not the immortal Poësy of laureat Homer nor the dippings of Lethe's Rivolets but Love's ever verdant florishings which deified the great Greek as Poets Kings did always survive in the rare-living flowers of their Gardens When some Poetasters were callow and their scarce Pen-feathered Pinneons knew a soarage of an airy travell Homer had got wings and mounted the top-Eliment of immortallity while his flaggy Muse scans the brave ditties of Hellens Amorofities beyond humane dispute When the transcorporating Pithagoreans did but lisp forth their broken language Plato could speak and had bin surely entombed in the monument of love for an everlastang Pyramid but that foolishly he expected a Revolution the Platonick year Happy Aristotle well stamped his Eutelechia for love is harmony and harmony is the soul and both together make the sublimest persection this made the laughing Philosopher waft his intellect to so high a grade as to think upon another life This made Socrates bid his friends bury his body but not think they had buried Socrates This made the Stoicks scorn their Welch-Pedegree whose tenets after death are to eat the green Cheese Moon Here comes a Pollitick Plato and he will have Verses for his Sepulcher-stone but let it be that Heroicon of Ovia Here lyes the Master of loves Here comes Democritus with ages winding-sheet gray hair intreating the Athenian to be Embezelled in hony but let it be with Loves Rosaries and such embalment will make his name fragrant to all posterity Here comes a Roman to have his Urn arayed with sweet-smell'd flowers fading vanities Venus her Myrtle shall adorn my Herse as an ever-verdant Cypresse For I can only shadow forth Love by Paradise a bank of Lillies a Garden of Roses Caesars Motto was a book and a spear and at every on-set Love with the great Roman can subscribe on the book with the point of it's sword Veni Vidi Vici I came I saw I overcame Love is the extension of the soul and lives defused through the glorious Microcosm man now here now there now ev'ry where Whosoever loves by that reason because he loves he is a number and no more one In Love's Arithmatick he 's more then a Cypher Inlov's Musick he 's more then a Semi-quaver In Loves Geography he 's more then a smal point and in Loves laws he 's no Ignoramus Souls entertain souls and Moralists who Sometimes graze with herds of Philosophers say nunquam solus quam cum minus solus as if their bonus-genius guardian Angells were their Comrades I think they might indeed lash forth into superstition who were down-right Pagans and though amongst the Petulant Romans young men were only to act Venus her interludes because a Crown of Roses did not become the gray-head yet how often have I seen the Stoick-looks of a dogish old man quell the naturall affections of a young Amorist like a little Boy pursuing the painted gaieytes of a Butterflyes wings that upon the assaulte he might prove his only rivall How often would the old wanton desire to survive like Mezentius in his Funerall Tomb that he might espouse his second birth to the World in amorous celebrations How often would the Antiplatonick desire to live Retro to imbrace a beautious Lady though it be beyond the possibility of love to prescribe an Apotheosis to any humanity I have Read that noble Lycurgus made an Edict for every one to love and no irrationality For Venus her Myrtle as Bromius his Ivy can court the Male with winning imbraces still weaving her self to fro in his boughes And those feasting Symposists I mean the devouring Epicures could live in the world without adjuvances of an Omnipotent power but not without the Omnipotent power of Love's Providence whose Godhead they did invoke with strict Religion of their Christianity though it was but a brutish Zeale as by the fond tenets of superstition the Egyptians worshiped Cats and Dogs Onions and Leeks Serpents and Crocodiles But Gellia impatient at her absent lover would have been Prostrate to an Image so sung the Cambo-Brittanian Epigrammatist which was a higher Crimen then ever Egypt committed with his Nilean Monsters yet it is a peice of Piety to pitty her madnesse for some will love foolishness rather then not love the Poët argues the fact as Innocence because Semel Insanivimus Omnes None can hinself commend for all Are lame enough since Adam's fall It is impossible to dim the Radiant light of love's splendors or give those glimmering Rayes a totall Privation for we admire at the inviolated beames of translucent Phaebus so may we the hot sparkes of Cupidinian fire whose Vestall flames have no extinguisher It 's refulgent illustrations which lies darting in a large Lature of an Orient Pearl will never be abbreviated in the
Painters need for to display In Hieroglyphicks this mysterious day As Ancients represent Church secret features By Giants Sphinxes and such antick Creatures Some Monsters Epicene and Mascaline's grace With Taurus neck but Aries head and face Name but one single word in two sence tryes Christmas Bacon-Beef as Pudding-pies Or say we'ave Metaphors from nature's stocks A Capon this day noats and shrovetide Cocks T was mad conceits When our forefathers had Naught else but crums and voiders richly clad With painted daintes so that daies at last Were kalendred with Rubricks for a fast Alas we Sons of our great Adam's age Could banquet in a dish his heâ—tage Of Pulse and water such weak faire as that Would nere like Daniel make our English fat Our appetites on divine Saint-dayes seeks T' adore Egyptian-as sweet onions Leeks Of loavs the Scripture speaks we would twist Fishes to them as Quakers Lyden's grist Is good-meat Anti-Christ No! No such thing Dove's heads do never bear the Serpents sting Hear but it Preach a text flesh bread blood wine cheer Is a Theanthropos man-sprung divine Then welcome Christmas with thy wonted I 'd bring a ranting Carroll in March-beer And Sacrifice't to thy December-name By glasses sparkling with the Red-shrine flame Only I fear Sack-Hecatombs appease Not once those Manna-eating Deities I Paper want too for offence ' its meet One pennance should in compasse of a sheet St John BLaze forth great star Nor are we sad to see That fam'd Platonick Reminiscencie Brought to a truth thus Sol retires to feast From th' west'ran Climates in his spiâ—ie East When the new-morn brave Herauld in a ray Is th' Pevolution of an ancient day For gaudy lustres mantled Ruby-bright Were ne're Eclipsed by the pale-shrin'd night In Occidentall fates but would appear Superlative-endow'd ith'high-pol'd sphere When Mosesses do dye for th' bodies-stations Those Divells summons up hot disputations With the Arch-Angels cause the spirits then Scorns to degenerate in Lapsed men And let the body fade 't is a divine Endowment must Immortall parts enshrine Eltah lost his mantle Camel's hair i th' skye not like those shaggy Commets are A Leather-girdle Capra-like Can't be As Taurus signes of man's eternity Souls throw their slip-cloaths off to holy state Earth's Winding-sheets are most impropriate For in the sacred volumes I learn this That Heavenly Angels do go nak'd in blisse Or grant his body walks It 's like the dead On one S. day fair shadows without head But can it be Was the great Lord of light Disvail'd from Morning to a Noon-day bright Ere this small beam had one sweet smiling spent In orient blazes from the Element I should have thought this day-star John did ride Rare Harbinger of that great Sun-shine's pride Enamelling all the Orbs before the ray Did in a full Meredian-Zenith sway John Prophecyed first Divinely born As pearly Sâ—ars foretell the Ruby morn He chants plain-song by a well Luted noat Breath'd Hallelujahs of a Cherub's throat And then Christs Chorus rare Harmonia Run sweet divisions on the sugred Lay. Fond Pagants now t' out last death 's fatal doom In vain erect Piramydalls of Rome The large Pantheon dayes are th' only blisse Where Genij live in Apotheosis A Letter SIr Seing my modesty has been dumb Necessity must speak and every word turn Orator nor need they wish as the foolish Roman in Caesar's Ampitheater to have your Eares the Auditors tyed to their lips since Oratory is more perswasive then when Pytho inspired the Grecian Comaedians on the pretty stages with Flexanimous Eloquence yet I will grant my Demosthenian Learning but lisping wit That my intreaties may be the more necessary Evacuated of supersluous Complements Pray therefore send me Doctor Brown's Vrn-Buriall as a courtesy I have promised and by your Courtesy you shall ever engage me Warly your servant The Answer SIR Had not your silent noats spoke the words had look'd for a Pyramid my breast to resound their Eccho as Virgill's Hylas was by all the Neighbouring Shoars but they survive as the Romans genij when their bodies are entombed in a dispute of Contra-Resurrection Strange that when the words salute the death bed of a grave the sence should walk and Pennance in a sheet of paper to expect their Vrn-buriall First Let the sense be dead as is the Letters and I will sing my Conclamatum est to them as you must Vale Vale To his Urn. WILLIAM SHIPTON SIR No wonder if my Noats be silent conferred with the boisterous inundations of your Stentorian words and are not as Nilus proud streams kept in the banks of order your breast you called a Pyramid and the Aegyptians lay up their Corn in Pyramids in my opinion you might better have called your belly the Pyramid which is the Receptacle of Corn minced into bread Your belly might the Ecchoes too rebound ' Cause emptinesse affords the greatest sound I thought your words had been asleep And so I will speak few charmes least they prove Contra-disputants of their Resurrection by confining them to a perpetuall Night Me-thinks the adulterous lines were more fit to do pennance in a sheet of paper and with my connivance been buried in the Vrn of oblivion And seeing I am weary of your clamorous words I must cry Conclamatum est or bury them with an Vltimum Vale in the fiery Urn of a Chimney J. W. The Answer HOw wishedly did you second my voyce and it were sin to say any mean noat plaid Basse on a troublesome string How wishedly did the Chorus of your fancy run divisions on my plain-song wit Your noats conferred sweetly without jarrs onely you sung Elegies and so drowned my sweet Hylas in Nilus his streams by a Seaburiall and take heed least you like i'ts Rivers bring forth impersect productions your brave lays will all be penned from a large-long to a Sembrief's-Semiquaver but I will take no more notice of them onely I should be aâ—t to quarrell at this word Boisterous but that it was fixt in the round Zodiack af your anger and charms confining things into a circle makes them burst forth into wind besides your humi-repens Muse was in the Low-Countries of wit and so might well with those Lap-land Inhabitants bag up air in the strong Caxvas-phrase of a sentence But stay methinks your Law playes the Ignoramus your Gospell acts for Erra-Patris Nilus writ for Hilas grosse Logick has no Reason if it be not Irrationallity to forget the Proprium of a man though here if I laugh I still keep my own denomination Your good decorum runs against tide while Nilus is the fit Hellespont for those Leanders your writings to swim I cannot think you were drunk with Nectar when you read that word because your Tapster-Muse forgot the barrel as to a spire unto the Eliment of water besides your rants had been Poeticall liberties and here you are restrained by the strict gaul-signification of this word in the Imprisoment of folly 't is true