by Loves inflaming RAY Is lost * For ever and for AY Elegiack Poems An Elegie on the Death of Mr. John Steward IF a sad Stranger may presume to mourn And build in Verse an Altar ore an Urn If Tears that com from Heart-instructed Eyes Appear no despicable Sacrifice If you 'll conceive Sorrow can keep her Court In Souls that have the Cause but by Report Or if the loss of virtue you believe Can make its Lover though a Stranger grieve Admit my Wet Oblation which imparts Something that shews th' effects of mourning Hearts You who have had no Tears for your own Crimes And cannot vent a Sigh for these sad Times Within whose juiccless Eyes was never seen Drops but proceeding from a tickled Spleen And you who valor-harden'd never cou'd Bestow one stream to see a Sea of Bloud Though of your Sons or Brothers Come to me I le teach you true grief in this Elegie Steward is dead a man whom Truth and Fame With Virtue ever shall imbalm his Name Crave although Young who in his heart did prize Learning and yet not wittier than wise Religious without Faction and could be Courteous without the Court Hypocrisie Just to his Friends not Hatefull to his Foes For he had none though Virtue seldom goes By Envie unattended He was one In whom appear'd much of Perfection But Death the due of Nature must be paid Beauty and Strength must in a Grave be laid So hasty and unwilling to defer The time is our great grim Commissioner Then let us mourn let our true Sorrow swim That he is not with us or we with him 'T is Good to mourn for Good as to Regard Or pity is a kinde of a Reward His latest precious Breathings had respect To nothing more than divine Dialect Which he committed to his mourning Friends In Exhortations for their better Ends Unlocks his breast which onely could express Aspiring Prayers and pious pensiveness Thus like a Traveller that will not stray To any talk but 's journey and his way Our Peregrine discourseth till at last As Tapers near their end give greatest blast He dies and all the Duty I can do Is on his Herse to fix a Line or two The Epitaph UNderneath this Marble lies Youth's decay that Merchants prize Who trades for what is just and wise On this Urn let no man laugh Reader if thou keep him safe His Name shall be thy Epitaph Let no one here presume to Read Unless he be by sorrow lead To drop a Tear upon the dead It shall be but lent for when Thou com'st to th' period of all Men His Friends shall pay thy Drops agen On the Death of the most worthily honour'd Mr. John Sidney who dyed sull of the Small Pox SIdney is dead a Man whose name makes furrows In his Friends Cheeks channel'd with Tears for Sorrows Within whose Microcosm was combin'd All Ornaments of Body and of Minde In whose good Acts you might such vollumes see As did exceed th' extent of Heraldry Whose well-composed Excellencies wrought Beyond the largest scope of humane thought Indeed within his Life 's short little Span Was all could be contracted in one Man And He that would write his true Elegie Must not Court Muses but Divinity He 's Dead But Death I have a Speech in vain Directed unto Thee where I complain Upon thy cruel Office that could find No way to part his Body and his Mind But by a fatal ficknesse that confounds The beautious Patient with so many wounds Sure when thou mad'st his Fabrick to shiver Thou could'st not chuse but empty all thy Quiver What Man to all odds open in the Wars Dies with such a Solemnity of Scarrs Yet his great Spirit gives the Reason why Without that Number Sidney could not die And therefore we will Pen it in his Story What thou intend'st his Ruine is his Glory So when the Heavenly Globe I 've look'd upon Have I beheld the Constellation Of Jupiter and on all parts descri'd Th' illuminated Body stellified Sprinkled about with Stars so that you might Behold his Limbs and Hair powder'd with Light This wee 'l apply that though we lose him here His Soul shall shine in a Caelestial Sphere The Epitaph IN this sacred Urn there lies Till the last Trump make it rise A Light that 's wanting in the Skies A Corps inveloped with Stars Who though a Stranger to the Wars Was mark'd with many hundred Scars Death at once spent all his store Of Darts which this fair Body bore Though fewer had kill'd many more For him our own salt Tears we quaff Whose Virtues shall preserve him safe Beyond the power of Epitaph An Elegie on the lamented Death of the virtuous Mis Anne Phillips Dedicate to her Son and Heir Mr. Edmond Philips REligious Creature on thy sacred Herse Let my sad Muse ingrave a weeping Verse In watry Characters which nere shall dry Whil'st Men survive to write an Elegy Dull Brass Proud Marble and Arabian Gold Though they tyre Time and Ruine shall not hold Their aged Letters half so long as we Shall keep thy living worth in Memory Obedience was thy study Truth thy aim Wisdome thy worship Fortitude thy fame Patience thy peace and all good Eys might see Thou did'st retain Faith Hope and Charity Within the holy treasurie of thy Mind Were the choise vertues of all Women-kind Nothing that had affinity with good But liv'd within thy Spirit or thy Bloud No costly Marble need on thee be spent Thy deathlesse Worth is thine own Monument Thoughts of Life and Death written upon the occasion ex tempore I Never look on Life but with a loathing When it is sterril and conduceth nothing To my Eternal Being but when I Find it devoted to the Deity To love my Neighbour and obey that State Which God hath made next and immediate Under his sacred Power when I have will To Forgive him that doth me greatest ill To calm my Passions to content my Friends And do no Acts that savour of self-self-ends Then I love Life but wanting this I have No joy but to exchange it for a Grave An Epitaph on the Death of an Organist WIthin this Earth a place of low condition Intomb'd here lies an exquisite Musician Living he thriv'd by Concord and agreeing Looking from all things to Eternal being In Equal Rule and Space he lead his life A constant honest Consort to his Wife Much troubled Musick suffer'd such derision By many that began Points of Division He now without controul no question sings Eternal Anthems to the King of Kings An Epitaph on Himself NAy Reade and spare not Passenger My sense is now past feeling Who to my Grave a Wound did bear Within past Phisicks healing But do not if thou mean to Wed To read my Story tarry Least thou Envy me this cold Bed Rather than live to marry For a long strife with a lewd Wife Worst of all Ills beside Made me grow weary of my Life So I fell sick and died An Epitaph on a Strumpet buried at Gravesend once at my landing there to go to Canterbury WE read that Sacred Solomon would have No nice distinction 'twixt a Whore and Grave Since it is so then now it may be said That heare a Grave within a Grave is laid She was no Sextons wife yet now and than Suspition said she buried many a Man But now the Grave is dead why then my Friend The worst is past Thou 'rt Welcome to Graves-end An Epitaph on my worthy Friend Mr. John Kirk REader Within this Dormitory lies The wet Memento of a Widdows Eys A Kirk though not of Scotland One in whom Loyalty liv'd and Faction found no room No Conventicle Christian but he Died A Kirk of England by the Mothers side In brief to let you know what you have lost Kirk was a Temple of the Holy Ghost FINIS John 19.19 Matth. 26.53 Mar. 27.30 Mar. 14.45 Luke 23.7 Mar. 27.26 Mat. 26.24 Matth. 27.23 Matth. 27.4 Mat. 26.61 John 19.17 Mark 15.21 Mark 15.22 Joh. 19.19 Luke 23.34 Mark 15.34 Mar. 15.37 Mat. 27.52,53 Ephes. 2.20 * Rob. Wisdom
Dove WHen John unwilling cause unworthy lead Christ into Jordan ore his glorious head Hovers a Dove whose bright wings would not cease Till they were spread over the Prince of peace Well may our Turtles grieve their sad estates When Doves from Heaven come to seek their Mates Sapiens Dominabitur Astris GAve the star light to th' three Wise men from far No 't was their Faith gave light unto the star On the Pharisees requiring of a Sign YE faithless Pharisees what would ye more To shew the Coming of our Saviour Then ye have seen hath not his power and might Giv'n Creeples legs and to the blinde their sight Restor'd to life and health a Corps that dyed Was shrowded coffin'd grav'd and putrified Fed many souls turn'd Water into Wine Yet for all this ye still require a Sign Our Saviour still some greater Sign must give It is a sign vain men you 'll not believe On our Saviour's receiving of Children EXcept we be converted and become As little Children we shall have no room In God's eternal Kingdom and who ere Can be so humble shall be greatest there Or he that will receive so sweet a flower Into his bosom hugs his Saviour But he that shall offend such little Ones That are believing better 't were Mill-stones Were hung about his fatal neck and he Render'd a prey to the devouring sea If Children Lord are acceptable then Make me a Childe Let me be born agen On our Saviour's saying he brought a Sword OUr Saviour said he came to bring a Sword Into the World 't is true that was his Word Lord strike our hearts with that and so assure us That way of wounding is the means to cure us On Saul's Conversion in his Journey to Damascus WHen Saul was call'd to be a Convertite God's glorious presence struck him blinde with light What strange Enygmaes Heaven can devise Saul then saw clearest when he lost his Eyes The lustre struck him to the Earth and he At that rebound rise to Eternity Look here Ambition learn this of Saul The onely way to rise high is to fall On the words Scriptum est OUr Saviour gives the perfect Revelation To his Disciples of his Death and Passion When Wisemen see known Dangers they prevent um Yet Christ fore-saw his Wrongs but under-went um He did expect no quiet ease or rest Untill he had perform'd Quod scriptumest An Eclogue betwixt Saul the Witch of Endor and the Ghost of Samuel The Introduction WHen as the proud Philistines did prepare Their Bands in frightfull order to make War Against the Israelites Saul their wish'd King March'd forth and unto Gilboa did bring All Israel where till the sad Events The threatning War had brought they pitch'd their Tents But when the Host of the proud Foe appear'd To Saul so infinite he greatly fear'd The rather'cause he did no more inherit The Divine Power of a Prophetick Spirit For now the Power of God had left him so That he by Prophecy nor Dream could know His future fate from him all power went That doth support Kings just and innocent And now a fearfull rage usurpeth all His nobler thoughts he doth begin to call For Wizards Witches and his Fate refers No more to Prophets but to Sorcerers A Woman must be found whose breast inherits The damn'd Delusions of predictive Spirits So in my younger observation Of this vile World I have cast my Eyes upon A fawning Parasite who for some Boon His Patron had to graunt would beg fall down Before him for it which being deny'd His Humblenesse converts to its old Pride He grows Malicious what he did desire Before with Meeknesse now he 'll win with Ire If Cruelty and Murther can prefer His long-wish'd Ends he 'll be a Murtherer Or any thing of horror yet will pray And beg at first to ha't the safest way Though 't is not Love or Service he extends But Flattery to purchase his own Ends So Saul's resolv'd since Heaven denies to tell What he would know makes his next means to Hell To Endor goes accompanied by No man And with these words invokes th' Infernal Woman Saul and the Witch Saul THou learned Mother of mysterious Arts I come to know what thy deep skill imparts By Neeromancie Thou whose awfull power Can raise winds thunder lightnings canst deflower The Spring of her new Crop Of thee I crave That thou wilt raise some spirit from the grave Who may divine unto me whether Fate Will make me happy or unfortunate In my next Enterprize Witch Strange Man forbear Whose Craft instructed thee to set a snare For my most wretched Life Dost thou not know King Saul proclaims himself a mortal foe To our black Colledge Hath not his Command Ruin'd the great'st Magicians of the Land Is 't not enough I am confin'd to dwell In the dark building of an unknown Cell Where I converse with nought but Batts and Owls Ravens and night-Crows who from dismal holes I send to sick-mens windows to declare Death's Embassie to the offended Ear Of the declining Patient Wherefore pray Seek ye this horrid Mansion to betray The haplesse Owner Sau. Woman do not fear I do not seek thee out or set a snare To get thy Life for finish my intent As the Lord lives there is no punishment Shall be inflicted on thee I will be A gratefull debtor to thy Art and Thee Be speedy then Oh! how I long to hear The Message of my Fate Wit Whom shall I rear Sau. Old Samuel Wit 'T is done Ye Fiends below That wait upon our will one of you goe Assume the shape of Samuel and appear With such a Voice and Likenesse or declare The Reason why you cannot for I fear Ye dare not do it Spirit Dare not I am here Wit Oh! I am lost the unknown Fates decree Have set a period to my Art and Me Why didst thou thus thy Royalty obscure To take me Acting my Designs impure In th' midst of them for to contrive my fall So sure my Death is as thy Name is Saul Sau. Though thou divin'st me right yet do not fear But let me understand what did appear After'thy Incantations Wit You shall know I saw immortal Gods rise from below And after them a Rev'rend aged Man Out of the Deep with speedy passage ran Lapt in a Mantle his white gentle Hairs Express'd a Brief of many well-spent years Within whose Cheeks bright Innocence did move His Eys reverted to the Joys above Like holy men in prayer and now appears To hear your will and terminate your fears Samuel Saul and the Witch of Endor Sam. Why from the cold bed of my quiet Grave Am I thus summon'd Saul what wouldst thou have Why must thy Incantations call up me From secure sleep are men in Graves not free Saul Divinest Spirit of blest Samuel The Causes that by Necromantick Spell I am induc'd to raise thee from thy Grave Are these within my restlesse Soul I have A thousand