Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A95128
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A True picture of the much honoured & reverend Mr. John King (sometimes minister of Abbots-Langley, Hertfordshire) for the closets of his friends.
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1680
(1680)
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Wing T2855; ESTC R43798
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4,292
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11
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A TRUE PICTURE Of the much Honoured Reverend Mr. JOHN KING Sometimes Minister of Abbots-Langley Hertfordshine for the Closets of his Friends WIll he that diggs up rugged Stone direct Or the rough Mason venture to erect A Royal Tomb Yet I unskilful I Am call'd to strain my Nature in an Elegy On a good King Nothing will please but Verse Sad Verse disgrace a Kingly Prophet's Herse But yet I 'll try altho another mend An ill-drawn Picture of a loved Friend As much esteem'd is hung in chiefest place Love overlooks course Paint 't is the dear Face It hangs upon if that be taken right It draws more than the Frame or Paint the Sight I will not paint I 'll take my Pen and write I 'll use no Colours only black and white The one his Death and Innocence present The other that which mourning I lament Take a full stroke At one stroke write him Saint That did abhor all Hypocritic Paint Next in him there was nothing low but Stature Which was suppli'd with noble Soul and Feature In him you 'd think you saw some Judg or rather Some grave and ancient learned holy Father Yea our King's Face had Majesty and Love He look'd as the he sought a Crown above He never mir'd his Soul in worldly Pelf Nor wanted what was decent for himself Had he mov'd higher he had like the Sun Done good to all and been by none outdone He spake his very thoughts when Hospitals Or Learning Schools or Colleges or Halls Were spoken of had Wealth been at 's Command The Scholar Poor and Saint had had good Land Great Souls will talk of what they cannot do And of the Good they do think meanly too Just so did he He early was a Man A manly Christian Course betimes began Dr. Tho. Taâ—lor of Aldermanbury then of Watford Good Doctor Taylor did by Exercise In Greek take his just measure not by size As learn'd enought to wear a Gown with those That in Immanuel to Greatness rose What Men they were I 've often heard him tell How dear to Christ the true Immanuel He liv'd not there to eat and drink and sleep But suck'd his Alma Mater and drunk deep Out of her sacred Cups The learned Arts The Tongues and sacred Knowledg fill'd his Parts Well stor'd at his good Father's time and will He Cambridg left but loth to try his Skill Till Grace and Prayers did in time prevail And the good Spirit drew aside the Vail Of Modesty which to his dying day Hung o're his Face and was not laid away Great Doctor Sibbs did with alluring Smile Train him into his Toil and by a Wile An honest Wile got him fast fixed there Where he well spent near three and fifty year From his Father's House in Watford to Langley The first Flight from his Nest 't was short he took Was to the House of old Sir Robert Brook Whose Lady Holy and Elect behind Yet stays and waiteth for a happy Wind. I did admire to hear while since how still She writes Epistles as with Angel's Quill 'T was She and Sibbs that chiefly laid the Plot To mount him in that Pulpit and when got Into the Mount nothing e're mov'd or drew Him thence but black and windy Barthol'mew Of Meat and Drink and Cloth he took no thought He cleanly trod the World nor sold nor bought But kept his Study left as well he might Those Cares unto the prudent over-sight Of a good Wife who did discharge them well Whose Care and Industry did most excel On a small Vic'rage he contented sate His Charge came on and so did his Estate I ne're knew Man that did so live and thrive And left so much to her that doth survive He sought God's Kingdom and its Righteousness And by so doing got the more not less He was content in such a state to be As God had call'd him to in each degree He was a constant Student night and day It was his Meat to read to preach and pray His Home a Court his Pulpit was his Throne He sought the things of Christ and not his own Could he have rul'd none had been unbaptiz'd Nor one baptiz'd had liv'd uncatechiz'd Nor one past unconfirmed and unable To plead his Title to the Lord 's own Table He griev'd to think of Peoples Ignorance And fruitless use of every Ordinance His tender Heart did sigh and groan to think That any Soul should walk so near the brink Of Hell in Error or foul ways of Sin And end far worse than did their Lives begin He priz'd dear Souls and was afraid their Blood Should be requir'd therefore desir'd their Good But careless cruel Souls know not their Friends Until they come to miserable Ends. Mad sinful Souls despise obstruct or hate Those Men that seek their Cure and better state His humble Mind did fear himself in fault When others fell as if he did but halt In his good Course Of late when any di'd His Negligence he thought against him cry'd He was much bent on Personal Converse Lest any Soul should die except perverse And was for stooping low to them whose low And meaner parts requir'd that they might know Their God Themselves their Way and latter End To Souls of every size he was a friend And wish'd that every one would either come To learn or entertain the Word at home He fed the Lambs and did o'resee the Sheep From Errors Pining Rots them safe to keep He did not pull down what another built He did endeavour to avoid the guilt Of sitting silent or of just Offence And both from a well studi'd pious sense He preach'd in Private and in Publick heard The Private with the Publick never jarr'd Langly lament thy Loss Tho he with Age Was spent yet such Men's Deaths no good presage No more then if experienc'd Horsemen fell Dead in the Char'ot of God's Israel Had he ne're spoken his holy Life did tell The way to Heaven was by living well Pretences and allegations of careless People His Voice was low could he not speak aloud Attentive ears will close up in a Crowd So Souldiers will close up to understand What their Commanders give them in command But when we speak except our Lungs we tear Of Life and Death they 'l say they cannot hear But if the Preacher's voice reach not thine Ear Then change thy Posture Place and press to hear His Doctrine pure his Method was exact His Reasons strong his Building was compact His Language proper and his Heart was warm And yet how few how few would hear him charm Some will not hear in private calling it sedious as truly as that there are armed men hid under the good Womens white Aprons But Calumniator saith They 'r Schismaticks Fanaticks Rioters Traitors Hereticks What not He swears he fears he hears Of Horse and Arms of Pikes and Musquetiers Among Dissenters hidden lie But where Vnder Lawn Approns 'T is like 't