Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
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A50273
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A p[i]ndarique elegie upon the death of the R.R. Father in God Jeremy, late Lord Bishop of Doune, Connor, and Dromore by Le. Mathews ...
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Mathews, Lemuel, fl. 1661-1705.
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1667
(1667)
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Wing M1289; ESTC R32058
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3,296
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13
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A Pâ—NDARIQUE ELEGIE Upon the death of the R. R. Father in God JEREMY Late Lord Bishop of Doune Connor and Dromore By Le. Mathews A. M. Ã sacr domest Dublin Printed by Iohn Crook Printer to the Kings most Excellent Majesty and are to be sold by Samuel Dancer Bookseller in Castlestreet 1667. TO THE MEMORY Of the most Venerable Doctor JEREMY TAYLOR Lord Bishop of DOWNE c. Stanza I. HAppy the man whom fate permits to stay In the abodes of old eternity Careless what 't is to live and what to dye Or what 's a doing in mortality Well satisfi'd only to be To dwell in an immortal ray Hid in the light of that long lasting day But happier he if'tis his doom From Natures silent tyring room To enter on our busie Stage the world Who not by fortune hither hurl'd An empty place to fill Or to make up the Cities bill Or stand a mute or gaze amongst the crowd And do ingloricus things and vile And idly laugh and prate a while Till out of breath wrapt in a common shroud Iâ— laid with unknown bones and has no fame allow'd But he who bravely speaks and bravely does And throughout all the various Scenes Worthy and fit himself demeans Whether his part the Prince or Peasant shows For that the Drammatist and not he chose He does deserve th' applause of all Thrice happy him may the spectators call When th' worlds almighty Poet bids the curtain fall II. Such was the man whom all admir'd Whom â—ame and Heaven's sweet breath inspir'd Whose funeral voice made others live And Immortality did often give And yet though such he were Though thus the mighty man has done The mighty man alas is gone He he is gone and left us here To doubt if heaven can such another send Or what for us it does intend For all our joyes and hopes are frighted flown Ere since the whole Church heard by a catholick groan The Doctors gone III. Open great volumn of Fame open wide Written fair and full on every side To all the world his story show Though all the learned world already know But Fame be elegant like him Be quaint be copious and not obscure And Book unsullied be and trim Have a large character but specially be sure without within No blot no stain be seen For this to latest ages must endure IV. He was the man so pure so innocent So careless of forbidden fruit Richly supply'd with Natures own recruit So masculine his soul and so content To be but man so little bent To vice that you might call Him one not bruis'd by Adams fall Iv'e never but with admiration seen His generous looks his glorious meen They made me think of heaven and of the Saints above So Angels live and smile and love And one might guess as soon that they Had ancient scores to pay And smelt our Grandsires mouldy clay V. So vast his knowledge he Had tasted oft of each allowed tree On all their sweets had daily fed The Bird of Paradise he kindly bred A gaulless Dove within the Serpents head The Cherubs bow'd and sheath'd their swords For 's tongue had all the charms of words All that language and wit affords And new and fitter names did wear And 's lucky pen as if a pencil 't were Made gold by guilding it more golden to appear Ye wisdoms Sons with him there 's lost A Vatican of learned things which cost A Treasury of precious time but grieve ye most For undiscover'd Arts and Sciences And what is excellent in those or these What never was what never shall be found With him lye buried under ground VI. Had he been where the Lycaonian throng Thought those two Prelats Gods in humane shape He scarcely could escape Their worship and a canonizing Song Iove for his presence Mercury for his tongue Had he been thine fond Rome th' hadst gloried more In him then all thy wondrous Saints before His birth had famous been and great His life a golden legend should repeat The Hero dead had sainted bin and soon His Reliques miracles must have done Whilst his the Rubrick names did far out-shine Yet though thy native he had not been thine Strong prejudice his free-born soul Custom and interest were never able to controule Could my weak voice make Fames trump louder sound I 'de speak thy praise the Universe around Great Saint thy humblest votary A thousand hymns I would bestow Alas ten thousand would not do Too big the subject and too strait the Poetry For all that can be bravely said is due to thee VII Oft have I thought and still admir'd Religion's Sons in blacks â—ttiâ—d Black natures mouâ—ning vaile a hew More dâ—smal far than cypress or the yew Black that checks the â—oying beams of light Black the mantle of forsaken night Canonick habit of a Tragedy Misfortunes dress Deaths livery There was of yore and yet there scarce could be Religion 's darling an illustrious he bright Saint like thee Whose face did shine When thou didst preach God's Law like thine Who lighted the bewildred host With a dark Lanthorn a cloud and flaming post Till in Mount Neboes vale their guide and light they lost For some such loss as theirs or ours I guess The mystick train of men profess An art of death and ghostly things do talk And ever since in mourning gravely walk VIII Such was the mitred man Our great Diocesan Whose Crosier aw'd our murmuring land As he those tribes with a miraculous Wand Whose eye not dim but natures heat intire The sacrifice on th' altar did expire His sacred feaver his ardent love Heav'd him to Heaven and to those flames above Iehovah suck't and kiss'd his soul away As Rabbins of Israels Prophet say Or as the Tishbite in his fiery coach Rode up toth' Gate and Heavens bright palace did approach Strange was his death and strange his grave And our great Prophet too ascended so O had he left his mantle here below A harder thing then Shaphats Son we crave A double portion of thy spirit may thy Successors have IX How poor how short a thing is all The time which here we living call Scarce is our race begun Ere half our race is run The noble prize how very few have won With Tim's quick wings to death we fly As swiftly as the hours and you and I Reader and all must dye Stay serious thought prethee stay See how apt 't is to flee away When th' undiscerned hand does snatch us hence For what goood deed expect we recompence When we are tumbled into dust What can Fame say if it be true and just We must like common people die Nothing but vulgar in our Elegie There 's nothing of our own To be by future ages known Our memories 'mongst undistinguisht beasts are thrown X. Thy fate blest soul cannot be such Whom none could prize whom none could praise too much My Beads I le bid before thy venerable shrine Who like the Stars to which th' art gone didst shine I fear my rhimes my love So ill exprest may libels prove For what is set too high no man can reach But in thy stile none ought of thee to preach To read the Text again is the best gloss Thy glorious Works can praise thee most thy name Shall be preserv'd by th' spicy breath of Fame Support and ornament o th' Christian Cross The Churches Doctor the Catholick loss XI But though the Doctors dead Though from the Fane the Oracle is fled The Temple still is hallowed His sacred ashes still are there I le humbly pay a figh a tear Rest holy clay Slumber till the judgement day Devout cinders contrite dust Mild heart free from cank'ring rust Learned brain eloquent tongue Charmes of the attentive throng Bright cheerful looks which ne're Envie or grief anger or fear Though they have try'd a thousand times and moâ—e Could make you pale before Pious breaths you 'l sigh no more but sleep Rest closed eyes no more you 'l weep Rest facred clay Slumber till the judgment day Thus I said and as I said The awfull Relick made me bow my head What was in life so great is something great when dead XII His soul from golden Fetters free Rapt to its own dear liberty To highest Heaven knew all the wayes For there't had been ten thousand times in pray'r and praise Wrapt in a commendatory prayer A mouthful of artic late Air Air rarifyed with hearty zeal was its first vehicle A nimble Cherub quickly flyes From the best wardrope in the skies For soon the news had fill'd thâ—se starry rooms The Prelat comes The welcom guest is quickly cloath'd upon With A bes of pure etherial lawne Subtile as Angels joy and fine As is the breath divine Clad in that Robe of white Of soft and never with'ring light He gently passes through A long admiring row Of sainted Ghosts to martyr Charle's waâ—n Come Tayler come Here 's Hammond there is Sanderson The lesser Angels all make room And they embrace ill natured men in vain Ye kept these three from the entreating Soveraign Enter bright Soul this general Convention This Quire of Priests hither's thy translation Bishop Elect there shortly will be given To thee a Diocess in the large Hierarchy of Heaven FINIS