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He at their invoking came
But with a scarce-wel-lighted flame;
And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And thofe Pearls of dew she wears,
That to give the world encrease,
And fom Flowers, and fome Bays,
Whilft thou bright Saint high fit'ft in glory.
The highly favour'd Jofeph bore
Far within the boofom bright
There with thee, new welcom Saint,
Song. On May Morning.
OW the bright morning Star, Dayes har
[with her Comes dancing from the East, and leads The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow Cowflip, and the pale Primrose. Hail bounteous May that doft inspire Mirth and youth and warm defire, Woods and Groves are of thy dreffing, Hill and Dale doth boast thy bleffing. Thus we falute thee with our early Song, And welcom thee, and wish thee long.
On Shakespear. 1630.
HAT needs my Shakespear for his honour'd Bones,
The labour of an age in piled Stones,
Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid
Dear fon of memory, great heir of Fame,
What need'ft thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Haft built thy felf a live-long Monument.
For whilft to th'fhame of flow-endeavouring art, Thy eafie numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,
Those Delphick lines with deep impreffion took, Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,
Doft make us Marble with too much conceaving; And fo Sepulcher'd in fuch pomp doft lie,
That Kings for fuch a Tomb would wish to die.
On the University Carrier, who fickn'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reason of the Plague.
ERE lies old Hobfon, Death hath broke his girt,
And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt, Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here stuck in a flough, and overthrown. 'Twas fuch a fhifter, that if truth were known, Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had any time this ten yeers full, Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull. And surely, Death could never have prevail'd, Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd; But lately finding him so long at home, And thinking now his journeys end was come, And that he had tane up his latest Inne,
In the kind office of a Chamberlin
Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Hobfon has fupt, and's newly gon to bed.
Another on the fame.
ERE lieth one who did most truly prove,
So hung his destiny never to rot
While he might ftill jogg on and keep his trot,
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
Too long vacation haftned on his term.