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He at their invoking came

But with a scarce-wel-lighted flame;
And in his Garland as he stood,
Ye might difcern a Cypress bud.
Once had the early Matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,

And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorfles cruelty,
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree :
The haples Babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languisht Mothers Womb
Was not long a living Tomb.
So have I seen some tender flip
Sav'd with care from Winters nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck't up by fom unheedy fwain,
Who onely thought to crop the flowr
New fhot up from vernal showr;
But the fair bloffom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,

And thofe Pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears
Which the fad morn had let fall
On her haft'ning funerall.
Gentle Lady may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travel fore
Sweet reft sease thee evermore,





That to give the world encrease,
Shortned haft thy own lives lease;
Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Weept for thee in Helicon,

And fom Flowers, and fome Bays,
For thy Hears to ftrew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy vertuous name;

Whilft thou bright Saint high fit'ft in glory.
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,
Who after yeers of barrenness,

The highly favour'd Jofeph bore
To him that ferv'd for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,

Far within the boofom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light,

There with thee, new welcom Saint,
Like fortunes may her foul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchionefs, but now a Queen.



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
Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?

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,
Pull'd off his Boots, and took away the light:
If any afk for him, it fhall be fed,

Hobfon has fupt, and's newly gon to bed.

Another on the fame.

ERE lieth one who did most truly prove,
That he could never die while he could


So hung his destiny never to rot

While he might ftill jogg on and keep his trot,
Made of fphear-metal, never to decay
Untill his revolution was at stay.


Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And like an Engin mov'd with wheel and waight,
His principles being ceast, he ended strait,
Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation haftned on his term.
Meerly to drive the time away he fickn'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn'd,
Nay, quoth he, on his fwooning bed out-ftretch'd,
If I may not carry, fure I'le ne're be fetch'd,
But vow though the crofs Doctors all ftood hearers,
For one Carrier put down to make fix bearers. 20
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He di'd for heavinefs that his Cart went light,
His leafure told him that his time was com,
And lack of load, made his life burdenfom,
That even to his last breath (ther be that say't)
As he were preft to death, he cry'd more waight;
But had his doings lafted as they were,

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