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And I (for grief is easily beguild)

Might think th'infection of my sorrows loud, , Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud. This Subje&t the Author finding to be above the

yeers he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfid with what was begun, left it unfinisht.

On Time.

LY envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets

pace ;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d,
And last of all thy greedy self consum’d,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss ;
And Joy Thall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the supreme Throne
Of him, t'whose happy-making fight alone,
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,

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Then all this Earthy grosness quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever fit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee

O Time.

Upon the Circumcision.


E flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,

[song That erst with Musick, and triumphant First heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear, So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds along Through the soft silence of the liftning night; Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear Your fiery essence can distill no tear, Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep forrow, He who with all Heav'ns heraldry whilear Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease; Alas, how soon our sin Sore doth begin

His infancy to sease! O more exceeding love or law more just? Just law indeed, but more exceeding love ! For we by rightful doom remediles Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above High thron’d in secret bliss, for us frail duft Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakednes; And that great Cov’nant which we still transgress Intirely satisfi'd,


And the full wrath beside
Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess,
And seals obedience first with wounding smart
This day, but o ere long
Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

At a solemn Musick.


LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,

[and Vers, Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce, And to our high-rais'd phantasie present, That undisturbed Song of

pure concent, Ay sung before the saphire-colour'd throne To him that fits thereon With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily, Where the bright Seraphim in burning row Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow, And the Cherubick host in thousand quires Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires, With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms, Hymns devout and holy Psalms Singing everlastingly; That we on Earth with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise ; As once we did, till disproportion'd fin Jarr'd against natures chime, and with harsh din

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Broke the fair musick that all creatures made 21
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd
In perfet Diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we soon again renew that Song,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,
To live with him, and sing in endles morn of light.

An Epitaph on the Marchioness of


HIS rich Marble doth enterr
The honour'd Wife of Winchester,

A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir,
Besides what her vertues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More then she could own from Earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told, alass too soon,
After so short time of breath,
To house with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days
Bin as compleat as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no ftrife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces sweet,
Quickly found a lover meet;
The Virgin quire for her request
The God that fits at marriage feast;




He at their invoking came
But with a scarce-wel-lighted flame;
And in his Garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a Cypress bud.
Once had the early Matrons run

greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorlles cruelty,
Spoild 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 slip
Sav'd with care from Winters nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck’t up by som unheedy swain,
Who onely thought to crop the flowr
New shot


from vernal showr;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And those Pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears
Which the sad morn had let fall
On her haft'ning funerall.
Gentle Lady may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have ;
After this thy travel sore
Sweet rest sease thee evermore,



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