Prideaux and Keeble stand and cry HaloÌ„o 'T was a full Cry and yet it would not do Oh how he foil'd them Standers by did swear That he the Judge and they the Traitors were For there he prov'd although he seem'd a Lamb Stout like a Lion from whose Den he came ACT. II. It is decreed nor shall thy Worth dear Love Resist their Vows nor their Revenge remove Though Pray'rs were join'd to Pray'rs tears to tears No Softness in their Rocky Hearts appears Nor Heav'n nor Earth abate their Fury can But they will have thy Head thy Head good Man Sure some She-Sectary longed and in haste Must try how Presbyterian Blood did taste 'T is fit she have the best and therefore thine Thine must be broach'd blest Saint 't is Drink divine No sooner was the dreadful Sentence read The Prisoner straight bow'd his condemned Head And by that humble Posture told them all It was a Head that did not fear a fall ACT. III. And now I wish the fatal Stroke were given I 'm sure our Martyr longs to be in Heaven AndHeav'n to have him there one moments blow Makes him triumphant but here comes his wo His Enemies will grant a Months Suspence If 't be for the nonce to keep him thence And that he may tread in his Saviours ways He shall be tempted too his forty days And with such baits too Cast thy self but down Fall and but worship and your Life 's your own Thus cry'd his Enemies oh 't was their pride To wound his Body and his Soul beside One Plot th'have more when all their own do fail If Devils can't Disciples may prevail Le ts tempt him by his Friends make Peter cry Good Master Spare thy self and do not die One Friend entreats a second weeps a third Cries Your Petition wants the other word I 'l write it for you saith a fourth Your Life Your Life Sir cries a fifth Pity your Wife And the Babe in her Thus this Diamonds cut By Diamonds only and to terror put Methinks I hear him still You wound my heart Good Friends forbear for every word 's a Dart 'T is cruel pity thus I do profess You 'ld love me more if you did love me less Friends Children Wife Life all are dear I know But all 's too dear if I should buy them so Thus like a rock that routs the waves he stands And snaps asunder Sampson-like these bands ACT. IV. The Day is come the Prisoner longs to go And chides the ling'ring Sun for tarrying so Which blushing seems to answer from the Sky That it was loth to see a Martyr dye Methinks I heard beheaded Saints above Call to each other Sirs Make room for LOVE Who when he came to tread the fatal Stage Which prov'd his Glory and his Enemies rage His Blood ne'r run t' his heart Christs Blood was there Reviving it his own was all to spare Which rising in his Cheeks did seem to say Is this the Bloud you thirst for Tak 't I pray Spectators in his Looks such Life did see That they appear'd more like to die than he But oh his Speech methinks I hear it still It ravish'd Friends and did his Enemies kill His keener Words did their sharp Ax exceed That made his head but he their hearts to bleed Which he concluded with soâ—t Prayer and so The Lamb lay down and took the Butchers blow His Soul makes Heav'n shine brighter by a Star And now we 're sure there 's one Saint Christopher ACT. V. LOVE lies a bleeding and the World shall see Heav'n act a part in this black Tragedy The Sun no sooner spy'd the Head o' th' floor But he pull'd in his own and look'd no more The Clouds which scattered and in colours were Met altogether and in black appear Light'nings which fill'd the Air with blazing light Did serve for Torches at that dismal Night In which and all next day for many hours Heav'n groan'd in Thunder did weep in Showrs Nor do I wonder that God thundered so When 's Boanerges murdred lay below The High Court trembled Prideaux Bradshaw Keeble And all the guilty Rout look'd pale and feeble Timerous Jenkins and cold-hearted Drake Hold out you need no base Petitions make Your Enemies thus Thunder-struck no doubt Will be beholding to you to go out Bâ—t if you will recant now thundring Heaven Such Approbation to Love's cause hath given I 'le add but this Your Consciences perhaps Ere long shall feel far greater Thunder-claps The Epilogue But stay my Muse grows fearful too and must Beg that these Lines be buried with thy Dust Shelter bless'd Love this verse within thy Shroud For none but Heav'n dares take thy part aloud The Author begs this lest if it be known Whilst he bewails thy Head he lose his own R. W. UPON The much to be Lamented DEATH OF THE Reverend Mr. Vines ARt thou gone too thou great gallant mind And must such Sneaks as I be left behind If thus our Horsemen and Commanders die What can the Infantry do then but fly Oh Divine Vines tell us why wouldst thou go Unless thou couldst have left thy Parts below If there 's a Metempsuchosis indeed Tell us where we may find thee at our need Who hath thy Memory thy Brain thy Heart Whom didst thou leave thy Tongue for ev'ry part Of thee can make a Man What if we find As I 'l not swear this Age won't change her mind Prelacy though her Lands are sold revive Or Independency who hopes to thrive No where suits Trump should dare dispute at length Where hast thou left thy Presbyterian Strength With which thou got'st the Game in th' Isle of Wight Where the King cry'd that Vines was in the right When Essex dy'd the Honour of our Nation Thou gav'st him a new life in thy Oration But when great Fairfax to his Fate shall yield Whom hast thou left to fetch from Naseby-field Th' Immortal Turf and dress it with a Story That shall perpetuate his name and glory Where 's thy rich Fancy man To whom beneath Didst thou thy lofty and high strain bequeath Tell us for thy own sake for none but he That hath thy Wit can write thy Elegie Till he be found let this suffice which I Leave on thy Stone Here lies the Ministry R. W. TO THE MEMORY OF Mr. Jeremy Whitaker Powerful in Prayer and Preaching Pious in Life Patient in Sickness c. NAy now forbear for pity sake give o're You that would make the Clergy none or poor We are made miserable enough this year That we have lost our Reverend Whitaker Loss above Deaus and Chapters had but he Liv'd still and preach'd Ziba take all for me Nay I believe had sacrilegious hands Finger'd our poor remains of Tithes and Lands Whil'st he surviv'd they had but pray'd in vain Whitaker would have pray'd them back again As Luther did a young mans Soul repeal Giv'n to the Devil under Hand and Seal A Chariot and an
But stay this counsel is but simple stuff Englands Divine Reynolds hath done enough His Sermon is her Monument in print And hath more Honour than all Poems in 't That doth not only speak her Saint and more Can make him one too who but reads it o're Reynolds records her Saint and you may hope That 's more than canonizing by a Pope IN MEMORY Of Mris E. T. Who dyed April 7. 1659. IT was the Spring and Flowers were in contest Whose smels should first reach Heav'n and please it best Then did Eliza's sweetness so surpass All Rival Virgins that she sent for was 'T was April when she dy'd no Month so fit For Heav'n to be a mourner in as it 'T was Easter too that time did Death devise Best for this Lamb to be a Sacrifice It was the Spring The way 'twixt Heav'n Earth Was sweetned for her passage by the Birth Of early Flowers which burst their Mothers womb Resoly'd to live and die upon her Tomb. It was the Spring Between the Earth and Sky To please her Soul as it was passing by Birds fill'd the Air with Anthems every nest Was on the Wing to chaunt her to her Rest Not a Pen-feathered Lark who ne'r try'd Wing Nor Throat but ventur'd then to fly and sing Following the Saint towards Heav'n whose entrance there Dampt them and chang'd their Notes Then pensive Air Dissolv'd to tears which spoil'd the feather'd Train And sunk them to their nests with grief again Mean time me thought I saw at Heav'ns fair Gate The glorious Virgins meet and kiss their Mate They stood a while her Beauty to admire Then led her to her place in their own Quire Which seem'd to be defective untill she Added her Sweetness to their Harmony As Meddals scatter'd when some Prince goes by So lay the Stars that night about the Sky The Milky Way too since she past it o're Methinks looks whiter than it was before AN EPITAPH Upon E. T. REader didst thou but know what sacred Dust Thou tread'st upon thou'dst judg thy self unjust Shouldst thou neglect a showr of tears to pay To wash the Sin of thy own Feet away That Actor in the Play who looking down When he should cry O Heav'n was thought a Clown And guilty of a Soloecism might have Applause for such an Action o're this Grave Here lies a piece of Heav'n and Heav'n one day Will send the best in Heav'n to fetch 't away Truth is this Lovely Virgin from her Birth Became a constant strife 'twixt Heav'n and Earth Both claim'd her pleaded for her either cry'd The Child is mine at length they did divide Heav'n took her Soul The Earth her Corps did seize Yet not in Fee she only holds by Lease With this Proviso when the Judge shall call Earth shall give up her share and Heav'n have all UPON The Learned Works of the Reverend DIVINE Ed. Reynolds D. D. REader who e're thou art here thou maist find Within these Works a rare rich glorious mind O Golden Precepts which alike do shew What 's thy D stemper how to cure it too Do pains oppress thy Body Sorrow Mind Draw near to God Pray'r will acceptance find And then no doubt he 'll grant thy Bodies Grief May bring thy sinking soul some small Relief Do Passions over-top thy will beware Virtue consists not in so high a Sphere If thou the Golden Medium wilt find Shun thou too high and too too low a mind Pleasures are gilded Nothings which like bubbles fly Swoln big with Emptiness so burst and die Do darkest times of ignorance draw near The rather view these weighty Lines nor fear Nor wonder much at this resplendent Light Diamonds shine brightest in the darkest night The Merchant-man sold all he had to buy The rich rare Gospel Jewel O then why Art thou so backward since that thou mayst make This Gem thine own yea at a cheaper rate The foolish Virgins when their Lord of Light Past by their lights were out So that eternal night Was their reward and just for they that deem Pains cost of greater worth shall ne'r be seen Within his Courts who is great good and just Is Folly thus repaid Reader we must Look that it ne'r be said of thee or I That our Neglest should cause our light to die R. W. Another LOok wishly friend thou seldom seest such men Heav'n drops such Jewels down but now and then One in an Age or Nation oh 't is rare Two Reynoldses should fall to Englands share Could Rome but shew one such and this were He His Picture could not scape Idolatry Whom Papists not with Superstitious Fire Would dare t' adore we justly may admire R. W. Aliud LEarning whose Forces did dispersed lie Of late alarm'd by the Enemy Calling a Councel did resolve at lengtâ— To chuse one General over all her strength Divinity who had the choice did Name Reynolds All Voices center'd in the same Now here he stands and heads such Books as bear Truth in their Van and Triumph in their Rear R. W. AN EPITAPH For a Godly Mans Tomb. HEre lies a piece of Christ a Star in Dust A Vein of Gold a Chind Dish that must Be us'd in Heav'n when God shall Feast the Just AN EPITAPH For a Wicked Mans Tomb. HEre lies the Carkase of a cursed Sinner Doom'd to be Roasted for the Devil's Dinner A Letter to a Friend Generous Sir ON Saturdy last the Day and Weather being as sad and dumpish as old Saturn himself whilest I was in my Study my Books and my self musty and melancholy and my provisions for the next Day as poor as ever were made by Countrey Curate sometimes scratching that which goes for my Head and then biting my Nails for offending my Noddle In comes your Friendly Letter the welcomest Quarter-master that ever came to my House to take up Quarters for that gallant Mans Works and if ever Good Works merited they do Doctor Reynolds Sir They no sooner entred my Study but all my Books seem'd to disappear as the Stars do at the rising of the Sun You cannot imagine what fear shame confusion and envy my poor Shelves discovered Some poor Authors stood gasping others tumbled down and others burst their Bindings resolving to break Prison rather than stand before such a Judge of Learning Those few Fathers which I had seemed to meet in a Councel what they should do whether stay or depart Old Origen began but he was so full of Allegories and whimseys they could not tell what to say to him but sure he and they all were troubled for fear good men that they should now be ejected in their old Age. Just in thought that he should again be a Martyr and burnt to light Tobacco Tertullian began to make Apologies and Austin himself fell to his Confessions and Retractions As for Hierom as good a Scholar as he was he wished himself again on his Pilgrimage and my poor Country-man Bede got into a corner and fell to
Wharf resolving all to drown Or save a sinking Kingdom But O sad Fearing to lose her prey the Sea grew mad Rais'd all her billows and resolv'd her waves Should quickly be the bold Adventurers graves Out Marches Lambert like an Eastern Wind And with him all the mighty waters joyn'd The Loyal Swimmers bore up heads and breasts Scorning to think of Life or Interests They ply'd their Arms and Thighs but all in vain The furious Main beat them to shore again At which the floating Island looking back Spying her loyal Lovers gone to wrack Shriekt lowder then before and thus she cries Can you be angry heavens and frowning skies Thus countenance rebellious Mutineers Who if they durst would be about your ears That I should sink with Justice may accord Who let my Pilot be thrown over-board Yet 't was not I ye righteous Heavens do know The Soldiers in me needs would have it so And those who conjur'd up these storms themselves And first engag'd me ' mongst these Rocks and Shelves Guilty of all my wo have rais'd this weather Fearing to come to Land and chusing rather To sink me with themselves O cease to frown In tears just Heavens behold my self I drown Let not these proud waves do 't Prevent my fears And let them fall together by the ears VII HEav'n heard and struck th' insulting army mad Drunk with their Cheshire Triumphs straight they had New Lights appear'd and new Resolves they take A Single Person once again to make Who shall be he Oh! Lambert without rub The fittest Devil to be Belzebub He the fierce Fiend cast out o' th' House before Return'd and threw the House now out of door A Legion then he rais'd of Armed Sprights Elves Goblins Faires Quakers and new Lights To be his under Devils with this rest He Soul and Body Church and State possest Who tho they fil'd all countries towns and rooms Yet like that Fiend that did frequent the Tombs Churches and Sacred Grounds they haunted most No Chappel was at ease from some such Ghost The Priests ordain'd to exercise those Elves Were voted Devils and cast out themselves Bible or Alchoran all 's one to them Religion serves but for a stratagem The holy Charms these Adders did not heed Churches themselves did Sanctuary need VIII THe Churches Patrimony and rich Store Alas was swallow'd many years before Bishops and Deans we sed upon before They were the Ribs and Surloyns of the Whore Now let her Legs the Priests go to the Pot They have the Pope's eye in them spare them not We have fat Benefices yet to eat Bell and our Dragon-Army must have meat Let us devour her Limb-meal great and small Tythe Calves Geese Pigs the Petitoes and all A Vicaridg in Sippets though it be But small will serve a squeamish Sectary Though Universities we can't endure There 's no false Latine in their Lands be sure Give Oxford to our Horse and let the Foot Take Cambridge for their booty and fall too 't Christ-Church I le have cries Vane Disbrow swops At Trinity Kings is for Berry's chops Kelsey take Corpus Christi All-Souls Packer Grave Creed St. Johns New Colledg leave to Hacker Fleetwood cries Weeping Maudlin shall be mine Her tears I le drink instead of Muscadine The smaller Halls and Houses scarce are big Enough to make one dish for Hasilrig We must be sure to stop his mouth though wide Else all our fat will be i' th fire they cry'd And when we have done these we 'l not be quiet Lordships and Landlords Rents shall be our diet Thus talk'd this jolly crew but still mine ' Host Lambert resolves that he will rule the Rost IX BUt hark Methinks I hear old Boreas blow What mean the north-winds that they bluster so More storms from that black nook Forbear bold Scot Let not Dunbar and Worc'ster be forgot What would you chaffer w' us for one Charls more The price of Kings is fal'n give the Trade o're And is the price of Kings and Kingdoms too Of Laws lives oaths souls grown so low with you Perfidious Hypocrites Monsters of Men Cries the good Monck we 'l raise their price agen Heaven said Amen and breath'd upon that Spark That Spark preserv'd alive i' th cold and dark First kindled and enflam'd the British Isle And turn'd it all to Bonefires in a while He and his fewel was so small no doubt Proud Lambert thought to tread or piss them out But George was wary His cause did require A Pillar of a Cloud as well as Fire 'T was not his safest course to flame but smoak His enemies he will not burn but choak Small Fires must not blaze out lest by their light They shew their weakness and their foes invite But Furnaces the stoutest Metals melt And so did he by fire not seen but felt Dark-lanthorn Language and his peep-bo-play Will-E-Wispt Lambert's new Lights out o' th way George his boys those thousands ô strang thing Of Snipes and Woodcocks took by Lowbelling His few Scotch-Coal kindled with English Fire Made Lamberts great Nowcastle heaps expire X. SCotland though poor and peevish was content To keep the Peace and O rare money lent But yet the blessing of their Kirk was more George had that too and with this slender store He and his Mirmidons advance Kind Heaven Prepar'd a Frost to make their March more eaven Easy and safe it may be said That year Of th' High-ways Heaven it self was Overseer And made November ground as hard as May White as their Innocence so was their Way The Clouds came down in Feather-beds to greet Him and his Army and to kiss their feet The frost and foes both came and went together Both thaw'd away vanish'd God knows whither Whole Countries crowded in to see this friend Ready to cast their bodies down to mend His Road to Westminster and still they shout Lay hold of th' Rump and pull the Monster out A new one or a whole one Good my Lord And to this cry the Island did accord The Eccho of the Irish hollow ground Heard England and her language did rebound XI PResto Jack Lambert and his Sprights are gone To dance a Jig with 's brother Oberon George made him and his Cut-throats of our lives Swallow their swords as Juglers do their Knives And Carter Disborough to wish in vain He now were Waggoner to Charls his Wain The Conqueror is now come into th' South Whose warm Air is made hot by every mouth Breathing his welcome and in spite of Scot Crying The whole Child Sir divide it not The Rump begins to stink Alas cry they W'have rais'd a Devil which we cannot lay I like him not His Belly is so big There 's a King in 't cryes furious Hasâ—lrig Let 's bribe Him they cry all Carve him a share Of our stoln Venison Varlets forbear In vain you put your Lime twigs to his Hands George Monck is for the King not for his Lands When fair means would not
Horseman we have lost In whose each single Pray'r incamp'd an Host How have I heard him on some solemn Day When doubtful War could make all London pray Mount up to Heav'n with armed cries and tears And rout as far as York the Cavaliers Have you not seen an early-rising Lark Spring from her Turf making the Sun her mark Shooting her self aloft yet higher higher Till she had sung her self into Heaven's Quire Thus would he rise in Pray'r and in a trice His Soul become a Bird of Paradise And if our faint Devotions Prayers be What can we call his less than Extasie On his Preaching If with the Almighty he prevailed so Wonder not that he Wonders wrought below The Son of Consolation and of Thunder Met both in him in others are asunder He was like Luke Physician of both kinds Wrought Cures upon Mens Bodies their Minds The Falling-sickness of Apostacy Dropsie of Drunkenness Prides Tympany The Meagrim of Opinions new or old Palsie of Unbelief Charities cold Lusts burning Fever Anger 's Calenture The Collick in the Conscience he could cure Set the souls broken bones by holy Art He hath dissolv'd the Stone in many a Heart Harder than that he dy'd of O come in Ye multitudes whom he hath heal'd of sin And thereby made his Debtors Pay him now Some of those tears which he laid out for you Interest-tears I mean for should you all Weep over him both Use and Principal 'T would wash away the Stone which covers him And make his Coffin like an Ark to swim Now wipe thine eyes my Muse stop thy Verse Thy Ink can only serve to black his Hearse Yet stay I 'll drop one Tear sigh one sigh more 'T is this although my Poetry be poor O what a mighty Prophet should I be Had this Elijah's Mantle faln to me Oh might I live his Life I 'd be content His sore Diseases too should me torment And if his Patience could mine become I would not be afraid of Martyrdom R. W. UPON THE DEATH OF So many Reverend Ministers of late STill we do find Black cloth wears out the first And fruits that are the choicest keep the worst Such men So many and they die so fast They 'r precious death on do not make such waste Scarce have we dry'd our eyes for loss of one But in comes tidings that another's gone Oh that I had my former Tears agen All but those few laid out upon my sin Had I an Helicon in either Eye I have occasion now to verse them dry Triumph licentious Age lift up thy Song Presbytery sha'nt trouble you ere long Those that tormented you before your day Are now apace removing out o' th' way Yea rather tremble England stand agast To see thy glorious Lamps go out so fast When Death like Sampson thus lays hold upon The Pillars of the Church The Building 's gone When we do see so many Stars to fall Surely it boads the World's great Funeral London look too 't and think what Heav'n is doing Thy Flames are coming when thy Lots are going Well may we all fear God intendeth Wars When he commands home his Embassadors That Venerable Synod which of late Was made the Object of Mens Scorn and Hate For want of Copes and Mitres not of Graces Are now call'd up with Moses and their Faces When they return shall shine God sees it fit Such an Assembly should in Glory sit The learned Twisse went first it was his right Then holy Palmer Borroughs Love Gouge White Hill Whitaker grave Gataker and Strong Pern Marshal Robinson all gone along I have not nam'd them half their only strife Hath been of late who should first part with Life Those few who yet survive sick of this Age Long to have done their parts and leave the Stage Our English Luther Vines whose Death I weep Stole away and said nothing in a Sleep Sweet like a Swan he preach'd that day he went And for his Cordial took a Sacrament Had it but been suspected he would die His People sure had stop'd him with their Cry My blearey'd Muse 't is tears have made her so Must wash his Marble too before she go AN ELOGY UPON THE Earl of Essex HIS FUNERAL ANd are there all the Rites that must be done Thrice Noble ESSEX Englands Champion Some Men some Walls some Horses put in black With the Throng scrambling for Sweet-meats and Sack A gawdy Herald and a Velvet Hearse A tattar'd Anagram with grievous Verse And a sad Sermon to conclude withall Shall this be stil'd great ESSEX's â—â—neral Niggardly Nation be asham'd of th'odds Less Valour among Heathen made men gods Should such a General have dy'd in Rome He must have had an Altar not a Tomb And there in stead of youthful Elegies Grave Senators had offer'd Sacrifice To Divine Devereux O sor a Vote Ye Lords and Commons ye are bounâ—â—o do 't A Vote that who is seen to smile this year A Vote that who so brings not in a Tear Shall be adjudg'd Malignant It were wise T' erect an Office in the Peoples eyes For issuing forth a constant sum of Tears There 's no way else to pay him his Arrears And when w'have drein'd this Ages eyes quite dry Let him be wept the next in History Which if Posterity shall dare to doubt Then Glosters whisp'ring Walls shall speak him out And so his Funeral shall not be done Till he returnith ' Resurrection To the Father of a very vertuous Virgin Deceased who desired an obscure Person to make an Elegy c. SIr Be advis'd She 's not your Daughter now But a crown'd Saint in Heav'ns great Court you Must take heed what you offer to her Shrine You 'l be profane if that be not Divine Sternhold who kill'd the Psalms and David too In Meeter and good meaning did not do More violence to Heav'n than you to her If whil'st you think 't a kindness you shall blur Her Honour with my Ink 't is a disgrace To set black Spots upon a glorious Face Disdain will burst her Coffin sure to have Such dirty Feet as mine stand on her Grave Besides 't is niggardly to weep in Verse Tears without measure best become her Hearse The talking Book is shallow still we see Great Sorrows like deep Rivers silent be Were I Apollo's Priest indeed and fit To send a Poem up in flames of Wit Yet i 'm but one Sir to her Altar's due Whole Hecatombs of Verse and Poets too Go search St. Pauls-Church-yard imploy choice eyes To scan all Epitaphs and Elegies All the rich Fancies sacred Raptures all The Pearly drops which ever yet did fall On spotless Virgins Tombs then make your claim Print and devote them to your Daughters name Those vast Hyperboles those lofty Notes Which crackt the Muses Voices rent their throats Offended scrup'lous Readers made them think Poetry only strong Lines and strong Drink Allayed by her merit soon will be Reduc'd to sober Truth and Modesty