Their glorious beams, whose gracious sight Of spit th' are drench'd ; With death are quench'd. Wake, O mine ear! awake, and bear Our ears resound; Hark how their mocks His hearing wound. Wake, O my heart! tune every string; AN HYMN. DROP, drop, slow tears, And bathe those beauteous feet, Which brought from Heav'n The news and Prince of Peace: Cease not, wet eyes, His mercies to entreat; Look as a thirsty palm full Jordan drinks, All so the soul, whom that clear light revives, But as the dust of chaff, cast in the air, For he, whose flaming eyes all actions turn, PSALM CXXX, FROM the deeps of grief and fear, Can see thy bliss ? But with thee sweet Mercy stands, Or tongue affords, Catch all his words, As a watchman waits for day, So look so wait, So long mine eyes, · To see my Lord, My Sun, arise. Wait, ye saints, wait on our Lord: For from his tonguc sweet mercy flows: Upon that tree redemption grows: His Israel From sin and wrath, From death and Hell. AN HYMN. WAKE, O my soul! awake, and raise Wake, mine eyes! awake, and view Those two twin lights, whence Heavens drew To cry for vengeance Sin doth never cease: In your deep floods Drown all my faults and fears; See sin, but through my tears. ON MY FRIEND'S PICTURE, WHO DIED IN TRAVEL. THOUGH NOW to Heav'n thy travels are confin'd, Thy wealth, friends, life, and country, all are lost; Yet in this picture we thee living find; And thou with lesser travel, lesser cost, Hast found new life, friends, wealth, and better coast: So by thy death thon liv'st, by loss thou gain'st; UPON DR. PLAYFER. Who lives with death, by death in death is lying; UPON MY BROTHER'S BOOK, CALLED THE GROUNDS, Labour, and reward of FAITH. Tais lamp fill'd up, and fir'd by that blest spirit, Spent his last oil in this pure heav'nly flame; Laying the grounds, walls, roof of faith: this frame With life he ends; and now doth there inherit What here he built, crown'd with his laurel merit: Whose palms and triumphs once he loudly rang. There now enjoys what here he sweetly sang. This is his monument, on which he drew His spirit's image, that can never die; But breathes in these live words, and speaks to th' In these his winding-sheets he dead doth show To buried souls the way to live anew, [eye; And in his grave more powerfully now preacheth: Who will not learn, when that a dead man teacheth? UPON MR. PERKINS, HIS PRINTED SERMONS. PERKINS (our wonder) living, though long dead, In this white paper, as a winding-sheet; And in this vellum lies enveloped : Yet still he lives, guiding the erring feet, Speaking now to our eyes, though buried. If once so well, much better now he teacheth: Who will not hear, when a live dead man preacheth. ELIZA; OR AN ÉLEGY UPON THE UNRIPE DECEASE OF SIR ANTONY IRBY. At length loud grief thus with a cheerful shriek With hope, delight, and joy, and comfort flying, Thus with her tongue their coward flight pursues, While sighs, shrieks, tears, give chase with never fainting creus : "Thou traitour joy, that in prosperity Composed at the request (and for a monument) of So loudly vaunt's SIB, his surviving lady. ANAGRAMA. Antonius Irbeus An virtus obiens! Esto mei mortisque memor. Funus virtuti fœnus. TO THE RIGHT WORTHY KNICHT, SIR ANTONY IKBY. I AM altogether (I think) unknown to you, (as having never seen you since your infancy) neither do I now desire to be known by this trifle. But I cannot rule these few lines composed presently after your father's decease; they are broken from me, and will see more light than they deserve. I wish there were any thing in the worthy of your vacant hours: such as they are, yours they are by inheritance. As an urn, therefore, of your father's ashes (1 beseech you) receive them, for bis sake, and from him, who desires in some better employment to be your servant, P. F. whither, ah, whither fliest ? And thou that bragg'st never from life to fly, False hope ah! whither now so spe dy hiest? In vain thy winged feet so fast bou pues! Hope, thou art de id, and Joy, in hope relying, Bleeds in his hopeless wounds, and in his death lies dying' But then Alicia (in whose cheerful eye ་་ Comfort with grief, hope with compassion, lived) That hope could never hope to be relieved. In Heav'n, increase by loss, live best by dying. Then let your hope on tuose sure joys depend, Which live and grow by death, and waste not when they spend." Then she: "Great Lord, thy judgments righte ous be, To make good ill, when to our ill we use it: But we to other ends, most fond abuse it; A common fault, yet cannot that excuse it: We love thy gifts, and take then gladly ever : We love them (ah, too much!) more than we love the giver." So falling low upon her humbled knees, "I know the heart knows more than tengue can But theu perceiv'st the heart his foulness telling: "Some hidden fault, my Father, and my God, But let thy wrath, (ah !) let it now be ended. "If to my heart thou show this hidden sore, Then smooth thy brow, and now some comfort Oh, let thy softest marcies rest contented: Though late, I most repent, that I so late repented. 44 Lay down thy rod, and stay thy smarting hand; Give me thy hand; these my last greetings are: Ah, would our boys, our lesser selves, were by Those my live pictures to the world I give : So single only die, in them twice-two I live. "You little souls, your sweetest times enjoy, Aud softly spend among your mother's kisses; And with your pretty sports and hurtless joy, Supply your weeping mother's grievous misses: "Ah! while you may, enjoy your little blisses, While yet you nothing know: when back you view, [nothing knew. Sweet will this knowledge seem, when yet you “For when to riper times your years arrive, No more (ah! then no more) may you go play you: Lanch'd in the deep far from the wished hive, Change of world's tempests through blind seas will sway you, Till to the long-long'd haven they convey you: Thro' many a wave this brittle life must pass, And cut the churlish seas, shipt in a bark of glass. "How many ships in quicksands swallow'd been! What gaping waves, whales, monsters, there expect you! How many rocks, much sooner felt than seen! He holds the stern, and he will safe direct you, Or, if thou may'st not stay, oh, punish rather "Wast not thy band, that tied the sacred knot? reave him, [him! How, without me, by halves dost thou receive Tak'st thou the head, and leav'st the heart bekind? Ay me in me alone caust thou such monster find? Oh, why dost thou so strong me weak assail? With that her fainting spouse lifts up his head, Thy grief doth add to mine, not ease my paining: "I touch the shore, and see my rest preparing. "Life, life! how many Scyllas dost thou hide [pride! Gold, honour, greatness, and their daughter, More quiet lives, and less with tempests beaten, Whose middle state content doth richly sweeten ! He knows not strife, or brabling lawyers' brawls; His love and wish live pleas'd within his private walls. "The king he never sees, nor fears, nor prays; "Thou God of Peace, with what a gentle tide Thou, thou my open soul didst safely hide, "I leave them, now the trumpet calls away; [ing In them, and for them, stay thy too much grievLook but on them, in them thou still wilt see Marry'd with thee again thy twice-two Antony. "And when with little hands they stroke thy face, And in their face some part of me surveying, "And now our falling house leans all on thee; This little nation to thy care commend them: In thee it lies that hence they want not me; Themselves yet cannot, thou the more defend them; [them : And when green age permits, to goodness bend A mother were you once, now both you are: Then with this double style double your love and care. "Turn their unweary steps into the way: What first the vessel drinks, it long retaineth ; No bars will hold, when they have us'd to stray: And when for me one asks, and weeping plaineth, Point thou to Heav'n, and say, He there remaineth :' And if they live in grace, grow, and persever, There shall they live with me: else shall they see me never. "My God, oh! in thy fear here let me live! Thou now in them, they then may live in thee; And seeing here thy will, may there thy glory see. "Betty, let these last words long with thee dwell: Ah, do not in my children's good neglect me! Farewel, farewel! I feel my long long rest, And iron sleep my leaden heart oppressing: Night after day, sleep after labour's best; Port after storms, joy after long distressing: "I never knew or want or luxury, Much less their followers; or cares tormenting, "Four babes (the fifth with thee I soon shall find) (Which last I name, but should not last be nam'd) me: "Frail flesh, why would'st thou keep a hated guest, Mount now, my soul, and seat thee in thy throne: wast one. "Why should'st thou love this star, this borrow'd light, And not that Sun, at which thou oft hast guessed, And is arriv'd before: death hath prevented age. Had not much grace prevail'd, 'fore Heav'n I should prefer them. So weep thy loss, as knowing 'tis my blessing: "Death, end of our joys, entrance into new, I follow thee, I know I am thy debtor; tears: Who sighing leaves the Earth, himself and Heaven fears." Thus said, and while the body slumb'ring lay, Swifter than lightning flew, for Heaven making ; A thousand times, "My Antony," she cried, 'Irby" a thousand times; and in that name she died. And now the courts of that thrice blessed King The mind that all can hold, yet cannot half con. There doth it blessed sit, and looking down, Ah, blessed soul! there sit thou still delighted, But when at last his lady sad espies Fell dead with him; and once again revived, Again reliev'd, all silent sat she long; No word to name such grief durst first adventure: [grief: And from their bed proceeds a numerous press, In vain poor Muse would'st thou such dole express; And with like grief transform'd to like torment- With heavy pace bring'st forth thy lagging verse, Which cloth'd with blackest lines attends the mournful herse. The cunning hand which that Greek princess drew Pity and sorrow paints in divers hue; [fume; Look as a nightingale, whose callow young [taken Flies up and down, but grief no place can slacken ; anew: Thus circling in her grief it never ends, Thou blacker Muse, whose rude uncombed hairs As ever in the Muses' garden bladed; While th' owner (hapless owner) sits lamenting, And but in discontent and grief, finds no contenting. The sweet (now sad) Eliza weeping lies, She careless spends without or end or measure; treasure. All as a turtle on a bared bough (A widow turtle) joy and life despises, She joyless bird sits mourning all alone; [none: Could quicken death, their now-dead lord enfold, And seem'd as cold and dead as was the flesh they hold. The roses in her check grow pale and wan; |