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M1 RICHARD HOOKER.

THE LIFE

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MR. RICHARD HOOKER,

THE AUTHOR OF THOSE LEARNED BOOKS

OF THE LAWS OF ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY.

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TO HIS VERY WORTHY FRIEND

MR. IZAAK WALTON,

Upon his writing and publishing the LIFE of the venerable and judicious

MR. RICHARD HOOKER.

I.

H AIL, sacred mother?! British Church, all hail!

From whose fruitful loins have sprung

Of pious sons so great a throng
That Heav'n t'oppose their force, of strength did fail,
And let the mighty conqu’rors o'er Almighty arms prevail;
How art thou chang’d from what thou wert a late!

When destitute and quite forlorn,
And scarce a child of thousands with thee left to mourn,

Thy veil all rent, and all thy garments torn:
With tears thou didst bewail thine own and children's fate.

Too much, alas! thou didst resemble then

Sion thy pattern-Sion in ashes laid,

Despis’d, forsaken, and betray'd;

Sion thou dost resemble once agen,
And, rais'd like her, the glory of the world art made.

Threnes only to thee could that time belong,
But now thou art the lofty subject of my song,

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Begin,

• The church of England emerging from those dreadful calamities in which she had been involved by the artifices of those men, who, under the pretence of zeal for the cause of religion, meditated her entire destruction, is here not unaptly pourtrayed under the figure of an afflicted parent

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“ Her veil all rent, and all her garments torn.”

She was then the subject of elegiac lamentation. The scene is happily changed; and she is here addressed in the language of praise and exultation.

II.
Begin, my verse, and where the doleful mother sat"

(As it in vision was to Efdras shown)
Lamenting, with the rest, her dearest son,

Bless's Charles, who his forefathers has outgone,
And to the royal join'd the martyr's brighter crown,

Let a new city rise with beauteous state,
And beauteous let its temple be, and beautiful the gate!

Lo! how the sacred fabric up does rise!
The architects so skilful all,
So grave, so humble, and so wise;

The axe's and the hammer's noise
Is drown'd in silence or in numbers musical:

'Tis up, and at the altar stand
The reverend fathers as of old,

With harps and incense in their hand.
Nor let the pious service grow or stiff or cold;

Th’inferior priests, the while,
To praise continually employ'd or pray,

Need not the weary hours beguile,

Enough's the single duty of each day,
Thou thyself, Woodford, on thy humbler pipe may'st play,

And tho' but lately enter'd there,
So gracious those thou honour'st all appear,

So ready and attent to hear
An easy part, proportioned to thy skill, may'st bear.

But

See 2 Efdras, from chap. ix. 38, to the end of the tenth chapter.

. See 1 Kings vi. 7.

a Dr. Woodford, the author of this poem, was ordained by Bishop Morley in the year in which these yerses were written,

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