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Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and Fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces sweet,
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin choir for her request
The God that sits at marriage feast ;
He at their invoking came,
But with a scarce well-lighted flame ;
And in his garland, as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress bud.
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes ;
But, whether by mischance or blame,
Atropos for Lucina came;
And, with remorseless cruelty,
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree;
The hapless babe, before his birth,
Had burial, yet not laid in earth ;
And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I seen some tender slip,
Sav'd with care from winter's nip;
The pride of her carnation train
Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain,
Who.only thought to crop the flower
New shot up from vernal shower;
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 hast'ning funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have,
After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest seize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shorten'd haste thy own life's lease.
Here, besides the sorrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon;
And some flowers, and some bays
For thy hearse to strew the ways,
Sent thee froin the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name ;
Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt'st in glory,
Next her, much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,
Who, after years of barrenness,
The highly favour'd Joseph bore
To him that serv'd for her before,
And at her birth, much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bosom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light:
There with thee, new welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a queen.
Now the bright Morning-star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, thou dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ;
Woods, and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill, and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
What needs my Shakspeare, for his honour'd bones,
The labour of an age in piled stones ?
Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
For whilst, to th' shame of slow endeavoring art,
Thy easy numbers flow; and that each heart
Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book,
Those Delphic lines with deep inpression took ;
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;
And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie,
That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.
ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER,
Who sickened in the time of his vacancy; being forbid
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 journey's end was come,
And that he had ta’en up his latest inn;
In the kind office of a chamberlain
Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light:
If any ask for him, it shall be said,
Hobson has supp'd, and's newly gone to bed.
Here lieth one, who did most truly prove That he could never die, while he could move ; So hung his destiny, never to rot While he might still jog on and keep his trot, Made of sphere-metal, never to decay Until his revolution was at stay. Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time: And, like an engine mov'd with wheel and weight His principles being ceas'd, be ended straight. whips, to furnish the gentlemen at once, without going from college to college to borrow, as they have done since the death of this worthy man: I say, Mr. Hobson kept a stable of forty good cattle, always ready and fit for travelling : but when a man came for a horse, he was led into the stable, where there was great choice ; but he obliged him to take the horse which stood next to the stabi-door, so that every customer was alike well served, according to his chance, and every horse ridden with the same justice. From whence it became a proverb, when what ought to be your election was forced upon you, to say Hobson's choice. This memorable man stands drawn in fresco at an inn (which he used) in Bishopsgate-street, with a hundred pound bag under his arm, with this inscription upon the said bag:
“ The fruitful mother of a hundred more."
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 hasten'd on his term.
Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;
Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd
If I may'nt carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the cross docters all stood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make to make six bear-
Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light;
His leisure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That even to his last breath, (there be that say't,)
As he were press'd to death, he cried, More weight;
But, had his doings lasted as they were,
He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date,
In 'course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase :
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,
Only remains this superscription.
Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess
Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by some noble persons of her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit moving toward the seat of state, with this Song.
Look, Nymphs and Shepherds, look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
• This poem is only part of an Entertainment, or Mask. the rest