In Se[ren]issimæ Reginæ pa[rt]um hyemalem. Erta, puer: (quis nunc flores non præbeat hortus ?) Texe mihi facili pollice serta, puer.

SE

Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi, stulte, Decembres ?
Quid mihi cum nivibus? da mihi serta, puer.
Nix? & hyems? non est nostras quid tale per oras;
Non est vel si sit, non tamen esse potest.
Ver agitur: quæcunque trucem dat larva Decembrem,
Quid fera cung fremant frigora, ver agitur.
Nonne vides quali se palmite regia vitis

Prodit, & in sacris quæ sedet uva jugis?
Tam lætis quæ bruma solet ridere racemis?

Quas hyemis pingit purpura tanta genas?
O Maria! O divum soboles, genitrixque Deorum!
Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt?
Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumæ
Sydera, nil madidos sola morare notos?
Siccine sub mediâ poterunt tua surgere brumâ,

Atque suas solùm lilia nôsse nives?
Ergò vel invitis nivibus, frendentibus Austris,
Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis?
O bona turbatrix anni, quæ limite noto

Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis!
O pia prædatrix hyemis, quæ tristia mundi
Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes!
Perge precor nostris vim pulchram ferre Calendis:
Perge precor menses sic numerare tuos.
Perge intempestiva atg, importuna videri;
Ing uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui.
Sit nobis, sit sæpe hyemes sic cernere nostras
Exhæredatas floribus ire tuis.

Sæpe sit has vernas hyemes Maios Decembres,
Has per te roseas sæpe videre nives.
Altera gens varium per sydera computet annum,
Atg suos ducant per vaga signa dies.
Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis?
Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices?
Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum:
In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos.

Sit tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni:
Tempus in titulos transeat omne tuos.
Nam quæ

alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis?
Aut qua tam posset candidus ire togâ?
Hanc laurum Janus sibi vertice vellet utroģ,
Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Maius emet.
Tota suam (vere expulso) respublica florum
Reginam cuperent te, sobolemve tuam.
O bona sors anni, cùm cuncti ex ordine menses
Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!

Epitaphium in Dominum Herrisium.

ST

Iste te paulum (viator) ubi longum sisti
Necesse erit, huc tempe properare te scias
quocunque properas.
More pretium erit
Et Lacrime,

Si jacere hic scias
Gulielmum

Fide

Spe
Charitate

Humilitate Seipsum

Agnovere.

Superavit.

Cujus
Sub verna fronte senilis animus,

Sub morum [facilitate, [s]everitas virtutis;

Sub plurima indole, pauci anni;

Sub majore modestia, maxima indoles.

adeo se occuluerunt

ut vitam ejus

Pulchram dixeris & pudicam dissimulationem: Imo vero & morte,

Ecce enim in ipso funere
Dissimulari se passus est,

Sub tantillo marmore tantum hospitem,
Eo nimerum majore monumento
quo minore tumulo.

Eo ipso die occubuit quo Ecclesia
Anglica nec ad vesperas legit,
Raptus est ne militia mutaret Intellectum ejus;
Scilicet. Id. Octobris, Anno. Sal. 1631.

In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi, D. Andrews.

H

Ec charta monstrat, Fama quem monstrat magis, Sed & ipsa quem dum fama quem non monstrat satis, Ille, ille solus totam implevit Tubam, Tot ora solus domuit & famam quoque Fecit modestam: mentis igneæ pater Agilig radio Lucis æternæ vigil, Per alta rerum pondera indomito Vagus Cucurrit Animo, Quippe naturam ferox Exhausit ipsam, mille Foetus artibus, Et mille Linguis ipse se ingentes procul Variavit omnes, fuitg toti simul Cognatus orbi: sic sacrum & solidum jubar Saturum coelo pectus ad patrios Libens Porrexit ignes: hac eum (Lector) vides Hac (ecce) charta: O utinam & audires quoģ.

Upon Bishop Andrews Picture before his Sermons.

TW

His reverend shadow cast that setting Sun, Whose glorious course through our Horrizon run, Left the dimme face of this du[1] Hemisphæare, All one great eye, all drown'd in one great Teare. Whose faire illustrious soule, led his free thought Through Learnings Universe, and (vainly) sought Room for her spatious selfe, until at length Shee found the way home, with an holy strength Snatch't her self hence to Heaven: fill'd a bright place, 'Mongst those immortall fires, and on the face Of her great Maker fixt her flaming eye, There still to read true pure divinity.

And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke
Into this lesse appearance; If you thinke,

'Tis but a dead face, art doth here bequeath:
Looke on the following leaves, and see him breath.

Upon the Death of a Gentleman.

F

Aithlesse and fond Mortality!
Who will ever credit thee?
Fond and faithlesse thing! that thus,
In our best hopes beguilest us.
What a reckoning hast thou made,
Of the hopes in him we laid?
For Life by volumes lengthened,
A Line or two, to speake him dead.
For the Laurell in his verse,
The sullen Cypresse o're his Herse.
For a silver-crowned Head,
A durty pillow in Death's Bed.
For so deare, so deep a trust,
Sad requitall, thus much dust!
Now though the blow that snatch him hence,
Stopt the Mouth of Eloquence,
Though shee be dumbe e're since his Death,
Not us'd to speake but in his Breath,
Yet if at least shee not denyes,
The sad language of our eyes,
Wee are contented: for then this
Language none more fluent is.
Nothing speakes our Griefe so well
As to speak Nothing. Come then tell
Thy mind in Teares who e're Thou be,
That ow'st a Name to misery.
Eyes are vocall, Teares have Tongues,
And there be words not made with lungs;
Sententious showers, ô let them fall,
Their cadence is Rhetoricall.

Here's a Theame will drinke th'expence,
Of all thy watry Eloquence.

Weepe then, onely be exprest
Thus much, Hee's Dead, and weep the rest.