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Et hoary Time's vast Bowels be the Grave To what his Bowels birth and being gave; Let Nature die, (Phænix-like) from death Revived Nature takes a second breath; If on Times right hand, sit faire Historie, If, from the seed of emptie Ruine, she Can raise so faire an Harvest: Let Her be Ne're so farre distant, yet Chronologie (Sharp-sighted as the Eagles eye, that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd Dayes Meridian) Will have a Perspicill to find her out, And, through the Night of error and dark doubt, Discerne the Dawne of Truth's eternall ray, As when the rosie Morne budds into Day."
Now that Time's Empire might be amply fill'd, Babells bold Artists strive (below) to build Ruine a Temple; on whose fruitfull fall History reares her Pyramids more tall Than were th'Egyptian (by the life these give, Th'Egyptian Pyramids themselves must live :) On these she lifts the World; and on their base Shewes the two termes and limits of Time's race: That, the Creation is; the Judgement, this; That, the World's Morning, this her Midnight is.
Upon Mr. Ashton a conformable Citizen.
He modest front of this small floore, Beleeve me, Reader, can say more Than many a braver Marble can, Here lyes a truly honest man. One whose Conscience was a thing, That troubled neither Church nor King. One of those few that in this Towne, Honour all Preachers, heare their owne. Sermons he heard, yet not so many As left no time to practise any. He heard them reverendly, and then His practice preach'd them o're agen. His Parlour-Sermons rather were
Those to the Eye, then to the Eare.
Death tore not (therefore) but sans strife
Lle redit, redit. Hoc populi bona murmura volvunt ; Publicus hoc (audin'?) plausus ad astra refert: Hoc omni sedet in vultu commune serenum;
Omnibus hinc una est lætitiæ facies.
Rex noster, lux nostra redit; redeuntis ad ora
Evadat Carolus, quæ mala, quósve metus:
Ausa illum terris penè negare suis:
Non solum est fidus, sed quoque fortis amor.
Et satis (ah!) nostri causa doloris erat.
Out of Catullus.
Ome and let us live my Deare,
Ad Principem nondum natum.
Ascere nunc; ô nunc! quid enim, puer alme, moraris? Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem. Ergone tot tardos (ô lente!) morabere menses?
Rex redit. Ipse veni, & dic bone, Gratus ades. Nam quid Ave nostrum? quid nostri verba triumphi? Vagitu meliùs dixeris ista tuo.
At maneas tamen : & nobis nova causa triumphi
Sic demum fueris; nec nova causa tamen:
Nam, quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur inf[a]ns,
To his (supposed) Mistresse.
Ho ere she be,
That not impossible she
That shall command my heart and me;
Where ere she lye,
Till that ripe Birth
Of studied fate stand forth,
And teach her faire steps to our Earth;
Till that Divine
Idea, take a shrine
Of Chrystall flesh, through which to shine;
Meet you her my wishes,
Bespeake her to my blisses,
And be ye call'd my absent kisses.
I wish her Beauty,
That owes not all his Duty
To gaudy Tire, or glistring shoo-ty.
Something more than
Taffata or Tissew can,
More than the spoyle
Of shop, or silkewormes Toyle,
A face thats best
By its owne beauty drest,
And can alone command the rest.