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recreations for vacant houres, not the grand businesse of his soule.

To the former Qualifications I might adde that which would crowne them all, his rare moderation in diet (almost Lessian temperance) he never created a Muse out of distempers, nor (with our Canary scribblers) cast any strange mists of surfets before the Intelectuall beames of his mind or memory, the latter of which, he was so much a master of, that he had there under locke and key in readinesse, the richest treasures of the best Greek and Latine Poets, some of which Authors bee had more at his command by heart, than others that onely read their works, to retaine little, and understand lesse.

Enough Reader, I intend not a volume of praises larger than his booke, nor need I longer transport thee to think over his vast perfections, I will conclude all that I have impartially writ of this Learned young Gent. (now dead to us) as be himselfe doth, with the last line of his Poem upon Bishop Andrews Picture before his Sermons

Verte paginas.

-Look on his following leaves, and see him breath.

The Authors Motto.

Live Jesus, Live, and let it bee My Life, to dye for love of thee.

The Teare.



Hat bright soft thing is this
Sweet Mary thy faire eyes expence ?
A moist sparke it is,

A watry Diamond; from whence
The very terme I thinke was found,
The water of a Diamond.


O'tis not a teare,

'Tis a star about to drop

From thine eye its spheare,

The Sun will stoope and take it up,
Proud will his Sister be to weare
This thine eyes Jewell in her eare.

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Raine so true a teare as thine; Each drop leaving a place so deare, Weeps for it self, is its owne teare.


Such a Pearle as this is

(Slipt from Aurora's dewy Brest)

The Rose buds sweet lip kisses;
And such the Rose it self when vext

With ungentle flames, does shed,
Sweating in too warme a bed.


Such the Maiden gem
By the wanton spring put on,
Peeps from her Parent stem,
And blushes on the watry Sun:
This watry blossome of thy Eyne,
Ripe, will make the richer Wine.


Faire drop, why quak'st thou so?
Cause thou streight must lay thy head
In the dust? ô no,

The dust shall never be thy bed;

A pillow for thee will I bring,
Stuft with downe of Angels wing.


Thus carried up on high,

(For to heaven thou must goe)
Sweetly shalt thou lye,

And in soft slumbers bath thy woe,
Till the singing Orbes awake thee,
And one of their bright Chorus make the.


There thy selfe shalt bee

An eye, but not a weeping one,

Yet I doubt of thee,

Whether th' had'st rather there have shone,
An eye of heaven; or still shine here,
In th' Heaven of Maries eye a teare.



Divine Epigrams.

On the water of our Lords Baptisme.


Ach blest drop, on each blest limme,
Is wash't it self, in washing him:
'Tis a gemme while it stayes here,
While it falls hence, 'tis a Teare.

Acts. 8.

On the baptized Æthiopian.

Et it no longer be a forlorne hope.

To wash an Ethiope:

Hee's washt, his gloomy skin a peacefull shade

For his white soule is made;

And now, I doubt not, the Eternall Dove,

A black-fac'd house will love.

On the miracle of multiplyed Loaves.

Ee here an easie Feast that knowes no wound,

SE That under Hungers Teeth will needs be found,

A subtle Harvest of unbounded bread,

What would ye more? Here food it selfe is fed.



Upon the Sepulcher of our Lord.

Ere where our Lord once laid his head
Now the grave lyes buried.

The Widows Mites.

Wo Mites, two drops, yet all her house and land
Falls from a steady heart though trembling hand:

The others wanton wealth foams high and brave;
The other cast away, she onely gave.

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