Therefore, I'le never more despair, Yea more, I have his hand to show, Once more I mean to sweep all clean, And cast out filthy sin; And Christ again I'le entertain, And wait on him within. I'le mend the roof; I'le watch the door, And better keep the key: I'le trust my treacherous flesh no more, I'le make a cov'nant with my eyes ; What have I said-that I'le do this, I mean, Lord, all this shall be done, And as the work must be thine own, Remains after Death: including by way of introduction divers memorable obseruances, occasioned upon discourse of Epitaphs and Epycedes; their distinction and definition seconded by approved authors. Annexed there be divers select Epitaphs, and Hearceattending Epods, worthy our observation: The one deecribing what they were which now are not: The other comparing such as now are with those that were. Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori. By Richard Brathwayte, Gent. Imprinted at London by John Beale, 1618. sm. 8vo. "To the Reader. "It may be objected, Reader, that small is the concurrence, less the coherence in the titles of these two subjects, pleasantly concluding that it were pity Death should so soon seize on a good wife by the course of nature, as she is had here in pursuit by Death's remainder. But this objection may be answered by a twofold solution: First, the printer's importunacy, whose desire was in regard of the brevity of the former part, to have it by the annexion of some other proper subject enlarged; to whose reasonable demand I equally condescended : Secondly, the subject's propriety; which, howsoever by the judgment of the critic censurer traduced, (the pitch of whose knowledge aims rather at taxing than teaching) concurs as well with the precedent title, as man with mortality, time with mutability, life with death. And as the more virtuous the nearer oft-times their dissolution, which no doubt proceeds from God's mercy, that they might have of him a fuller contemplation; so we commonly see the best wives limited to the shortest times, approved by that maxim: "For this each day's experience seems to show, Let this suffice: if not, let the subject itself slight his censure, whose singularity makes of each thing an error. MUSOPHILUS. EXTRACT. A Description of Death. Death is a raw-bon'd shrimp, nor low nor high, The poor man's wished friend, the rich man's foe, A thief in pace, in pace more sure than slow; One who, howe'er we seem to have the power Spite of our nose plays executioner; So does this meagre slave the mightier; Arts tho' he know, yet he professeth none, Yet has he tricks to catch the oldest one, His sign's in Sagitary, and the butt He shoots at is man's heart. He ever fits [The Editor omits the following stanza, because he cannot understand it in the copy sent him; and therefore supposes some mistake in the transcript, the original being not at hand to compare it with. It seems to contain a ridiculous comparison between the figure and habit of Death, and that of an Irishman.] Death is worms-caterer, who, when he comes, And knows before where he intends to carve. Two empty lodges has he in his head, Which had two lights, but now his eyes be gone; Cheeks had he once, but they be hollowed; His colour sable, and his visage grim, Fleshy he was, but it is pick'd away, If cloth'd with flesh, he should be forc'd to stay, Yet entertain'd he will; for though he be Contemn'd by th' perfum'd courtesan, whose form Seems coy to give him hospitality; Yet when he come, he'll not one hour adjourn To give her summons of mortality; Converting that same beauty, did adorne Snail-like he comes on us, with creeping pace, If we shed tears, they're bootless, for his eyes |