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 hee 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 he 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 Teare. I. W Hat bright soft thing is this Sweet Mary thy faire eyes expence? A watry Diamond; from whence The very terme I thinke was found, 2. O'tis not a teare, From thine eye its spheare, Proud will his Sister be to weare O'tis a teare, 3. Too true a teare; for no sad eyne Raine so true a teare as thine; Each drop leaving a place so deare, 4. Such a Pearle as this is The Rose buds sweet lip kisses; With ungentle flames, does shed, 5. Such the Maiden gem Peeps from her Parent stem, 6. Faire drop, why quak'st thou so? In the dust? ô no, The dust shall never be thy bed; A pillow for thee will I bring, 7. Thus carried up on high, 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.. 8. 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, S L Divine Epigrams. On the water of our Lords Baptisme. E Ach blest drop, on each blest limme, 'Tis a gemme while it stayes here, Acts. 8. On the baptized Æthiopian. Et it no longer be a forlorne hope To wash an Æthiope: 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, A subtle Harvest of unbounded bread, T What would ye more? Here food it selfe is fed. HE Upon the Sepulcher of our Lord. Ere where our Lord once laid his head The Widows Mites. Wo Mites, two drops, yet all her house and land The others wanton wealth foams high and brave; له 1 |