« PreviousContinue »
In faciem Augustiss. Regis à morbillis integram.
Usa redi; vocat alma parens Academia: Noster En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit. Vultus adhuc suus, & vultu sua purpura tantùm Vivit, & admixtas pergit amare nives. Tune illas violare genas? tune illa profanis, Morbe ferox, tentas ire per ora notis? Tu Phabi faciem tentas, vanissime? Nostra Nec Phoebe maculas novit habere suas. Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur ; Ipsa sedet radiis ô bene tuta suis: Quippe illic deus est, cœlumque & sanctius astrum ; Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis. Quòd facie Rex tutus erat, quòd cætera tactus: Hinc hominem Rex est fassus, & inde deum.
[On the Frontispiece of Isaacsons Chronologie explaned.
F with distinctive Eye, and Mind, you looke
And New Edition, is the summe of these.
Times embleme, Saturne; who, when store of Gold
Of Earth-worne men; and her shrill Trumpets sound
Et hoary Time's vast Bowels be the Grave To what his Bowels birth and being gave; Let Nature die, (Phoenix-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.
Not onely in despight of Rome.
He lov'd his Father; yet his zeale
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
Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem.
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.