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V. On Time.

FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb'd, And last of all thy greedy self consum'd,

Then long eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss;

And joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne

Of him, to' whose happy-making sight alone

When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime, Then all this earthy grossness quit,

Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit,

[Time.

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O

VI. Upon the Circumcision.

Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriors bright,
That erst with music and triumphant song,
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear,

So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along Through the soft silence of the list'ning Night; Now mourn; and, if sad share with us to bear Your fiery essence can distil no tear,

Burn in your sighs, and borrow

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He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease; Alas, how soon our sin

Sore doth begin

His infancy to seise!

O-more exceeding love, or law more just ?
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remediless

Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness;

And that great covenant which we still transgress
Entirely satisfied;

And the full wrath beside

Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess;

And seals obedience first, with wounding smart, This day but O, ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

VII. At a solemn Music.

BLEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heav'n's joy, Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,

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Wed divine sounds, and mix'd power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high rais'd phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure consent,
Ay sung before the sapphire-color'd throne
To him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee;
Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row,
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow;
And the cherubic host, in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,-
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly;

That we on earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd Sin
Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motionsway'd
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood,
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O, may we soon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial concert us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

VIII. An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester. THIS rich marble doth inter

The honor'd wife of Winchester,

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.
Summers three-times-eight, save one,
She had told; alas too soon,
After so short time of breath,

To house with darkness, and with death,
Yet had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and Fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her request
The god that sits at marriage feast
He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood
Ye might discern a cypress bud.
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorseless cruelty
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,

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And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I seen some tender slip,
Sav'd with care from Winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain,
Who only thought to crop the flow'r
New shot up from vernal show'r;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears,
Which the sad Morn had let fall
On her hast'ning funeral.

Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travel sore
Sweet rest seize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shortned hast thy own life's lease.
Here, besides the sorrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,

And some flowers, and some bays,
For thy herse, to strow the ways,

Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;

Whilst thou, bright saint, high sitst in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,

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