Such moan as Egypt's Vice-Roy once did make
At Abel-Mizraim for his father's fake.
Make your fhrill trumpets; from that thorny hill,
Benhinnon's vallies with amazement fill.
To the fepulchre go, there facrifice
The diftillations of your hearts and eyes.
When you depart, fall down and kifs that land,
Where once his Mafter's facred feet did stand.
No art or engine can you safely truft
To polish him, but his own facred duft.
Nor can you paint or pencil him too high,
That liv'd and dy'd without an enemy;
That left behind him this admired tomb,
But no Elisha in Eliah's room.
Honorable GEORGE HERBERT. You weeping marbles, Monuments we trust, As well with the injurious as.the juft,
When your great truft at last shall be refign'd,
And when his noble duft fhall be refin'd:
You fhall more gold, myrrh, frankincenfe return,
Than fhall be found in great Auguftus urn.
He was the Wonder of a better age,
Th' Eclipse of this, of empty heads the rage.
Phoenix of Wales, of his great name the glory,
A Theme above all verfe, beyond all ftory.
A Plant of Paradife; which, in a word,
Worms ne'er fhall wither, as they did the gourd.
Go you unborn bedew dear Herbert's tomb;
No more fuch babes are in Dame Nature's womb.
No more fuch blazing Comets fhall appear,
Nor leave so happy influences here."
Go thaw your hearts at his celestial fire,
And what you cannot comprehend admire.
Go you dark poems, dark even as the skies,
Make the fcales fall from our dark dazzling eyes.
Mirrors were made to mend, not mar our fight,
Glow-worms to glitter in th' most gloomy night.
About thofe glorious regions he is fled,
Where once Saint Paul was rapt and ravished.
Here a Divine, Prophet and Poet lies,
That laid up Manna for pofterities.
HE Church's progress is a master-piece,
Limn'd to the life, of Egypt, Rome, and Greece;
Wherein he gives the conclave such a blow,
They ne'er receiv'd from either friend or foe.
England and France do bear an equal share
In his predictions, which time will declare;
Here's height of malice, here's prodigious luft,
Impudent finning, cruelty, diftrust;
Here's black ingratitude, here's pride and fcorn,
Here's damned oaths, that cause the land to mourn;
And here s oppreffion, marks of future bane,
And here's hypocrify the counter-pane.
Here's love of guineas, curfed root of all,
And here's Religion turn'd up to the wall:
And could we fee with Herbert's eagle eyes
Without checkmate Religion weftward flies.
A moft fad facrifice was made of late
Of God's poor lambs by Pharifaic hate.
For difcipline with doctrine so to jar,
Was juft like bringing justice to the bar.
Was it the will, or judgment, or commands,
Of the great Pilot for to pafs the fands;
Well may we hope, that our quick-fighted state
Will take God's grievance into a debate.
Cathedral Priests
once have laid about
to drive Religion out.
Her grace and majefty makes them fo 'fraid,
They cry content, and fo espouse her maid.
She's decent, lovely, chafte, divine they fay,
She loves their fons, that fing our fins away.
Could we but count the thousands every year,
Thefe dreams confume, the mufic is too dear.
When Eli's fons made luxury their God,
Their widows nam'd their pofthumes Icabod.
They both were flain, God's facred Ark was loft,
Tho' they had with it a moft mighty hoft.
Well may ingratitude make us all mourn;
Pearls we receive, poor peebles we return.
Now Sein is fwallowing Tiber; if the Thames,
By letting in them both pollute her ftreams;
Or if the Seers fhall connive or wink,
Beware the Thunderbolt; Migremus hinc.
O let me die, and not furvive to fee
Before my death Religion's obfequy.
Religion and dear Truth will prove at length
The Alpha and Omega of our ftrength;
Our Boaz, our Fachin, our Great Britain's glory,
Look'd on by owls as a romantic story.
Our Cloud, that comes behind us in the day,
Night's fiery Pillar, to direct our way.
Our chariots, ships and horsemen, to withstand
The fury of our foes by fea or land.
Our eyes may fee, as hath been seen before,
Religion's foes lie floating on the shore :
The head of England's Church proud Babels, but
Will Faith defend, and Peace will Janus shut.
Adversus Impia.
Anno 1670.
ORD, my firft Fruits present themselves to thee ; · Yet not mine neither for from thee they came, And must return.Accept of them and me, And make us frive, who fhall fing beft thy name. Turn their eyes hither, who shall make a gain; Theirs, who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain.
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