Added to her noble birth,
More then 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 darknes, and with death.
Yet bad the number of her days
Bin as compleat as was her praise,
Nature and fate bad 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-wel-lighted flame;
And in bis Garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a Cipress 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 throws;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorsles cruelty,
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The baples Babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languisht Mothers Womb
Was not long a living Tomb.
So bave I seen som tender slip
Sav'd with care from Winters nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck't up by som unbeedy swain,
Who onely thought to crop the flowr
New shot up from vernall showr;
But the fair blossom bangs the bead
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And those Pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears
Which the sad morn bad let fall
On her bast ning funerall.
Gentle Lady may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest sease thee evermore,
That to give the world encrease,
Shortned bast thy own lives lease;
Here besides the sorrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Weept for thee in Helicon,
And som Flowers, and som Bays,
For thy Hears to Strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy vertuous name;
Whilst thou bright Saint high sit'st in glory,
Next ber much like to thee in Story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,
Who after yeers of barrennes,
The highly favour'd Joseph bore
To him that serv'd for her before,
And at ber next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the boosom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light,
There with thee, new welcom Saint,
Like fortunes may ber soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.
Now the bright morning Star, Dayes barbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with ber
The Flowry May, who from ber green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcom thee, and wish thee long.
What needs my Shakespear for bis bonour'd Bones, The labour of an age in piled Stones,
Or that his ballow'd reliques should be bid
Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame,
What need'st thou such weak witnes of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thy self a live-long Monument.
For whilst to th'shame of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,
Those Delphick lines with deep impression took,
Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,
Dost make us Marble with too much conceaving;
And so Sepulcher'd in such pomp dost lie,
That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.
On the University Carrier who
sickn'd in the time of his vacancy,
being forbid to go to London, by
reason of the Plague
Here lies old Hobson, Death bath broke his girt,
And bere alas, bath laid him in the dirt,
Or els the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He's bere Stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
'Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known,
Death was half glad when he had got him down;
For be bad any time this ten yeers full,
Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.
And surely, Death could never bave prevail'd,
Had not bis weekly cours of carriage fail'd;
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now bis journeys end was come,
And that be bad tane up his latest Inne,
In the kind office of a Chamberlin
Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his Boots, and took away the light:
If any ask for him, it shall be sed,
Hobson bas supt, and's newly gon to bed.
Another on the same
Here lieth one who did most truly prove,
That be could never die while he could move,
So bung bis destiny never to rot
While he might still jog on, and keep his trot,
Made of spbear-metal, never to decay
Untill his revolution was at Stay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out bis time:
And like an Engin mov'd with wheel and waight,
His principles being ceast, be ended Strait.
Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm
Too long vacation bastned on his term.
Meerly to drive the time away he sickn'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn'd;
Nay, quoth be, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd,
If I may not carry, sure Ile ne're be fetch'd,
But vow though the cross Doctors all stood bearers
For one Carrier put down to make six bearers.
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He di'd for beavines that his Cart went light,
His leasure told him that his time was com,
And lack of load, made his life burdensom,
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