O'er all his brethren he shall reign as king, And Peace shall lull him in her flowery lap; To harbour those that are at enmity. What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot? The next, QUANTITY and QUALITY, spake in prose; the Rivers, arise; whether thou be the son His thirty arms along the indented meads; Or coaly Tine, or ancient hallow'd Dee; Or Humber loud, that keeps the Scythian's name; Or Medway smooth, or royal-tower'd Thame. [The rest was prose.] AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. WHAT needs my Shakspeare, for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, Hast built thyself a live-long monument. art, Thy easy numbers flow; and that each heart ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER, Who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. And surely Death could never have prevail'd, In the kind office of a chamberlain Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light; any ask for him, it shall be said, If Hobson has supp'd, and 's newly gone to bed. ANOTHER ON THE SAME. HERE lieth one, who did most truly prove While he might still jog on and keep his trot, Time numbers motion; yet, without a crime His principles being ceased, he ended straight. 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 hasten'd on his term. Merely to drive the time away, he sicken'd, Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd; Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd, For one carrier put down to make six bearers. Only remains this superscription. ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE, BECAUSE you have thrown off your prelate lord, To force our consciences that Christ set free, And ride us with a classic hierarchy Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford? Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent Would have been held in high esteem with Paul, Must now be named and printed heretics By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d' ye call. But we do hope to find out all your tricks, Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent; That so the parliament May, with their wholesome and preventive shears, Clip your phylacteries, though balk your ears, And succour our just fears, When they shall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ large. |