Classic Poem

I'm now arriv'd the soul desired Port
More pleasing far then glories of the Court:
My saviour is my only Caesar: Here's
Instead of Nobles, Angels hosts, bright Peers,
Great Princes thronging round, thicker then swains
Below at publicke votes: Here each one Reigns.
Our streets are pav'd with Saphires, and wee pass
Or'e streems of Christial like to fusil glass
Heres Treasuries, the like were never seen;
All guesses at the worth have fool'ries been.
Mountains of Rubies safe from privateers
Within the Ramphiers of these lofty Spheres.
Here's piles of Scepters, Diadems of Gold
More then the worlds vast space at once will hold.
But that which butifies the boundless room
Is great JEHOVAH, unto whom I'm come.
Eternity's the highest link of Bliss;
Its sunshine never sets, nor clouded is.
I've hitt the very Place I wisht at heart,
I'm fixt for ever: Never thence to part.
His heart was erst inamoured with delights
In studious solitudes, in Attick Nights
To prove the greatest avarice of his minde
After the Gems of Skill his Body pin'd.
Hating the sluggards bed, and flattering sloth,
Nocturnal Wakes had brought him to vast growth.
His tender years were seasoned with a Juice,
Which might have provd, if spared, of gen'ral use.
He clim'd the Shrowds of Science: Now hees dead,
Hees got a Cove the verry topmast head,
Hearing that word which set his soul on fire
With blazing zeal of Love: Brite Soul, come higher,
All that thou seest is thine, myselfe to boot;
Heres an Eternal feast of Love: fall to it.
High, we believe, this welcome Guest was seated,
And in an instant all his joys compleated.

Epitaph

THE World was once in danger to drop out
Sidney's Remains, Wits universe about.
Here in Death's gripes a gemme of Art so rare
New-England's Poverty claimeth her share;
Since here she nurst him with a silvane teat
Untill hee's fledgd to seek a distant seat:
Gaining the naked substance, his Intent's
From statlier Halls to gain Embellishments
Of sciences profound: Twas well essayd;
But by that means this gallant Spark hath paid
What England, Honours Throne, his place of Birth,
Did rightly claime, his soul deserted Earth.
Hee lies among that precious Dust unknown
Which with most friendly silence huggs its own.
Great Gransiers of most venerable race,
Yield this their Nephew a retiring Place
In their dark Conclave, where there hands and brains,
Under the umbrage of the grave remains.

Haec genitoris amor, matris revere[n]tia poscit
Carmina, Tutoris pauperis obsequio.
B. T