Awake Sound Sleeper! hark, what Dismal knells,
Arrests thy drowsie sences, and compells,
Unbiden Tears to flow, from such a Source
As doth deny Nature her freer Course.
Ah me! to[o] well I know, my Dearest friend,
In whom my Joyes did terminate and End,
Hath payd to Death her Dues; Thus God Decrees,
To some their minutes to other some Degrees.
So Irriversible is this our Doome,
That in our Loftiest hopes we find our Tombe!
Death rangeth here and there and Nips those Buds
Who might have prov'd worthy, Thrice worthy Studs,
In this our Zion, but what shall we say?
Sculls of all Sizes lye in Golgotha.
Ascend Mount Calvery, and ther you'l see
To young and Old Deaths Equall Destinye.
The Rich as well as poor, the low and high,
At last their Nebo must ascend to Dye.
To all God grants their Tallents; some w[i]th ill
Ful fraught doe live whilest they their measures fill.
Others (to whom the Largess of Gods grace
Makes sedulous) Employ their time apace,
Rightly improve their towne; Denizon'd then,
Cittizens of the New Jerusalem.
Even such an One we mourne; for many years
This justly claimes the Tribute of our Tears.
Call me some Curious Painter whose rare art
In due proportion can Limne Every part,
Exactly well, then (Sirs) where will you find,
Another like Endow'd with such a Mind,
Bigge with Endowments, fraught with Learning so
As did the Bancks of Nature overflow,
Nature to few so kind, yet here we see
Nature Intended Partiall to bee
And must such thriveing in plants thus hurled be
Into the Caverns of Oblivitye;
Yes, yes they must we see the Sacred vanne,
By laws more sure than Mede or Persian,
Doth part the Soul and Body and Commands
Them listed Souldiers to Deaths Numerous Bands;
And thus Deprives us by a just Decree
Of great Supporters in our Miserie.
Unto the Potter then shall viler clay
Aske reasons of it's Former, shall man gainesay
Or yet Demand a reason of his God
For takeing in his hand his Scourging Rod,
Rather be silent seing God so Commands,
Better then in our own, when in God's hands
Had I Witts Monopoly; would some kind Muse
Into my Cloudy Fancy skill infuse
By lofty Straines I'd raise his fame so high
As is his Heaven-born Soul's filicity.
But ah! my Simple muse, what flattering smile
Drawn from Apollo's face could so beguile,
Thy feeble hopes to think thou couldst acquitt
What's Due unto his Learning, vertue Witt;
Rather Adjourn thy grief Supress this payne
And labour Earnestly for to Constraine
Those that Esteem him to sitt down with thee
And strive to weep him forth an Elegie
And softly whisper those that yet Survive
Though John and Marth're Dead yet God's alive.
Ah te mea si partem anime rapit, Horat.
Maturior vis, quid moror alterna. ad Meunatem
Arrests thy drowsie sences, and compells,
Unbiden Tears to flow, from such a Source
As doth deny Nature her freer Course.
Ah me! to[o] well I know, my Dearest friend,
In whom my Joyes did terminate and End,
Hath payd to Death her Dues; Thus God Decrees,
To some their minutes to other some Degrees.
So Irriversible is this our Doome,
That in our Loftiest hopes we find our Tombe!
Death rangeth here and there and Nips those Buds
Who might have prov'd worthy, Thrice worthy Studs,
In this our Zion, but what shall we say?
Sculls of all Sizes lye in Golgotha.
Ascend Mount Calvery, and ther you'l see
To young and Old Deaths Equall Destinye.
The Rich as well as poor, the low and high,
At last their Nebo must ascend to Dye.
To all God grants their Tallents; some w[i]th ill
Ful fraught doe live whilest they their measures fill.
Others (to whom the Largess of Gods grace
Makes sedulous) Employ their time apace,
Rightly improve their towne; Denizon'd then,
Cittizens of the New Jerusalem.
Even such an One we mourne; for many years
This justly claimes the Tribute of our Tears.
Call me some Curious Painter whose rare art
In due proportion can Limne Every part,
Exactly well, then (Sirs) where will you find,
Another like Endow'd with such a Mind,
Bigge with Endowments, fraught with Learning so
As did the Bancks of Nature overflow,
Nature to few so kind, yet here we see
Nature Intended Partiall to bee
And must such thriveing in plants thus hurled be
Into the Caverns of Oblivitye;
Yes, yes they must we see the Sacred vanne,
By laws more sure than Mede or Persian,
Doth part the Soul and Body and Commands
Them listed Souldiers to Deaths Numerous Bands;
And thus Deprives us by a just Decree
Of great Supporters in our Miserie.
Unto the Potter then shall viler clay
Aske reasons of it's Former, shall man gainesay
Or yet Demand a reason of his God
For takeing in his hand his Scourging Rod,
Rather be silent seing God so Commands,
Better then in our own, when in God's hands
Had I Witts Monopoly; would some kind Muse
Into my Cloudy Fancy skill infuse
By lofty Straines I'd raise his fame so high
As is his Heaven-born Soul's filicity.
But ah! my Simple muse, what flattering smile
Drawn from Apollo's face could so beguile,
Thy feeble hopes to think thou couldst acquitt
What's Due unto his Learning, vertue Witt;
Rather Adjourn thy grief Supress this payne
And labour Earnestly for to Constraine
Those that Esteem him to sitt down with thee
And strive to weep him forth an Elegie
And softly whisper those that yet Survive
Though John and Marth're Dead yet God's alive.
Ah te mea si partem anime rapit, Horat.
Maturior vis, quid moror alterna. ad Meunatem