And the languisht Mother's Womb
Was not long a living Tomb.
So have I feen fome tender flip
Sav'd with care from Winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by fome unheedy fwain,
Who only thought to crop the flower
New fhot up from vernal fhow'r;
But the fair bloffom hangs the head
Side-ways, as on a dying bed;

And thofe Pearls of dew she wears,

Prove to be prefaging tears,

Which the fad morn had let fall

On her haft'ning Funeral.

Gentle Lady, may thy grave

Peace and quiet ever have;

After this day's travel fore
Sweet rest seize thee evermore,
That to give the World encrease,
Shortned haft thy own life's leafe:
Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,

Here

Here be tears of perfect moan

Wept for thee in Helicon,

And fome Flowers, and fome Bays,

For thy Herfe, to strew the ways,

Sent thee from the banks of Came,

Devoted to thy virtuous name;

Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fit'ft in glory,

Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian Shepherdess,

Who after years of barrennefs,

The highly favour'd Jofeph bore

To him that ferv'd for her before;

And at her next birth, much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,

Far within the bosom bright

Of blazing Majesty and Light.

There with thee, new welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her foul acquaint;
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchionefs, but now a Queen.

SONG. On May Morning.

N

Ow the bright morning Star, Day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the Eaft,and leads with
her

The Flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowflip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May, that doft inspire
Mirth and Youth and warm Defire;
Woods and Groves are of thy dreffing;
Hill and Dale doth boast thy bleffing.
Thus we falute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

On SHAKESPEAR. 1630.

WH

"Hat needs my Shakespear, for his honour'd The labour of an age in piled Stones, Stones,[Bones Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid

Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?

Dear Son of memory, great heir of Fame,

What need'st thou fuch weak witness of thy name?

Thou

Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Haft built thy felf a live-long Monument.

For whilst to th' fhame of flow-endeavouring art
Thy eafie numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,
Those Delphick lines with deep impreffion took,
Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,
Doft make us Marble with too much conceiving;
And fo Sepulcher'd in fuch pomp doft lie,
That Kings for fuch a Tomb would wish to die.

On the University Carrier, who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reafon of the Plague.

H

Ere lies old Hobfon, Death hath broke his girt,

And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt: Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here ftuck in a flough, and overthrown. 'Twas fuch a fhifter, that if truth were known, Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had any time this ten years full,

Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.

And

And furely Death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd;
But lately finding him so long at home,

And thinking now his journey's end was come,
And that he had ta'en up his latest Inn,

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 said,
Hobson has fupt, and's newly gone to bed,

H

Another on the fame.

Ere lieth one, who did most truly prove

That he could never die while he could move:

So hung his destiny, never to rot

While he might ftill jogg on and keep his trot,
Made of fphear-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
›Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And like an Engine mov'd with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceaft, he ended strait.

Reft,