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And the languisht Mother's Womb
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
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,
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,
Far within the bosom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light.
There with thee, new welcome Saint,
SONG. On May Morning.
Ow the bright morning Star, Day's harbinger,
The Flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
On SHAKESPEAR. 1630.
"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 in our wonder and astonishment
Haft built thy felf a live-long Monument.
For whilst to th' fhame of flow-endeavouring art
On the University Carrier, who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reafon of the Plague.
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 furely Death could never have prevail'd,
And thinking now his journey's end was come,
In the kind Office of a Chamberlin
Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
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,
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime