On the Death of a fair Infant dying of a Cough
O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst out-lasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For be being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss.
For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht bis Deitie full neer,
If likewise be some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot,
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.
So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr,
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care.
Down be descended from his Snow-soft chaire,
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unbous'd thy Virgin Soul from ber fair biding place.
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting band
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas' Strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform'd him to a purple flower
Alack that so to change thee winter bad no power.
Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormi bed,
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
Could Heav'n for pittie thee so Strictly doom?
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine.
Resolve me then ob Soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost bear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)
Ob say me true if thou wert mortal wight
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.
Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin'd roofe
Of shak't Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which carefull jove in natures true beboofe
up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall
Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head.
Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forsook the bated earth, O tell me sooth
And cam'st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!
Or that c[r]own'd Matron sage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heav'nly brood
Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good.
Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast,
Who baving clad thy self in bumane weed,
To earth from thy præfixed seat didst poast,
And after short abode flie back with speed,
As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.
But ob why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy beav'n-lov'd innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin bath made our foe
To turn Swift-rushing black perdition bence,
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,
To Stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.
Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what be lent;
This if thou do he will an off-spring give,
That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name
to live.
Anno Aetatis 19. At a Vacation Exercise in the Colledge, part Latin, part English. The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began.
Hail native Language, that by sinews weak
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak,
And mad'st imperfect words with childish tripps,
Half unpronounc't, slide through my infant-lipps,
Driving dum silence from the portal dore,
Where be bad mutely sate two years before:
Here I salute thee and thy pardon ask,
That now I use thee in my latter task:
Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee,
I know my tongue but little Grace can do thee:
Thou needst not be ambitious to be first,
Believe me I have thither packt the worst:
And, if it happen as I did forecast,
The daintiest dishes shall be serv'd up last.
I pray thee then deny me not thy aide
For this same small neglect that I have made:
But baste thee Strait to do me once a Pleasure,
And from thy wardrope bring thy chiefest treasure;
Not those new fangled toys, and triming slight
Which takes our late fantasticks with delight,
But cull those richest Robes, and gay'st attire
Which deepest Spirits, and choicest Wits desire:
I have some naked thoughts that rove about
And loudly knock to have their passage out;
And wearie of their place do only Stay
Till thou hast deck't them in thy best aray;
That so they may without suspect or fears
Fly swiftly to this fair Assembly's ears;
Yet I had rather if I were to chuse,
Thy service in some graver subject use,
Such as may make thee search thy coffers round,
Before thou cloath my fancy in fit sound:
Such where the deep transported mind may soare
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heav'ns dore
Look in, and see each blissful Deitie
How he before the thunderous throne doth lie,
Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings
To th'touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings
Immortal Nectar to her Kingly Sire:
Then passing through the Spherse of watchful fire,
And mistie Regions of wide air next under,
And bills of Snow and lofts of piled Thunder,
May tell at length bow green-ey'd Neptune raves,
In Heav'ns defiance mustering all his waves;
Then sing of secret things that came to pass
When Beldam Nature in her cradle was;
And last of Kings and Queens and Hero's old,
|