forms an octavo volume, he travelled several hundred miles to collect facts,* tending to show the dangers of the appeals to excitement practised by Whitefield and the revival school. In 1762 he published a sermon on The Validity of Presbytarian Ordination; in 1765 Twelve Sermons on Seasonable and Important Subjects, the chief of which was justification by faith; in 1767, Remarks on a Sermon of the Bishop of Landaff, and in 1771, a complete view of Episcopacy, as exhibited from the Fathers of the Christian Church, until the close of the second century, in which he endeavored to prove that that form of government was not sanctioned by the usage of the primitive church. With these views he was, as might be expected, a participant in the hotly waged controversy on the proposed introduction of bishops into the colonies by the English government, publishing in answer to Dr. Chandler's "Appeal to the Public," on the Episcopal side, An Appeal to the Public, answered in behalf of Non-Episcopal Churches. Chandler answered by "The Appeal Defended," Chauncy responded, and Chandler again in turn replied.

Dr. Chauncy's printed sermons are in all about sixty in number. His last works were The Mystery hid from Ages, or the Salvation of all Men, which he considered the most valuable of his writings, Dissertations upon the Benevolence of the Deity, both printed in 1784, and a volume on The Fall of Man, and its Consequences, which appeared in 1785.

He took a warm interest in the success of the American cause during the Revolution, and was wont to say that if the national arms were insufficient, angels would be sent to fight for the cause of freedom.

THOMAS CHALKLEY.

THOMAS CHALKLEY informs us in the opening line of his "Life, Labours, Travels, &c.," that he was "born on the third day of the third month, 1675, in Southwark," London. He gives a touching picture of the persecutions to which his sect of Friends were exposed, even from their tender

years:

"When between eight and ten years of age, my father and mother sent me near two miles to school, to Richard Scoryer, in the suburbs of London. I went mostly by myself to the school; and many and various were the exercises I went through, by beatings and stonings along the streets, being distinguished to the people, by the badge of plainness which my parents put upon me, of what profession I was: divers telling me," it was no more sin to kill me than it was to kill a dog."

He relates his spiritual experiences at great length, commencing with his tenth year. At the age of twenty he was pressed on board a man-ofHe passed the night in the hold, having nothing to lie upon but casks, and among wicked men; "and as we were shut up in darkness, so

war.

"The lieutenant looked on me and on the people, and said: Gentlemen, what shall we do with this fellow? Ho swears he will not fight.' The commander of the vessel made answer: 'No, he will neither swear nor fight.' Upon which they turned me on shore. I was thankful that I was delivered out of their hands; and my tender parents were glad to see me again.”

At the expiration of his apprenticeship to his father, of seven years, he "went to his calling, and got a little money (a little being enough) which I was made willing to spend freely in the work and service of my great Master, Christ Jesus." He was soon after “concerned” to travel and preach about England, and after a few months passed in this manner, and a brief return to his calling, he "found himself engaged in the love of the gospel, to visit friends in America." After a long passage, he landed at the mouth of the Patuxent river, in Maryland, in January, 1698. Next followed a year of travel, during which he visited New England and Virginia, where he found an aged friend "who was ninety-two years of age, and had then a daughter two years old." A note informs us that he saw this vigorous veteran, some time after, "weeding Indian corn with a hoe, at the age of 106. He died a year after having seen the child of his fourscore and ten years married." After "several good and open meetings in Virginia," friend Chalkley "found himself clear of America," and returned to England.

He soon after married Martha Betterton, he being in his twenty-fourth and she in her twentyfirst year. As she "had an excellent gift of the ministry given her," the step confirmed him the more in his vocation of preacher, and after a journey in Ireland, he decided to remove permanently to America. Settling his wife in Philadelphia on his arrival, he visited Barbadoes, and on his return, "went through Maryland and visited friends in Virginia and North Carolina, to the river Pamlico, where no travelling Friends that ever I heard of, were before." He describes an incident of his journey with great beauty:

"In going to and coming from this place, we lay two nights in the woods, and I think I never slept better in all my life. It was the eighth hour in the evening, when I laid down on the ground, one night, my saddle being my pillow, at the root of a tree; and it was four o'clock in the morning when they called me. When I awoke, I thought of good Jacob's lodging he had on the way to Padan Aram, when he saw the holy visions of angels, with the ladder, whose top reached to heaven. Very sweet was the love of God to my soul that morning, and the dew of the everlasting hills refreshed me: and I went on my way praising the Lord, and magnifying the God of my salvation."

After a horseback journey of about a thousand

miles, in this manner, he passed a few months at home, "following my business in order to the maintenance of my family." He next visited Rhode Island, which he found in the midst of troubles with the Indians, where he exhorted Friends to maintain their non-resistance principles, and says that those who did so were unmolested by the savages.

"After thoroughly visiting friends in those parts," he returned through Connecticut and Long Island to Philadelphia, but was soon off again to Maryland. He thus continued travelling about, "rising early, and laying down late; many days riding forty, fifty, and sixty miles a day, which," he naively adds, "was very laborious, and hard for my flesh to endure, being corpulent and heavy from the twenty-seventh year of my age;" with occasional intervals of rest at home, until the middle of the year 1707, when he again visited Barbadoes, and sailing thence for England, was shipwrecked on the coast of Ireland, but without sustaining personal injury. Upon leaving Ireland, he journeyed through Great Britain, and after a visit to Holland and Germany, returned to Philadelphia.

On a subsequent voyage, from the Bermudas, in consequence of a long continuance of calms, the stock of provisions became scanty. The vessel being consigned to Chalkley, and under his care, the crew began to upbraid him for the scarcity, and "tell dismal stories about eating one another."

"To stop their murmuring," he says, "I told them they should not need to cast lots, which was usual in such cases, which of us should die first, for I would freely offer up my life to do them good. One said, 'God bless you! I will not eat any of you.' Another said, 'He would die before he would eat any of me;' and so said several. I can truly say, on that occasion, at that time, my life was not dear to me, and that I was serious and ingenuous in my proposition: and as I was leaning over the side of the vessel, thoughtfully considering my proposal to the company, and looking in my mind to Him that male me, a very large dolphin came up towards the top or surface of the water, and looked me in the face; and I called the people to put a hook into the sea, and take him, for here is one come to redeem me (I said to them). And they put a hook into the sea, and the fish readily took it, and they caught him. He was longer than myself. I think he was about six feet long, and the largest that ever I saw. This plainly showed us that we ought not to distrust the providence of the Almighty. The people were quieted by this act of Providence, and murmured no more. We caught enough to eat plentifully of till we got into the capes of Delaware."

"Our

Chalkley's journal was continued to within a few days of his death-an event which found him occupied in the work of his itinerant ministry at Tortola, one of the Friendly Islands. ancient worthy friend," as Israel Pemberton tenderly calls him, in the Testimony of the Monthly Meeting prefixed to his journal, died after a few days' illness, of a fever, in the month of October, 1749.

The journal, of which we have endeavored to convey a fair idea to our readers, was published with a collection of the author's writings, in Philadelphia, in 1747. A reprint, in an octayo

VOL. 1.-7

volume of 556 pages, appeared at New York, in 1808. His works form about one third of its contents. They consist of a series of religious tracts, the chief of which are entitled: God's Great Love unto Mankind through Jesus Christ our Lord; A Loving Invitation to Young and Old, in Holland and elsewhere, to seek and love Almighty God, and to prepare in time for their Eternal Welfare; Observations on Christ's Sermon on the Mount; Christ's Kingdom Exalted; and Youth Persuaded to Obedience, Gratitude, and Honor to God and their Parents. To these are joined a few productions of a controversial nature; but even these, as their titles show, are pervaded by the usual kindly spirit of their writer.*

He introduced the first named of these in a few brief but happily penned sentences:

"In sincerity and unfeigned love, both to God and man, were these lines penned. I desire thee to peruse them in the same love, and then, peradventure, thou mayest find some sweetness in them. Expect not learned phrases, or florid expressions; for many times heavenly matter is hid in mean sentences, or wrapped up in mean expressions. It sometimes

pleases God to reveal the mysteries of his kingdom (through the grace of his son our Lord Jesus Christ,) to babes and sucklings; and he oftentimes ordains praise out of their mouths; one of which, reader, I desire thou mayest be. My intent in writing these sheets is that they, through the help of God's grace and the good spirit of Christ, may stir up true love in thee; first to God and Christ, and then to man; so thou wilt be fit to be espoused to him, who is altogether lovely, (that is Christ) which is the desire of him who is thy friend, more in heart than word, "T. CHALKLEY."

By a bequest in his will, the good Quaker founded the Library of the Four Monthly Meetings of Friends at Philadelphia.

AQUILA ROSE.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN narrates, in his Autobiography, that on his first visit to Samuel Keimer, the printer, he found him "composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, an ingenious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town, secretary to the Assembly, and a pretty poet." This brief sentence comprises nearly all that is known of the person spoken of beyond the few facts to be gleaned from his own writings, and the commendatory verses of a few friends, both comprised in a pamphlet of 56 pages, entitled, Poems on several occasions, by Aquila Rose: to which are prefixed, some other pieces writ to him, and to his memory after his decease. Collected and published by his son, JOSEPH ROSE, of Philadelphia. Philadelphia: printed at the New Printing Office, near the Market. 1740.

Joseph Rose was probably "the son of Aquila Rose," whom Franklin took as an apprentice, as stated in his Autobiography.

The pamphlet contains the following

ADVERTISEMENT.

The good reception the poetical manuscript writings of my deceased father, Aquila Rose, have

Some Truly Tender Scruples of Conscience, about that form of prayer called the Common Prayer, and Forcing a Maintenance not warrantable from the Holy Scripture, for a Minister of the Gospel.

met with in this province, from men of wit and taste, with a desire of some of these to see them printed, induced me to collect what I could. But many of his best pieces were lent out after his decease, by my mother, to persons who have forgot to return them: And perhaps the publishing these few will put them in mind of sending them to me. JOSEPH ROSE

This is followed by an introductory poem "to the Memory of Aquila Rose, Deceas'd," which informs us that,

Albion his birth, his learning Albion gave;

To manhood grown, he cross'd the stormy wave; More Arts, and Nature's wond'rous ways to find, Illuminate and fortify his mind:

And to divert his eyes from cross affairs:

For love disast'rous fill'd his breast with cares.
Ia Britain, he would say, he once was bless'd,
And all the joys of love and life possess'd:
But some strange power, who envied his repose,
Chang'd his enjoyments to combining woes;
Fore'd him to quit his former peaceful way,
And prove his fortune o'er a foamy sea.
Dear native land, he sadly said, farewell,

And those soft shades where love and Silvia dwell:
Blow soft, ye gales, and waft me from the shore,
I fly from love, and Silvia see no more.
Long, then, the wand'rer sail'd from land to land,
To servile business of rough seas constrain'd:
Yet not the less, where'er their vessel steer'd,
Strangers admir'd him, as his mates rever'd.
Rose well some post of eminence could grace,
Who, clad in tar, supplies a sailor's place.

He travels till our western tract he trode,

Which, as he found a home, here made his last abode.

He has a fit of sickness on his arrival, and is, consequently, somewhat dispirited, but cheerfulness returns with health.

Then, lively, from his languid bed he rose,
Free'd of his pangs and melancholy woes;
Industrious arts his active hands could use;
He would the bread of slothful means refuse,
Them to his proper livelihood he join'd,
Where leaden speech unloads the lab'ring mind,
And graven words to distant ages tell
What various things in times foregone befell:
As Mercury cuts through the yielding sky,
So thro' the work his nimble fingers fly:
His novel skill spectators thronging drew,
Who haste the swift compositor to view;
Not men alone, but maids of softer air
And nicer fancies, to the room repair:
Pleas'd with such mild impediments he frames,
As they request, their dear enchanting names,
To grace a book, or feast a lover's eye,
Or tell companions of their fancied joy.
With complaisance he still dismiss'd the train,
None ever sought his courtesy in vain:
Each transient fair one took her name away,
But thee, Maria-Twas thy doom to stay;
"Twas soon revers'd, the work of his quick hand,
Short did thy name so gaily printed stand;
Both hearts consent new letters to compose,
And give to thine the pleasing name of Rose
Now here the bard by his own choice was ty'd,
(Renouncing further rambling) to a bride;
Albion for Pennsylvania he resigns,
And now no more at Silvia's loss repines;

Next

He counsels with himself what means to use,
To live with credit, and what baits refuse;
First, clerk to our Provincial Senate rais'd,
He found, besides the stipend, he was praised.
And now a greater task he takes in hand,
Which none but true proprietors understand.
What pity 'tis they seldom live to taste
The fruits of those pure spirits that they waste!
For works so hard and tedious, was it known
A poet e'er did poetry disown?

Or for a distant livelihood give o'er
Those instant pleasures that he felt before?
Yet so Aquila did-the rustic toil,
To make firm landings on a muddy soil,
Erect a ferry over Schuylkil's stream,
A benefit to thousands-death to him!

Look on the stream as it pacific flows,
Which, largely bending, more the prospect shows,
A summer sight, none lovelier can be seen,
And on the shore a varied growth of green:
The poplars high, erect their stately heads,
The tawny water-beach more widely spreads;
The linden strong in breadth and height, is there,
With mulberry-leaves-And trees with golden hair,
These of a smaller stem, like filberds seem,
But flatter-leaf'd, and always love the stream.
Here grows the jagged birch; and elm, whose

leaves

With sides ill-pair'd the observing eye perceives;
Yet nobly tall and great, it yields a shade
In which cool arbours might be fitly made:
Such is the linden, such the beech above,
Each in itself contains a little grove.

Here hickories, and oaks, and ashes rise,
All diff'ring, but much more in use than size;
And walnuts, with their yellow bitter dyes.
The fragrant sassafras enjoys a place;

And crabs, whose thorns their scented blossoms grace:

Parsimmons vex the ground, so thick they shoot,
But pleasant is their late autumnal fruit.
Tedious to name the shrubby kinds below,

That mingled for defence, in clusters grow.

Two plants remain, with flow'rs unlike, both fair.
And both deserve th' ingenious florist's care;
The wild althea, red, and white, and cream,
And scarlet cardinal, with dazzling gleam:
These tempt the humming bird, whose misty wings
Support him as he sucks the flow'r and sings;
Low is his voice, and simple notes but few;
And oft his little body's lost to view;
When he the creeper's blossom tries to drain,
The blossom will his beak and tail contain;
But his gay-colored plumage forms a show
As mixt and vivid as the sky's fair bow.

So great variety no tract can boast,
Of like dimensions, as this narrow coast.
The botanist might here find exercise;
And every curious man regale his eyes.
The grass shines glist'ning of a lively green:
And northward hence the Quarry-hill is seen,
Whose top of late with verd'rous pines is crown'd;
With forest trees of various kinds around.

And often here, the clearness of the stream
And cover'd gravel-banks, invite to swim:
But anglers most their frequent visits pay,
To toss old-wives, and chubs, and perch to day;
And sometimes find the tasteful trout their prey.
Others with greater pains their big hooks bait;
But for the nobler bite they seldom wait;
The time to know their good success adjoura,
And fail not by next morning to return;

Physicians try'd their skill, his head relieved,
And his lost appetite to strength retriev'd:
But all was flatt'ry-so the lamp decays,
And near its exit gives an ardent blaze.

From the title to another poein to the memory of the author in the same collection by Elias Bockett, we learn that Rose died on the twentysecond of August,* 1723, at the age of twentyeight. The verses collected by his son occupy twenty-six moderate-sized pages only. They display skill and ease in versification:

TO HIS COMPANION AT SEA.

Debarr'd, my friend, of all the joys

The land, and charming sex can give,
Nor wind, nor wave, our peace destroys;
We'll laugh, and drink, and nobly live.
The gen'rous wine imparts a heat

To raise and quicken every sense.
No thoughts of death our bliss defeat,
Nor steal away our innocence.
Secure, should earth in ruins lie,

Should seas and skies in rage combine;
'Unmov'd, all dangers we'll defie,

And feast our souls with gen'rous wine.

For, should a fear each sense possess,
Of chilly death and endless fate,
Our sorrow ne'er can make it less;
But wine alone can dissipate.

Then fill the glass; nay, fill a bowl,
And fill it up with sparkling wine;
It shall the strongest grief controul,

And make soft wit with pleasure join.

To this we may add a copy of verses, written in 1720, proving the antiquity of the now prevalent American custom of New Year's Carriers' Addresses:

PIECE, WROTE BY HIM FOR THE BOYS WHO CARRIED OUT THE
WEEKLY NEWS-PAPERS TO THEIR MASTER'S CUSTOMERS IN
PHILADELPHIA; TO WHOM COMMONLY, EVERY NEW YEAR'S
DAY, THEY PRESENT VERSES OF THIS KIND.

Full fifty times have roul'd their changes on,
And all the year's transactions now are done;
Full fifty times I've trod, with eager haste,
To bring you weekly news of all things past.
Some grateful thing is due for such a task,
Tho' modesty itself forbids to ask;

A silver thought, express'd in ill-shap'd ore,
Is all I wish; nor would I ask for more.

To grace our work, swift Merc'ry stands in view;
I've been a Living Merc'ry still to you.
Tho' ships and tiresome posts advices bring,
Till we impress it, 'tis no current thing.
-d's art alone
C―n may write, but B-

• Kelmer gives another date. Antiquaries must choose between them.

SAMUEL KEIMER.

WHEN Franklin first arrived in Philadelphia he was taken, it will be remembered, by old Mr. William Bradford, to the office of Keimer, then just commencing business, and engaged upon a performance of his own, which he literally composed at the stand, setting up the types as the ideas came to his mind. This was an Elegy on the young printer, Aquila Rose, of whom we have just given some account; and which it was the lot of Benjamin Franklin to print off when its author had finished it. The Elegy has long since become a great literary curiosity, and it cost us some pains to find any reprint of it; but our intention to do justice to the literary associates of Franklin was at last assisted by a reference to Hazard's Register of Pennsylvania, where we found the woful ballad reproduced from its original hand-bill form of the year 1723, after a sleep of more than a hundred years, in 1828.* As it is curious as a quaint specimen of printing in the Franklin connexion, besides being a picture of the times, it should be mentioned that it was "ornamented with the usual symbols of death— the head and bones and hour-glass," and that it was "printed in the High-street," for the price of twopence. The italics and capitals are, it strikes us at this day, somewhat capricious. We have preserved them as they occur.

Keimer, coming from the old world, was a chaแ one of racter. He had been, Franklin tells us, the French prophets, and could act their enthusiastic agitations," a stock in trade upon which he was disposed to set up in America as the evangelist of a new religion. Franklin was in the habit of arguing with him on the Socratic method, and was so successful that he gained his respect, and an invitation to join him in the What they partnership of the new doctrines. were, the world has never fully learned. It is only known from the Autobiography that "Keimer wore his beard at full length, because somewhere

Hazard's Penns. Reg., Nov. 1828, 268.

in the Mosaic law it is said, Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard. He likewise kept the seventh day Sabbath; and these two points were essential with him." His Socratic friend from Massachusetts saw the weakness of his associate, and ingeniously proposed, as an addition, abstinence from animal food, a trial of which, in a short time, broke down both the man and his system.

Keimer, after awhile, left for the West Indies, where we hear of him in 1734 as the editor of the Barbadoes Gazette, in which capacity he found himself in the society of a very gentlemanly company of people, who sometimes forgot to pay the printer,* and, somewhat too recklessly ventilating his opinions, was bound over to keep the peace for six months for publishing a libel. A collection of papers from this journal was, in 1741, printed in London, with the title, Caribbeana, in two quarto volumes, arranged in a stiff imitation of the Tatler. There is now and then a tolerable passage, but the mass is a lamentable series of stale, unimportant politics, slightly alleviated by compliments to reigning toasts and beauties, who can no longer by their presence give zest to the dulness of their admirers. This is the last we see of Keimer; but his ghost still walks the earth in vagrant and unsettled members of his craft, equally ready to print other people's ideas and their own, quite as capable of handling the pen as the composing stick, and lucky if their crude tendencies to spiritualism are restrained by as exacting a corporeal system.

His complaint on one of these occasions has been preserved by Thomas in the History of Printing (ii. 3ss).

From the Barbadoes Gazette of May 4, 1734.

To those wou'd-be-thought Gentlemen, who have long taken this paper, and never paid for it, and seem never to design to pay for it.

The Sorrowful Lamentation of Samuel Keimer, Printer of the
Barbadoes Gazette.

What a pity it is that some modern bravadoes,
Who dub themselves gentlemen here in Barbadoes,
Should time after time, run in debt to their printer,

And care not to pay him in Summer or Winter!

A saint by the hairs of his beard, had he got 'em,

Might be tempted to swear [instead of P-x rot 'em.]

He ne'er found before, such a parcel of wretches,

With their flams, and such shuffles, put offs and odd fetches.

If this is their honesty, that be their honour,
Amendment seize one; for the last,-fle upon her.
In Penn's wooden country, type feels no disaster,
Their printer is rich and is made their Post Master;*
His father,t a printer, is paid for his work,
And wallows in plenty just now at New York,
Tho' quite past his labour, and old as my grannum,
The government pays him pounds sixty per annum.
In Maryland's province, as well as Virginia,
To justice and honour, I am, sirs, to win ye,
Their printer, I'm sure can make it appear,
Each province allows two hundred a year,
By laws they have made for Typograph's use,
He's paid 50 thousand weight country produce.
And if you enquire but at South Carolina,§

[Oh, methinks in that name there is something divine, ah!]
Like patriots they've done what to honour redounds,
They gave him (their currency) 50 score pounds.
Een type at Jamaica, our island's reproach,

Is able to ride in her chariot or coach.
But alas your poor type prints no figures like Nullo,
Curs'd, cheat'd, abus'd by each pitiful fellow.

Tho' working like slave, with zeal and true courage,
He can scarce get as yet ev'n salt to his porridge.
The reason is plain;-those act by just rules-
But here knaves have bit him, all Mac-abite fools.

Andrew Bradford, of Phila.

William Bradford, of New York.

William Parks, who printed for both colonies.

Lewis Timothy then printed for the Government of South Carolina.

AN ELEGY,

On the much Lamented DEATH of the INGENIOUS and WELL-BELOVED

AQUILA ROSE,

CLERK to the Honourable ASSEMBLY at Philadelphia, who died the 24th of the 4th month, 1723. Aged 28.

WHAT Mournful Accents thus accost mine Ear,
What doleful ecchoes hourly thus appear?
What Sighs from melting Hearts proclaim aloud,
The Solemn Mourning of this numerous Crowd!
In Sable CHARACTERS the News is Read,
Our Rose is wither'd and our EAGLE's fled
In that our dear AQUILA ROSE is dead,
Cropt in the Blooming of his precious Youth!
Who can forbear to weep at such a Truth!

Assist ye Philadelphians with Consent,
And join with me to give our Sorrows Vent,
That having wept till Tears shall trickling glide,
Like Streams to Delaware from Schuylkil Side,
My painful Muse being eas'd may then rehearse,
Between each Sob, in Elegiack Verse,

(And in soft Numbers warble forth Desire,)
To breath his Worth, warm'd with Angelic Fire.
But why do my ambitious Thoughts presume
To span
the glorious Sun, or grasp the Moon;
The Task confounds!-But yet I dare begin
To cast my Mite an humble Off'ring in,
That noble Bards in strains more lofty, may
Conjoin'd, our great and heavy Loss display,
To distant Climes where his Great Worth was
known,

That they to us may eccho back a Groan.
For there are bright Youths, who when they hear
The dismal Tydings, so his Worth revere,
In melting florid Strains will then rehearse
The Praise of Him who constitutes our Verse.
Belov'd he was by most, his very Name,
Doth with deep Silence his great Worth proclaim
As if Kind Heaven had Secrets to disclose,
By Royal Terms of Eagle and a Rose,
The Arms most near akin to England's Crown
Each Royal Emblem this sweet Truth does own,
And lively noble Images affords,

One's Queen of Flowers, the Other King of Birds.
His Qualities, will next bespeak his Fame,
A Lovely POET, whose sweet fragrant Name,
Will last till circling Years shall cease to be,
And sink in vast profound Eternity.

His flowing Members and his lofty Rhime,

Have breath'd, and spoke his Thoughts, thro' every Line,

So warm'd my Soul (and oft inspired my Tongue,) As if a Cherub or a Seraph sung.

A gen'rous Mind tow'rds all his Friends he bore, Scarce one he lost, but daily numb'red more. Some say he'd Foes; his Foes I never knew; Who spoke ill of him, mostly spoke untrue. Courteous, and humble, pleasant, just and wise, No Affectation vain did in him rise. Sincere and plain, (I make not any Doubt) He was the same Within Side as Without. He loved plain Truth, but hated formal Cant In those who Truth and Honesty did want. A curious Artist at his Business, he Could Think, and Speak, Compose, Correct so free, To make a Dead man speak, or Blind to see.

Of different learned Tongues, he somewhat knew. The French, the Latin, Greek and Hebrew too. Firm to his Vows, a tender Husband prov'd And Father-like, his Princely Babe he lov'd. Our Wise and Great Vice Roy did him respect, Our learned Mayor (I know) DID him affect; Our grave Assembly voted him most fit,