M.

For now to forrow muft I tane my song,

And fet my harp to notes of faddeft woe,

ΙΟ

Which on our dearest Lord did feife ere long, Dangers, and fnares, and wrongs, and worfe than fo Which he for us did freely undergo:

Most perfect Hero try'd in heaviest plight

Of labors huge and hard, too hard for human wight! HI.

He sovran Priest stooping his regal head,

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly tabernacle entered,

His ftatry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
O what a mask was there, what a disguise!

15

Yet more; the ftroke of death he must abide, 20 Then lieshim meekly down fast by his brethren's fide. IV.

Thefe latest scenes confine my roving verse,
To this horizon is my Phœbus bound;
His godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former fufferings other where are found;
Loud o'er the reft Cremona's trump doth found;
Me fofter airs befit, and softer ftrings

25

Of lute, or viol ftill, more apt for mournful things.

V.

Befriend me Night, beft patronefs of grief,

Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw,

1

Volume IV.

C

And work my flatter'd fancy to belief,

That Heav'n and Earth are color'd with my woe;
My forrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black whereon I write, 34 And letters where mytearshave wash'd a wannishwhite. VI.

See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl'd the prophet up at Chebar flood,
My fpirit fome transporting cherub feels,
To bear me where the towers of Salem stood,
Once glorious towers, now funk in guiltless blood; 40
There doth my foul in holy vision fit

In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.

VII.

Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heav'n's richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands uplock, 45
Yet on the foften'd quarry would I score
My plaining verfe as lively as before;

For fure fo well inftructed are my tears,
That they would fitly fall in order'd characters.

VIII.

Or fhould I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would foon unbofom all their echoes mild,
And I (for grief is easily beguil'd)

50

פלד

Might think th' infection of my forrows loud 55 Had got a race of mourners on fome pregnant cloud. [This fubje&t the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished.]

V. On Time.

FLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal drofs;

5

So little is our lofs,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb'd,
And last of all thy greedy felf confum'd,

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kifs;

And joy fhall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is fincerely good

And perfectly divine,

ΙΟ

15

With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine

About the fupreme throne

Of him, to' whofe happy-making fight alone

When once our heav'nly-guided foul shall clime,
Then all this earthy groffness quit,

Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever fit,

20

Triumphing overDeath,and Chance,and thee,OTime.

To his celeftial confort us unite,

To live with him, and fing in endless morn of light.

VIII. An epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester.

THIS rich marble doth enter

The honor'd wife of Winchester,
A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Befides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than fhe could own from earth.
Summers three times, eight fave one.
She had told; alas too foon,

After fo fhort time of breath,

To houfe with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days.

Been as complete as was her praise,

Nature and Fate had had no

In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her

ftrife

graces

Quickly found a lover meet;

10

fw.cet

The virgin quire for her request
The god that fits at marriage feaft;
He at their invoking came

But with a fcarce well-lighted fame;
And in his garland as he stood
Ye might difcern a cypress bud.
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,

20

And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;
But whether by mischance or blame
Atropus for Lucina came,
And with remorfelefs cruelty.
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languish'd mother's womb.
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I seen some 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 flow'r
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 thy travel fore
Sweet reft feile thee evermore,

That to give the world increafe,
Shortened haft thy own life's leafe,