His infancy to seise!

O more exceeding love or law more just?
Juft law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remedilefs
Were loft in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron'd in fecret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness ;

And that great covenant which we still tranfgrefs
Entirely fatisfied,

And the full wrath befide

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,

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And feals obedience firft with wounding smart 25 This day, but O ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

VII.

At a SOLEMN MUSIC.

BLES

LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious fifters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine founds, and mix'd pow'r employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantafy present
That undisturbed fong of pure consent,
Ay fung before the faphir-color'd throne
To him that fits thereon

With faintly shout, and folemn jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row

A a 2

5

ΙΟ

Their

Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that were victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy pfalms,

Singing everlastingly;

That we on earth with undiscording voice.

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did till disproportion'd fin

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Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair mufic that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

25

O may we foon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celeftial confort us unite,

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

VIII.

An EPITAPHOn the MARCHIONESS of Winchefter.

HIS rich Marble doth enter

TH

The honor'd wife of Winchester,

A Vicount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Befides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.

5

Sum

Summers three times eight fave one

She had told; alas too foon,

After so short time of breath,

To house 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 ftrife
In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet:

The virgin quire for her requeft
The God that fits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress bud.

ΙΟ

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20

Once had the early matrons run

To greet her of a lovely son,

And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;

25

But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree.

30

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

So have I seen 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 flow'r
New shot up from vernal show'r :
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
And those 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

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40

45

Whilft thou, bright faint, high fitft in glory,

Next her much like to thee in story,

That

That fair Syrian shepherdefs,

Who after

years of barrenness,

The highly favor'd Joseph 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

65

Of blazing Majesty and Light:

70

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

SONG.

Now

IX.

On MAY MORNING.

5

OW the bright morning ftar, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, 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.

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On