FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whofe fpeed is but the heavy Plummet's pace; And glut thyfelf with what thy womb devours; Which is no more than what is falfe and vain, And merely mortal drofs;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou haft entomb'd, And laft of all thy greedy felf confum'd, Then long Eternity fhall greet our blifs
With an individual kifs,
And joy fhall overtake us as a flood;
When every thing, that is fincerely good,
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the fupreme Throne
Of him, t'whofe happy-making fight alone,
When once our Heav'nly-guided Soul fhall climb,.
Then all this Earthy grofinefs quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we fhall for ever fit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, OTime..
Upon the Circumcifion.
E flaming Pow'rs, and Winged Warriours bright,, That erft with Mufick, and triumphant Song,..
First heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear,
So fweetly fung your Joy the clouds along Through the foft filence of the lift'ning night; Now mourn, and if fad fhare with us to bear Your fiery effence can diftil no tear,,
Burn in your fighs, and borrow moll plenty Seas wept from our deep forrow;lin
He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere Enter'd the World, now bleeds to give us ease; Alas, how foon our fin
Sore doth begin
His Infancy to seize!
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 blifs, for us frail duft Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness ; .
And that great Cov'nant which we still tranfgrefs, rat Intirely fatisfi'd,
And the full wrath befide
Of vengeful Juftice bore for our excefs,
And feals obedience first with wounding smart
This day but oh! ere long
Huge pangs and ftrong
Will pierce more near his heart.
At a folemn Mufick.
Left pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sifters, Voice and Verfes
Wed your divine founts, and mixt pow'r employ, raM Dead things with imbreath'd fenfe able to pierce, mad And to our high-rais'd phantafie prefent That undisturbed Song of pure content, Ay fung, before the fphire colour'd throne- To him, that fits thereon,
With Saintly fhout, and folemn Jubilee, Where the bright Seraphim in burning row Their loud up-lifted Angel-trumpets blow,
And the Cherubic host in thoufand Choirs or ni mand Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With those juft Spirits, that wear victorious Palms, Hymns devout and holy Pfalms
That we on Earth with undifcording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did, till difproportion'd fin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair Mufick that all creatures made To their great Lord, whofe love their motion fway'd In perfect Diapafon, whilft they stood
In first obedience, and their fate of good. 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.
the Marchioness of Winchester..
HIS rich Marble doth inter
The honour'd Wife of Winchefter: A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,. Befides what her Virtues fairi Added to her noble Birth,"
More than he 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 dark nefs, and with death: Yet had the number of her days Been as compleat as her praife, Nature and fate had had no ftrife
In giving limit to her life, foilla vuol slot)
Her high birth, and her graces sweet, Quickly found a lover meet; The Virgin choir for her requeft The God, that fits at marriage-feaft; He at their invoking came,
But with a scarce-well-lighted flame; And in his Garland as he ftood, Ye might difcern a Cypress bud. 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; But, whether by mifchance or blame, Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorseless cruelty Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree: The hapless babe before his birth Had burial, yet not laid in earth ; And the languifht Mother's womb Was not long a living Tomb. So have I feen 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 flower New fhot up from vernal fhower; But the fair bloffom hangs the head. Side-ways, as on a dying bed, And thofe Pearls of dew fhe 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 feize thee evermore, That, to give the world encrease, Shortned haft thy own life's leafe.
Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble House doth bring, Here be tears of perfect moan, Wept for thee in Helicon,
And fome Flowers, and fome bays, For thy Herfe, to ftrew 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, That fair Syrian Shepherdefs,
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, Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bofom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light: There with thee, new welcome Saint, Like fortunes may her foul acquaint, With thee there clad in radiant sheen, No Marchioness, but now a Queen.
SONG. On May Morning.
TOW the bright Morning Star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the Eaft, 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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