On SHAKES PEA R. 1630.

WH

7HAT needs my Shakespear for his honour'd Bones
The labour of an age in piled Stones,

Or that his hallow'd reliques fhould be hid
Under a Stary-pointing Pyramid?

Dear Son of memory, great heir of Fame,

What need'st thou fuch weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Haft built thy felf a live-long Monument.
For whilt, to th' fhame of flow-endeavouring art
Thy eafy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,
Thofe Delphick lines with deep impreffion took,
Then thou our fancy of it felf bereaving,
Doft make us Marble with too much conceiving;
And fo Sepulcher'd in fuch Pomp doft lie,
That Kings for fuch a Tomb would wish to die.

On

°

1. Lightbody Sculp

1.203

On the University Carrier, who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reafon of the Plague.

HE

ERE lies old Hobfon, Death hath broke his girt,
And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt;
Or elfe the ways being foul, twenty to one

He's here stuck in a flough, and overthrown.
'Twas fuch a fhifter, that if, truth were known,
Death was half glad when he had got him down ;
For he had any time these ten years full,
Dodg'd with him betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.
And furely death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly courfe of carriage fail'd:
But lately finding him fo long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end was come,
And that he had ta'en up his latest Inn,

In the kind Office of a Chamberlain

Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his Boots, and took away the light.

If any afk for him, it fhall be faid,
Hobfon has fupt, and's newly gone to bed.

Another on the Jame.

TERE lieth one, who did most truly prove

HE

That he could never die while he could move :

So hung his destiny, never to rot

While he might ftill jogg on and keep his trot,
Made of fphear-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at ftay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:

And

And like an Engine mov'd with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceas'd, he ended straight.
Reft, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm,

Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.
Meerly to drive the time away, he ficken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quicken'd:
Nay, quoth he, on his fwooning bed out-ftretch'd,
If I mayn't carry, fure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the crofs Doctors all food hearers,
For one Carrier put down to make fix bearers.
Eafe was his chief disease, and to judge right;
He dy'd for heaviness that his Cart went light:
His leifure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdenfom,
That even to his last breath (there be that say't)
As he were preft to death, he cry'd more weight:
But had his doings lafted as they were,

He had been an immortal Carrier.
Obedient to the Moon, he spent his date
In courfe reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the Seas,
Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increase :
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,

Only remains this Superfcription.