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On TIME.

F

LY, 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 lofs,

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 bliss
With an individual kifs,

And joy fhall overtake us as a flood;
When every thing, that is fincerely good,
And perfectly divine,

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With Truth, and Peace, and Love fhall ever fhine
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 groffnefs quit,

Attir'd with Stars, we fhall for ever fit,

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, OTime..

Upon the Circumcifion..

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E flaming Pow'rs, and Winged Warriours bright,, That erft with Mufick, and triumphant Song,.. Firit 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 distil no tear,,

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Burn:

Burn in your fighs, and borrow noi sidor sit a Seas wept from our deep forrow;

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GIVA

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 ftill, tranfgrefs, cat s
Intirely fatisfi'd,

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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.

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With Saintly fhout, and folemn Jubilee,.
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row:
Their loud up-lifted Angel-trumpets blow,

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At a folemn Mufick.

Sphear-born harmonious Sifters, Voice and Verfe Wed your divine founds, and mixt pow'r employ, eram Dead things with imbreath'd fenfe able to pierce, 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,

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And the Cherubic host in thoufand Choirs moi mand
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With thofe juft Spirits, that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Pfalms

Singing everlastingly;

That we on Earth with undifcording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noife;
As once we did, till difproportion'd fin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harfh din
Broke the fair Mufick that all creatures made

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To their great Lord, whofe love their motion fway'd
In perfect Diapafon, whilft they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we foon again renew that Song,

An Epitaph on

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.

FI *'d

The honour'd Wife of Winchefter:
A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,.
Befides what her Virtues fair
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.

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the Marchionefs of Winchester.

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Her

Her high birth, and her graces fweet,
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.

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3d

Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble Houfe doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan,
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And fome Flowers, and fome bays,
For thy Herfe, to strew 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 Majefty 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.

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SONG. On May Morning.

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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 infpire 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 with thee long.

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