« EelmineJätka »
Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
'Twas such a shifter, that, if truth were known,
Death was half glad when he had got him down;
For he had, any time this ten years full,
Dodg'd with him betwixt Cambridge and The Bull.*
And surely Death could neve have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd;
But lately finding him so 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
Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light:
If any ask for him, it shall be said,
'Hobson has supt, and's newly gone to bed.'
HERE lieth one, who did most truly prove
That he could never die while he could move;
So hung his destiny, never to rot
While he might still jog on and keep his trot,
Made of sphere-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And like an engine mov'd with wheel and weight,
His principles being ceas'd, he ended straight.
Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
* In Bishopsgate-street, London.
Nor were it contradiction to affirm,
Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.
Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;
'Nay,' quoth he, ' on his swooning bed outstretch'd,
If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make six bearers.'
Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light;
His leisure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That ev'n to his last breath, (there be that say't)
As he were press'd to death, he cried, "More
But, had his doings lasted as they were, [weight;'
He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas,
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase:
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,
Only remains this superscription.
ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE
BECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate-Lord,
And with stiff vows renounc'd his Liturgy,
To seize the widow'd whore Plurality
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorr'd;
Dare ye for this abjure the civil sword
To force our consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic hierarchy
Taught ye by mere A. S.* and Rotherford ?t
Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent,
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul,
Must now be nam'd and printed Heretics
By shallow Edwards‡ and Scotch what d'ye call:§
But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing worse than those of Trent;
That so the Parliament
May, with their wholesome and preventive shears,
Clip your phylacteries, though balk your ears,
And succour our just fears,
When they shall read this clearly in your charge,
'New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.'
* Adam Steuart, a divine of the church of Scotland, and the author of several polemical tracts: some portions of which com. mence with A. S. only prefixed. Todd.
Samuel Rotherford, or Rutherford, one of the chief commissioners of the church of Scotland, and professor of divinity in the university of St. Andrew. He published a great variety of Cal. vinistic tracts.
Thomas Edwards, minister, a pamphleteering opponent of Milton; whose plan of independency he assailed with shallow invectives.
§ Perhaps Henderson, or Galaspie. Scotch divines: the former of whom appears as a loving friend,' in Rutherford's Joshua Redivivus; and the latter was one of the ecclesiastical commissioners at Westminster.
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I.
WHAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? O, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds, and storms
Unwonted shall admire!
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant, always amiable
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they
To whom thou' untried seem'st fair! Me, in my
Picture, the sacred wall declares to' have hung
My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of sea.
FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.
BRUTUS thus addresses DIANA in the country of LEOGECIA.
GODDESS of shades, and huntress, who at will Walk'st on the rolling spheres, and through the
* Hist. Brit. i. xi. "Diva potens nemorum." &c.
On thy third reign, the earth, look now, and tell What land, what seat of rest, thou bidst me seek; What certain seat, where I may worship thee For aye, with temples vow'd and virgin quires.
To whom, sleeping before the altar, DIANA answers in a vision, the same night.
BRUTUS, far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now void, it fits thy people: thither bend
Thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings be born of thee, whose dreadful might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.
Aн, Constantine, of how much ill was cause,
Not thy conversion, but those rich domains
That the first wealthy pope receiv'd of thee.
FOUNDED in chaste and humble poverty,
'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy horn,
Impudent whore, where hast thou plac'd thy hope?
In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth?
Another Constantine comes not in haste.
THEN pass'd he to a flowery mountain green,
Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously:
This was the gift, if you the truth will have,
That Constantine to good Sylvester gave,