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Miscellaneous works of George Wither

Wither, George (1588-1667)

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FIRST COLLECTION
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SECOND COLLECTION
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Vox Pacifica:
  
Carmen Eucharisticon:
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A Suddain Flash
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A Triple Paradox:
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A Proclamation In the Name of the King of Kings, To all the Inhabitants of the Isles of Great Brittain:
 I. 
I. To those Friends, unto whom this Author hath been scandalously mis-represented in private, by some false Brethren and others.
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II. A causual Meditation on Faith, Hope, Fear and Love.
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III. To those who enquire, why this Author is now imprisoned in Newgate?
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IV. A Hymn of Thanksgiving, for deliverance from a dangerous and sharp Sickness, during his Imprisonment.
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V. To them who say, or suppose, that a vain desire of Fame, was this Authors principal motive, to the Composure of what he hath written and published.
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VI. A Meditation, occasioned by considering the manifold Temptations to distrust in GOD, whereby his best Servants are otherwhile proved and exercised.
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VII. Another Scrap, to them, who carp at this Author's frequent writing.
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VIII. An Eccho from the Thunders, in the celestial Temple, reverberating, in part, the effect of what was uttered by their Voices.
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IX. A brief Reproof of them, who take pleasure in Scandalous Invectives, whereby others are personally defamed.
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X. A Disclaim, by way of Advertisement, of a Paper, falsly imputed to this Author.
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XI. To them who object it as a fault, that this Author hath written several Poems, since he resolved to write no more.
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XII. Of Governours and Governments; and how we ought to demean our selves toward them.
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XIII. A Scrap added to the former, since the sending of the Authors Remonstrance to the house of Commons.
  
Verses written by Mr. George Wither upon three Trenchers with Oker, during his close-Imprisonment, and carried to the Lieutenant of the Tower by the said Prisoners Keeper.
  
Hearing it reported, that the Diurnal women cryed the news of his Impeachment for Treason, he composed this Epigram.
  
Ingenii Largitor Venter.
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FIFTH COLLECTION
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30

EPIPHONEMA.

The more, I muse, the more I may,
Till night, ends in eternal day:
For, ev'ry hour, brings forth new things,
From whence, new matter dayly springs,
Whereof, I shall but speak in vain,
Whilst my Corruptions do remain:
But, when I must depart to Him,
Who nor begun, nor ends in Time,
And, hence, quite out of sight, am gone,
My words will more be thought upon.
Or they (when recknings are set right)
Will help make measure and full weight.
Ensuing times, will useful make them,
Tho I, (in scoff, call'd Prophet) spake them:
And, when of nothing, I have need,
They, paradventure, or their seed,
Who in my life-time, have undone me,
Will (dead) bestow a Grave upon me;
As they that (issuing from their wombs
Who slew them) built the Prophets tombs.
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