Poems or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson |
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An Elegy on the Reverend John Crofts, D. D. and Deane of Norwich.
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An Elegy on the Reverend John Crofts, D. D. and Deane of Norwich.
Here let his Reverend Dust in silence sleep,
I cou'd add rears, were't not a sin to weep.
Which Heathens wo'nt, what else in grief should we,
But doubt, or Envy his Felicity.
Death, as in duty, came and snuff'd the light,
As who shou'd say to make it shine more bright.
As to the shutting in of Nature's day,
His Evening Red was, but his Morning Grey.
The Elements disputed Deaths controul,
Nature was loath to part with such a Soul.
I cou'd add rears, were't not a sin to weep.
Which Heathens wo'nt, what else in grief should we,
But doubt, or Envy his Felicity.
Death, as in duty, came and snuff'd the light,
As who shou'd say to make it shine more bright.
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His Evening Red was, but his Morning Grey.
The Elements disputed Deaths controul,
Nature was loath to part with such a Soul.
As to his quality he doubly owes;
But which, to Birth, or Breeding more, who knows?
The first has him among the great ones reckon'd,
And in the second he to none was second.
But some have troubled at his passion been,
Why shou'd they so? a Fly will have her spleen.
He cou'd be angry; and who lives but can?
For cou'd he not, he shou'd be less than Man.
True, he was hasty at some cross event,
But was again as hasty to repent.
And be his choler at the worst believ'd,
Whom his right hand deprest, his left reliev'd.
His strictness at the Churches Gates did well,
No Gates stand always ope, but those of Hell.
And since the Lord his Vineyard did restore,
'Twas Zeal, not choler to keep out the Bore.
But which, to Birth, or Breeding more, who knows?
The first has him among the great ones reckon'd,
And in the second he to none was second.
But some have troubled at his passion been,
Why shou'd they so? a Fly will have her spleen.
He cou'd be angry; and who lives but can?
For cou'd he not, he shou'd be less than Man.
True, he was hasty at some cross event,
But was again as hasty to repent.
And be his choler at the worst believ'd,
Whom his right hand deprest, his left reliev'd.
His strictness at the Churches Gates did well,
No Gates stand always ope, but those of Hell.
And since the Lord his Vineyard did restore,
'Twas Zeal, not choler to keep out the Bore.
Should I forbear a Trophy here to raise him,
(With Reverence to the Text) his works wou'd praise Him.
Impartial Eyes survey what he has done,
And you'l not say Church-work went slowly on.
Whose Elegy each grateful Stone presents,
From th' humble Base, to th' highest Battlements.
Others themselves wrap up in lasting Lead,
But he wrapt up the Church in his own stead.
Whose Pinacle he rear'd so high, it even
Climes up the Clouds to reach his alms to heaven.
Upon whose Top, St. Peter may behold
His Monitor in Characters of Gold.
Not but in this, others pretend a share,
But the Dead challenge what the living spare:
Now then for Epitaph, this let him take,
Here lies the Temples great Jehozadack.
Who for the Sums he, to repair it, spent;
Has the whole Church to be his Monument.
(With Reverence to the Text) his works wou'd praise Him.
Impartial Eyes survey what he has done,
And you'l not say Church-work went slowly on.
Whose Elegy each grateful Stone presents,
From th' humble Base, to th' highest Battlements.
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But he wrapt up the Church in his own stead.
Whose Pinacle he rear'd so high, it even
Climes up the Clouds to reach his alms to heaven.
Upon whose Top, St. Peter may behold
His Monitor in Characters of Gold.
Not but in this, others pretend a share,
But the Dead challenge what the living spare:
Now then for Epitaph, this let him take,
Here lies the Temples great Jehozadack.
Who for the Sums he, to repair it, spent;
Has the whole Church to be his Monument.
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