University of Virginia Library

To the truly worthy, and his worthily honoured friend Mris Judith Dyke, on the death of her brother Mr John Dyke, obiit ult. Martii 1636.

Tamely, and soft as the Prophetique breath,
That pants, the fatall passing bell of death
Move my sad soule, and to his happy hearse,
Pay the deserved tribute of thy verse:
And you blest maid, whose griefe hath almost wonne
Death by your griefe to make you both but one,
Cease your laments, for how can you be crost
In this, since what God finds, can neere be lost?
And wisely thinke you may offend in this,
Love hath its errours, and may doe amisse.
Death may looke dreadfull in an ill mans eye,
'Tis no great thing to live, but lesse to die
To die indeed, as Common people doe,
That with perplexed soules bid earth adieu,
And by necessity of late compeld,
Their strugling spirits to the Coffin yeeld,
Were matter worthy griefe, and onely they
Are like the houses that entombe them, clay:
But where the soule (like his) rapt with desire,
Disdaines dull earth, and aymes at glories higher:
And by a bright Angelicke fire inflam'd,
Mounts towards heaven, as oft as heares it nam'd;
Like a sweete odor upward as it goes,
It yeelds a perfume to th' Almighties nose:
And hence ascended, 'tis not just that wee
Lament at its exalted dignity.
And sure no matter if wee must away,
Whether it be to morrow, or to day,
And if to day, at morne, or night, or noone,
So wee die well, what need we care how soone.
I know the fertile soyle of his pure heart
Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Art:
And had the August of his age bin come
They had bin crown'd with a blest harvest home.
But now hee's clouded from your eyes to show,
That none but Angels worthy are to know
What hee shall aged be: Oh! 'tis a fate
VVorth your best thankes; that day deserves it's date,
Be registred to Glory, when his Maker
Made him, of him and all his blisse partaker.
Now dare you loose a teare, unlesse it bee,
Because you are not happie yet as hee?
'Tis charity to wish you so: but then
As you know how, yet God knowes better when,
Death comes to call, yet nor to call as one;
Though all men die, yet good men well alone.
The Sunne's not lost, but set, the approaching day
Shall make it's light more glorious by delay:
If then in death such differences consist,
Desire so to dissolve to be with Christ.