Poems By John Hall | ||
57
On Doctor. Bambrigg, Mr. of Christs.
Were but this Marble vocall, thereSuch an Elogium would appeare
As might, though truth did dictate, move
Distrust in either Faith or Love;
As ample knowledge as could rest
Inshrined in a mortals brest,
Which ne'rethelesse did open lie,
Uncovered by humility,
A heart which piety had chose,
To be her Altar, whence arose
Such smoaking Sacrifices, that
We here can onely wonder at;
A honey tongue that could dispence,
Torrents of sacred eloquence,
And yet how far inferiour stand
Unto a learned curious hand?
That 'tis no wonder if this stone
Because it cannot speake, doth groane;
For could mortality assent,
These ashes might prove eloquent.
Poems By John Hall | ||