University of Virginia Library

Remarks on the Bright, and dark side of that American Pillar Mr. William Tompson.

Pastor of the Church in Braintree. Who Triumphed December 10th. 1666 Aetat 68.

But may a Rural Pen try to set forth
Such a Great Fathers Ancient Grace and worth
I undertake a no less Arduous Theme
Then the Old Sages found the Chaldae Dream
'Tis more then Tythes of a profound respect
That must be paid such a Melchizedeck
Oxford this light with tongues and Arts doth trim
And then his Northern Town doth Challeng him
His Time and Strength he Center'd there in this
To do good works, and be what now he is.
His fulgent Virtues there and learned Strains
Tall comely Presence, Life unsoil'd with Stains
Things most on WORTHIES in their Stories writ
Did him to move in Orbs of Service fitt
Things more peculiar yet, my muse intend
Say stranger things then these, so weep and End
When he forsook first his Oxonian Cell
Some Scores at once from Popish darkness fell
So this Reformer studied! rare first fruits!
Shakeing a Crab-tree thus by hot disputes
The acid juice by miracle turn'd wine
And rais'd the Spirits of our young Divine
Hearers like Doves flock'd with contentios wing
Who should be first, feed most: most homeward bring
Laden with honey like Hyblaean Bees
They knead it into combs upon their knees.
Why he from Europes pleasant Garden fled
In the Next Age will be with horrour said
Braintree was of this Jewel then possest
Untill himself he labour'd into Rest
His Inventory then with Johns was took
His rough Coat, Girdle with the Sacred Book
When Reverend Knowles and he sail'd hand in hand
To Christ, Espousing the Virginian Land
Upon a ledge of Craggy Rocks near stav'd
His Bible in his bosome thrusting sav'd
The Bible, the best cordial of his Heart
Come floods, come flames (cry'd he) we'l never part
A constellation of great converts there
Shone round him and his Heav'nly Glory where
With a Rare Skill in hearts, this Doctor cou'd
Steal into them words that should do them good
His Balsom's from the Tree of Life distill'd
Hearts cleans'd and heal'd, and with rich comforts fill'd
But here's the wo! Balsoms which others cur'd
Would in his Own Turn hardly be endur'd
Apollyon Owing him a cursed Spleen
Who an Apollos in the Church had been
Dreading his Traffick here would be undone
By Numerous proselites he daily won
Accus'd him of Imaginary faults
And push'd him down so into dismal Vaults
Vaults where he kept long Ember weeks of grief
'Till Heav'n alarm'd sent him in relief
Then was a Daniel in the lyons Den
A man, oh how belov'd of God and men
By his beds-side an Hebrew sword there lay
With which at last he drove the Devil away.
Quaker's too durst not bear his keen replies
But fearing it half drawn the trembler flyes
Like Lazarus new rais'd from Death appears
The Saint that had been dead for many years
Our Nehemiah said, shall such as I
Desert my flock, and like a Coward fly
Long had the Churches begg'd the Saints release
Releas'd at last, he dies in Glorious peace
The Night is not so long, but phosphors ray
Approaching Glories doth on high display
Faith's Eye in him discern'd the Morning Star
His heart leap'd; Sure the Sun cannot be far
In Extasies of Joy, he Ravish'd Cryes
Love, Love the Lamb, the Lamb, in whome he dies.

Gulielmi Tompsoni Braintreensis.

Ecclesiae Pastoris in Angliâ utraque Celeberimi vice. Epitaphium.

Judicious Zeale: New-Englands Boanerges
Lies Tombless: not to Spare the Churches Charges
But that the world may know he lacks no Tomb
Who in Ten thousand hearts commanded room.
While thus the thundring Textman hidden lies
Some Virgins slumber: Others wantonize.

The Grammarians Funeral,

OR, An ELEGY composed upon the Death of Mr. John Woodmancy, formerly a School-Master in Boston: But now Published upon the DEATH of the Venerable Mr. Ezekiel Chevers,

The late and famous School-Master of Boston in New-England; Who Departed this Life the Twenty-first of August 1708. Early in the Morning. In the Ninety-fourth Year of his Age.

New Englands Crisis

Or a Brief Narrative, of NEW-ENGLANDS Lamentable Estate at present, compar'd with the former (but few) years of Prosperity.

Occasioned by many unheard of Crueltyes practiced upon the Persons and Estates of its united Colonyes, without respect of Sex, Age or Quality of Persons, by the Barbarous Heathen thereof.

Poetically Described.

THE PROLOGUE.

THe times wherein old Pompion was a Saint,
When men far'd hardly yet without complaint
On vilest Cates; the dainty Indian Maize
Was eat with Clamp-shells out of wooden Trayes
Under thatcht Hutts without the cry of Rent,
And the best Sawce to every Dish, Content.
When Flesh was food, and hairy skins made coats,
And men as wel as birds had chirping Notes.
When Cimnels were accounted noble bloud
Among the tribes of common herbage food.
Of Ceres bounty form'd was many a knack
Enough to fill poor Robins Almanack.
These golden times (too fortunate to hold)
Were quickly sin'd away for love of gold.
Twas then among the bushes, not the street
If one in place did an inferiour meet,
Good morrow Brother, is there ought you want?
Take freely of me, what I have you ha'nt.
Plain Tom and Dick would pass as currant now,
As ever since Your Servant Sir and bow.
Deep-skirted doublets, puritanick capes
Which now would render men like upright Apes,
Was comlier wear our wiser Fathers thought
Than the cast fashions from all Europe brought.
Twas in those dayes an honest Grace would hold
Till an hot puddin grew at heart a cold.
And men had better stomachs to religion
Than I to capon, turkey-cock or pigeon.
When honest Sisters met to pray not prate
About their own and not their neighbours state.
During Plain Dealings Reign, that worthy Stud
Of th' ancient planters race before the flood
These times were good, Merchants car'd not a rush
For other fare than Jonakin and Mush.
Although men far'd and lodged very hard
Yet Innocence was better than a Guard.
Twas long before spiders and wormes had drawn
Their dungy webs or hid with cheating Lawne
New-Englands beautyes, which stil seem'd to me
Illustrious in their own simplicity.
Twas ere the neighbouring Virgin-land had broke
The Hogsheads of her worse than hellish smoak.
Twas ere the Islands sent their Presents in,
Which but to use was counted next to sin.
Twas ere a Barge had made so rich a fraight
As Chocholatte, dust-gold and bitts of eight.
Ere wines from France and Moscovadoe too
Without the which the drink will scarsly doe,
From western Isles, ere fruits and dilicacies,
Did rot maids teeth and spoil their hansome faces.
Or ere these times did chance the noise of war
Was from our towns and hearts removed far.
No Bugbear Comets in the chrystal air
To drive our christian Planters to despair.
No sooner pagan malice peeped forth
But Valour snib'd it; then were men of worth
Who by their prayers slew thousands Angel like,
Their weapons are unseen with which they strike.
Then had the Churches rest, as yet the coales
Were covered up in most contentious souls.
Freeness in Judgment, union in affection,
Dear love, sound truth they were our grand protection.
These were the twins which in our Councells sate,
These gave prognosticks of our future fate,
If these be longer liv'd our hopes increase,
These warrs will usher in a longer peace:
But if New-Englands love die in its youth
The grave will open next for blessed Truth.
This Theame is out of date, the peacefull hours
When Castles needed not but pleasant bowers.
Not ink, but bloud and tears now serve the turn
To draw the figure of New-Englands Urne.
New-Englands hour of passion is at hand,
No power except Divine can it withstand;
Scarce hath her glass of fifty years run out,
But her old prosperous Steeds turn heads about,
Tracking themselves back to their poor beginnings,
To fear and fare upon their fruits of sinnings:
So that the mirrour of the Christian world
Lyes burnt to heaps in part, her Streamers furl'd
Grief reigns, joyes flee and dismal fears surprize,
Not dastard spirits only but the wise.
Thus have the fairest hopes deceiv'd the eye
Of the big swoln Expectant standing by.
Thus the proud Ship after a little turn
Sinks into Neptunes arms to find its Urn.
Thus hath the heir to many thousands born
Been in an instant from the mother torn.
Ev'n thus thine infant cheeks begin to pale,
And thy supporters through great losses fail.
This is the Prologue to thy future woe,
The Epilogue no mortal yet can know.

New-Englands Crisis.

A Supplement.

WHat meanes this silence of Harvardine quils
While Mars triumphant thunders on our hills.
Have pagan priests their Eloquence confin'd
To no mans use but the mysterious mind?
Have Pawaws charm'd that art which was so rife
To crouch to every Don that lost his life?
But now whole towns and Churches fire and dy
Without the pitty of an Elegy.
Nay rather should my quils were they all swords
Wear to the hilts in some lamenting words.
I dare not stile them poetry but truth,
The dwindling products of my crazy youth.
If these essayes shall raise some quainter pens
Twil to the Writer make a rich amends.

Marlburyes Fate

When Londons fatal bills were blown abroad
And few but Specters travel'd on the road,
Not towns but men in the black bill enrol'd
Were in Gazetts by Typographers sold:
But our Gazetts without Errataes must
Report the plague of towns reduct to dust:
And feavers formerly to tenants sent
Arrest the timbers of the tenement.
Ere the late ruines of old Groton's cold,
Of Marlbury's peracute disease we're told.
The feet of such who neighbouring dwellings urnd
Unto her ashes, not her doors return'd
And what remaind of tears as yet unspent
Are to its final gasps a tribute lent.
If painter overtrack my pen let him
An olive colour mix these elves to trim:
Of such an hue let many thousand thieves
Be drawn like Scare-crows clad with oaken leaves,
Exhausted of their verdant life and blown
From place to place without an home to own.
Draw Devils like themselves, upon their cheeks
The banks for grease and mud, a place for leeks.
Whose locks Medusaes snakes, do ropes resemble,
And ghostly looks would make Achilles tremble.
Limm them besmear'd with Christian Bloud and oild
With fat out of white humane bodyes boil'd.
Draw them with clubs like maules and full of stains,
Like Vulcans anvilling New-Englands brains.
Let round be gloomy forrests with crag'd rocks
Where like to castles they may hide their flocks,
Till oppertunity their cautious friend
Shall jogge them fiery worship to attend.
Shew them like serpents in an avious path
Seeking to sow the fire-brands of their wrath.
Most like AEneas in his cloak of mist,
Who undiscover'd move where ere they list
Cupid they tell us hath too sorts of darts.
One sharp and one obtuse, one causing wounds,
One piercing deep the other dull rebounds,
But we feel none but such as drill our hearts.
From Indian sheaves which to their shoulders cling,
Upon the word they quickly feel the string.
Let earth be made a screen to hide our woe
From Heavens Monarch and his Ladyes too;
And least our Jealousie think they partake,
For the red stage with clouds a curtain make.
Let dogs be gag'd and every quickning sound
Be charm'd to silence, here and there all round
The town to suffer, from a thousand holes
Let crawle these fiends with brands and fired poles,
Paint here the house and there the barn on fire,
With holocausts ascending in a spire.
Here granaries, yonder the Churches smoak
Which vengeance on the actors doth invoke.
Let Morpheus with his leaden keyes have bound
In feather-beds some, some upon the ground,
That none may burst his drowsie shackles till
The bruitish pagans have obtain'd their will,
And Vulcan files them off then Zeuxis paint
The phrenzy glances of the sinking saint.
Draw there the Pastor for his bible crying,
The souldier for his sword, The Glutton frying
With streams of glory-fat, the thin-jaw'd Miser
Oh had I given this I had been wiser.
Let here the Mother seem a statue turn'd
At the sad object of her bowels burn'd.
Let the unstable weakling in belief
Be mounting Ashurs horses for relief.
Let the half Convert seem suspended twixt
The dens of darkness, and the Planets fixt,
Ready to quit his hold, and yet hold fast
By the great Atlas of the Heavens vast.
Paint Papists mutterring ore their apish beads
Whome the blind follow while the blind man leads.
Let Ataxy be mounted on a throne
Imposing her Commands on every one,
A many-headed monster without eyes
To see the wayes which wont to make men wise.
Give her a thousand tongues with wings and hands
To be ubiquitary in Commands,
But let the concave of her skull appear
Clean washt and empty quite of all but fear,
One she bids flee, another stay, a third
She bids betake him to his rusty sword,
This to his treasure, th'other to his knees,
Some counsels she to fry and some to freeze,
These to the garison, those to the road,
Some to run empty, some to take their load:
Thus while confusion most mens hearts divide
Fire doth their small exchecquer soon decide.
Thus all things seeming ope or secret foes,
An Infant may grow old before a close,
But yet my hopes abide in perfect strength.
New England will be prosperous once at length.

The Town called Providence Its fate.

Why muse wee thus to see the wheeles run cross
Since Providence it self sustaines a loss:
And yet should Providence forget to watch
I fear the enemy would all dispatch;
Celestial lights would soon forget their line,
The wandering planets would forget to shine,
The stars run all out of their common spheres,
And quickly fall together by the eares:
Kingdoms would jostle out their Kings and set
The poor Mechanick up whome next they met,
Or rather would whole kingdoms with the world
Into a Chaos their first egge be hurl'd.
Ther's none this Providence of the Most High
Who can survive and write its Elegie:
But of a solitary town I write,
A place of darkness yet receiving light
From pagan hands, a miscellanious nest
Of errors Hectors, where they sought a rest
Out of the reach of Lawes but not of God,
Since they have felt the smart of common rod.
Twas much I thought they did escape so long,
Who Gospel truth so manifestly wronge:
For one Lots sake perhaps, or else I think
Justice did at greatest offenders wink
But now the shott is paid, I hope the dross
Will be cashiered in this common loss.
Houses with substance feel uplifting wings,
The earth remains, the last of humane things:
But know the dismal day draws neer wherein
The fire shall earth it self dissolve and sin.

Seaconk Plain Engagement.

Seaconk or Rehoboths Fate.

I once conjectur'd that those tygers hard
To reverend Newmans bones would have regard,
But were all SAINTS they met twere all one case,
They have no rev'rence to an Angels face:
But where they fix their griping lions paws
They rend without remorse or heed to laws.
Rehoboth here in common english, Rest
They ransack, Newmans Relicts to molest.
Here all the town is made a publick stage
Whereon these Nimrods act their monstrous rage.
All crueltyes which paper stain'd before
Are acted to the life here ore and ore.

Chelmsfords Fate.

On A FORTIFICATION At Boston begun by Women.

Dux Foemina Facti.

A Grand attempt some Amazonian Dames
Contrive whereby to glorify their names,
A Ruff for Boston Neck of mud and turfe,
Reaching from side to side from surfe to surfe,
Their nimble hands spin up like Christmas pyes,
Their pastry by degrees on high doth rise.
The wheel at home counts it an holiday,
Since while the Mistris worketh it may play.
A tribe of female hands, but manly hearts
Forsake at home their pasty-crust and tarts
To knead the dirt, the samplers down they hurle,
Their undulating silks they closely furle.
The pick-axe one as a Commandress holds,
While t'other at her awkness gently scolds.
One puffs and sweats, the other mutters why
Cant you promove your work so fast as I?
Some dig, some delve, and others hands do feel
The little waggons weight with single wheel.
And least some fainting fits the weak surprize,
They want no sack nor cakes, they are more wise.
These brave essayes draw forth Male stronger hands
More like to Dawbers then to Martial bands:
These do the work, and sturdy bulwarks raise,
But the beginners well deserve the praise.

New-Englands Tears FOR HER Present Miseries:

OR, A Late and True RELATION of the CALAMITIES of NEW-ENGLAND Since APRIL last past.

With an Account of the Battel between the English and Indians upon Seaconk Plain:

A NARRATIVE OF New Englands PRESENT CALAMITIES.

WHAT means this silence of Harvardine Quills
Whilst Mars Triumphant thunders on our Hills?
Have Pagan Priests their Eloquence confin'd
To no mans use but the mysterious Mind?
Have PAWAWS charm'd that Art which was so rife
To crouch to every DON that lost his life?
But now whole Towns and Churches fire and die,
Without the pity of an Elegy.
Nay, rather should my Quills, were they all Swords,
Wear to the Hilts in some lamenting words:
I dare not stile them Poetry, but Truth,
The dwindling products of my crazie youth;
If these Essays shall rouze some quainter Pens
'Twill to the Author make a rich amends.

Marlburies Fate.

Providences Fate.

WHy muse we thus, to see the Wheels run cross,
Since Providence it self, sustains a loss:
Should Providence, but one day miss its watch,
I fear the Enemy would all dispatch.
Resplendent Phoebus would forget to shine,
The wandring Planets, to forget their Line.
The Stars run all out of their proper spheres,
And quickly fall together by the eares;
The Ocean would forget to ebbe and flow,
The Mother cease the tender babe to know.
Kingdoms would jostle out their Kings and set,
The Vile Mechanick up who next they met:
Or rather Kings, and Kingdoms, with the World,
Would into Chaos its first rise be turn'd:
This sacred Providence of the Most High,
None can outlive and write its Elegy.
But of a solitary Town I write,
A place of darkness, yet receiving light
From Pagans hands; a miscellaneous nest
Of Errours, Hectors, where they sought a rest
Out of the reach of Laws, but not of God;
Since they have smarted by the common Rod.
'Twas much I thought it did escape so long,
Which sacred truth did manifestly wrong;
For one Lots sake perhaps, or else I think,
Justice did long at great offenders wink.
'Tis happy for them, if their filth and dross,
Be cleansed off, though by a common loss.

Seaconk Plain Engagement.

ON our Pharsalian Plain, containing space
For Caesar's Armies, Pompey's to outface,
An handful of our men are walled round,
With Tawny Bands, anon their pieces sound
A Madrigal; like Hail the Bullets fly,
An Emblem of Heavens Artillery.
Heres Hosts to Handfuls, of a few they leave
Fewer to tell how many they bereave.
Fool hardy Fortitude, it had been sure,
Thousands of Shot, and Arrows to endure:
Without all hopes of some requital too,
So numerous and pestilent a foe.
Most Fought like Dragons; through this Indian mist,
The Beams of Valour break where e'r they list.
Who died ('tis thought) sold lives at such a rate,
As doth the fury of the foes abate.
Some musing a Retreat, and thence to run,
Have in an instant, all their business done.
They Sink, and Die, their wonted sorrows weight,
They Tumble at their Feet, and follow strait.
Here Captious ones, without their Queries lie,
The Quaker here, the Presbiterian by.
The Scruple dormant lies of thee and thou,
And most as one to Deaths dominion bow.
Such who out-live the fate of others fly,
Into the Neighbouring Swamps of misery.
Those who might die like men, like beasts must range,
Uncertain whither for a better change.
Such Natives hunt and chase with Tygers mind,
And plague with Cruelties such as they find.
When shall this showre of Blood be over? when?
Quickly we pray (good Lord) say thou Amen.

Rehoboth's Fate.

Upon the setting of that Occidental Star John Winthrop Esq;

Governour of Connecticott Colony, Member of the Royal Society; who deceased in his Countreys Service 6 April 1676.

NIne Muses, get you all but one to sleep,
But spare Melpomene, with me to weep.
From you whose bleared Eyes have Lectures read,
Of many of our English Heroe's dead.
I beg a glance from Spectacles of Woe,
(Quotidian Gazets) Brave Winthrop to.
Whose death Terrestrial Comets did portend,
To every one who was his Countreys friend.
The Blaze of Towns was up like Torches light,
To guide him to his Grave, who was so fit
To rule, or to obey, to live or die:
(A special Favorite of the Most High)
Monarch of Natures Secrets, who did hold,
Its grand Elixir named the Star of GOLD.
Or else the World mistakes, and by his deeds,
Of Daily Charities Expence he needs.
But had he it, he wiser was than so,
That every Ape of Artists should it know.
He had the System of the Universe,
Too Glorious for any to Rehearse.
As Moses took the Law in Clouds and Fire;
Which Vulgars barr'd at distance much admire.
Thus was he taught the precious Art of healing,
(Judge we but by success) at Gods revealing.
He mounted up the Stairs of Sciences,
Unto the place of Visions which did please.
Where on the Pinacle of worldly skill,
On Kingdoms of all Arts, he gaz'd his fill.
Into his Thoughts Alembick we may think,
He crouded Stars to make a Diet Drink.
(I mean) Terrestrial Stars which in the Earth,
Receive their vitals and a Mineral Birth:
That Proteus, Mercury, he could compel,
Most soberly well fixt at home to dwell.
Of Salt (which Cooks do use for Eggs and Fishes)
He made a Balsom better than all Riches;
And Sulphur too provided for mens woe,
He made an Antidote Diseases to.
This Terrene three, were made by Fire his friends,
To bring about his ARCHIATRICK ends.
He saw the World, which first had only shade,
And after rich Embroideries on it laid,
Of Glorious Light; how the Homogeneal spark,
Did first Rebell against the Central dark.
He saw the Jemms how first they budded, and
The Birth of Minerals, which put to stand
Natures grand Courtiers. He knew the Womb
From whom the Various Tribes of Herbs did come.
He had been round the Philosophick sea,
And knew the Tincture if there any be:
But all his Art must lie, there's no Disease
Predominant, where he doth take his Ease:
Outliving Theophrast, he shew'd thereby
Himself Hermetick, more surpassing high
TRISMEGESTOS I'll stile him; first in Grace,
Thrice great in ART, the next deserving place;
Thrice High in humble Carriage, and who,
Would not to Highest Meekness ready bow?
England and Holland did great Winthrop woe;
Both had experienc'd Wonders he could doe.
But poor New-England stole his humble Heart,
From whose deep Wounds he never would depart:
His Councel Balsome like, he poured in,
And plaistred up its Breaches made by sin.
Natives themselves, in parlies would confess,
Brave Winthrops Charity and Holiness.
The Time he rul'd, War never toucht his bound,
When Fire, and Sword, and Death, raged all round.
Above whose reach he reigns in Glories Rays,
Singing with all the Saints his Makers praise.

EPITAPHIUM

GReater Renown than Boston could contain,
Doth underneath this Marble-stone remain:
Which could it feel but half so well as we,
'Twould melt to Tears and let its Prisoner free.

Chelmsfords Fate.

ERe Famous Winthrops Bones are laid to rest,
The Pagans Chelmsford with sad Flames arrest;
Making an artificial day of night,
By that Plantations formidable light.
Here's midnight shreekes, and soul amazing groanes,
Enough to melt the very Marble-stones:
Fire-brands, and Bullets, Darts, and Deaths, and Wounds,
Confusive Noyses every where resounds:
The Natives shouting, with the English cries:
With all the Cruelties the Foes devise,
Might fill a Volume: but I leave a space,
For mercies yet successive in their place:
Not doubting but the foes have done their worst,
And shall by Heaven, suddainly be curst.

Sudburies Fate.

ONce more run Lacquey Muse the Councel tell,
What sad Defeat our hopeful Band befell:
Since Fifty odd of Valours choicest Sons,
Sinke into Deaths retiring Room at once.
The Natives Scouts, like living baits were trail'd,
With Umbrages of mighty Rocks and Holes;
(Fit Pallaces for such perfideous souls.
Some to our Linx-ey'd Centinels appear,
And quickly run as if possest with fear:
Ours chase, they halt; We gain, they lightly fly,
As if some Gad be stung upon the Thigh.
One while they linger, falsly to give hope,
While to trapan, is their disguized scope;
Into a Labyrinth) or a natural maze,
Of hideous thickets and unbeaten wayes;
Ours close pursue them, and as close their fate,
Smelling their Treachery when 'twas too late,
A Race of Natives, as if newly hatcht,
Starts from their Dens, and soon our friends dispatch,
Here was of Indians too a plenteous Fair,
The Chapmen Devils, hovering in the Air:
But ah with Tears I may the Reader tell,
A little Host of English down there fell:
Two hardy Captains, many manly hearts,
Then felt the Bullets with the venom'd darts,
The Parents Vesture with the purple stain'd
Of his Ascanius by him newly braind.
Euryalus his Soul reaks through the wound,
Of Nisus gasping by upon the ground;
While the Rutilian like enraged bears,
The Garments; with Mens Skins, asunder tears:
One seeks his Head, scrambling for breathing room,
By Lethal pangs; a second reads his doom
In Vellome Rolls, flead off his right hand man:
Which they send home for Sagamores to tan;
With Scalpes, according to whose number they,
Receive brave Titles and some rich Array:
Our numerous Scars, like stars in bodies shone,
Who have for each a glorious Trophie wone:
From this Aceldama they post away,
To the Grand General for their ready pay:
While fellow Soudiers who escape the dint,
Bounce our Exchecquers, but find little in't.

CELEUSMA MILITARE.

BUt know stout hearts that Diadems and Crowns,
Will powre down from Heaven after your wounds;
And you shall find in Honours Lists a place,
Where Dastard Spirits dare not shew their Face.

About this time Died Major Willard Esq; who had continued one of our Senators many years, and Head of the Massachuset Bands. In 23 April 1676.

EPITAPHIUM.

GReat, Good, and Just, Valiant, and Wise,
New-Englands common Sacrifice:
The Prince of War, the Bond of Love,
A True Heroic Martial Dove:
Pardon I croud his Parts so close,
Which all the World in measure knows.
We envy Death, and well we may,
Who keeps him under Lock and Key.

His Praises will, or are more largely celebrated; but let this be accepted according to the Nature of my Writings, which are but Brief and General.

The Indians threaten to Dine at Boston on our Election.

THe hungry Dogs, scenting the bay good Cheer,
Give out Bravadoes that they will be here.
But hopes we have of an Election day,
Although their Votes and Proxies keep away.
We think they will our Ammunition smell,
Which from our friends beyond Sea us befell.

M. J. Antonomies the Grand Sachems Death.

On the Fortifications began by Women upon Boston Neck.

A Grand attempt the Amazonian dames,
Contrive, whereby to glorify their names.
A Ruffe for Bostons Neck of mud and turfe,
Reaching from side to side, from surfe to surfe.
Their nimble Hands spin up like Christmass Pies.
Their pastry by degrees on high doth rise.
Their Wheeles at home count it an Holyday
While Mistresses are working they may play.
A tribe of Peticoates with manly hearts,
Forsake at home their Pasticrust and Tarts:
To knead the dirt, their Samplers down they hurle,
Their undulating Silks they closely furle.
The Pickaxe one as a Commandress holds,
Another at her awkness gently scolds.
One holds her side, while Hypocondrick fumes,
Do tympanize her Pericardian roomes
This puffs and sweats, the other grumbles why
Can't you promote your work so fast as I.
Some dig and delve, while others hands do feel,
The little Waggons weight with single wheel;
And least some fainting fit, the weak surprize,
They want not Sack and Cakes; they are more wise.
These brave Essays drew forth mens nervous hands,
More like to Daubers than to Martial Bands.
These do the work and sturdy Bulwarks raise,
But those who first began deserve the praise.

A FUNERAL TRIBUTE To the Honourable Dust of that most Charitable Christian, Unbiassed Politician, And unimitable Pyrotechnist John Winthrope esq:

A Member of the Royal Society, and Governour of Conecticut Colony in NEW-ENGLAND.

Who expired in his Countreys Service, April. 6th. 1676.

ANother Black Parenthesis of woe
The Printer wills that all the World should know
Sage Winthrop prest with publick sorrow Dies
As the Sum total of our Miseries:
A Man of worth who well may ranked be
Not with the thirty but the peerless three
Of Western Worthies, Heir to all the Stock
Of praise his Sire received from his Flock:
GREAT WINTHROPS Name shall never be forgotten
Till all NEW-ENGLANDS Race be dead and rotten;
That Common Stock of all his Countries weal
Whom Grave and Tomb-stone never can conceal.
Three Colonies his PATIENTS bleeding lie
Deserted by their great PHYSICIANS eye;
Whose common sluice is poized for their tears,
And Gates fly open to a Sea of fears.
His Christian Modesty would never let
His Name be near unto his SAVIOURS set:
Yet Miracles set by, hee'd act his part
Better to LIFE then Doctors of his Art.
Projections various by fire he made
Where Nature had her common Treasure laid.
Some thought the tincture Philosophick lay
Hatcht by the Mineral Sun in WINTHROPS way;
And clear it shines to me he had a Stone
Grav'd with his Name which he could read alone.
To say how like a SCEVOLA in Court
Or ancient CONSULS Histories report
I here forbear, hoping some learned Tongue
Will quaintly write, and not his Honour wrong.
His common Acts with brightest lustre shone,
But in Apollo's Art he was alone.
Sometimes Earths veins creeping from endless holes
Would stop his plodding eyes: anon the Coals
Must search his Treasure, conversant in use
Not of the Mettals only but the juice.
Sometimes his wary steps, but wandring too
Would carry him the Christal Mountains to
Where Nature locks her Gems, each costly spark
Mocking the Stars, spher'd in their Cloisters dark.
Sometimes the Hough, anon the Gardners Spade
He deign'd to use, and tools of th'Chymick trade.
His fruit of Toyl Hermetically done
Stream to the poor as light doth from the Sun.
The lavish Garb of silks, Rich Plush and Rings
Physitians Livery, at his feet he flings.
One hand the Bellows hold, by t'other Coals
Disposes he to hatch the health of Souls;
Which Mysteries this Chiron was more wise
Then unto ideots to Anatomize.
But in a second person hopes I have
His Art will live though he possess the Grave.
To treat the MORALS of this Healer Luke
Were to essay to write a PENTATUKE,
Since all the Law as to the MORAL part
Had its impression in his spotless heart:
The vertues shining brightest in his Crown
Were self depression, scorning all renown;
Meekness and Justice were together laid
When any Subject from good order straid.
Neither did ever Artificial fire
Boyle up the Choler of his temper higher
Then modest bounds. In Church and Common-wealth
Who was the Balsome of his Countries Health.
Europe sure knew his worth who fixt his Name
Among its glorious Stars of present fame.
Here Royal CHARLES leads up, stands WINTHROPE there
Amongst the Virtuosi in the Rear:
But for his Art with hundreds of the rest
He might be plac'd in Front and come a Breast.
What Soul in fouldings t'other side the Screne
With Souls turn'd Angels guess we to have been
When first his Chariot wheels the threshold felt
Where WINTHROPS, DUDLYS, COTTONS Spirits dwelt?
What melting joys are there? Sorrows below,
Should adequately from New-England flow:
If Saints be intercessors, heres our hope
We need not be beholding to the Pope.
We have as good our selves, an honest Brother
Outvies their Saintship, there or any other.
Now Helmonts lines so learned and abstruse
Are laid aside and quite cast out of use:
And Authors which such vast expenses spent
Lye like his Corpse; his Ear is only lent
To Heavenly Harmonies, all things his Eye
Views in the platforme whence all forms did fly;
His labours cease for ever, but the fruit
He reaps at Fountain head without dispute.

UPON The elaborate Survey of New-Englands Passions from the NATIVES

By the impartial Pen of that worthy Divine Mr. WILLIAM HUBBARD.

A Countreys Thanks with Garlands ready lye
To wreathe the Brows of your Divinity
Renowned Sir: to write the Churches Warre
In ancient times fell to the Prophets share
New-Englands Chronicles are to be had
From Nathans Pen, or Manuscript of Gad.
Purchase wrote much, Hacluyt traversed farr,
Smith and Dutch John de Laet famous are,
Martyr, with learn'd Acosta thousands too,
Here's noveltyes and stile which all out-doe,
Wrote by exacter hand then ever took
Historians Pen since Europe wee forsooke.
I took your Muse for old Columbus Ghost,
Who scrapt acquaintance with this western Coast,
But in converse some pages I might find
Then all Columbus Gemms a brighter mind.
Former Adventures did at best beguile
About these Natives Rise (obscure as Nile)
Their grand Apostle writes of their return;
Williams their Language; Hubbard how they burn,
Rob, kill and Roast, lead Captive, flay, blaspheme;
Of English valour too he makes his Theme,
Whose tragical account may Christned be
New-Englands Travels through the bloudy Sea.
Drake gat renown by creeping round the old;
To treat of this New World our Author's bold.
Names uncouth which ne'r Minshew could reduce
By's Polyglotton to the vulgar use.
Unheard of places like some New-Atlantis,
Before in fancy only, now Newlandis:
New found and subtle Stratagems of Warre,
We can quaint Elton and brave Barriffe spare:
New Discipline and Charges of Command
Are cloath'd in Indian by this English hand.
Moxon who drew two Globes, or whosoere
Must make a third, or else the old ones tear,
To find a Roome for thy new Map by which
Thy friends and Country all thou dost enrich.

The Reverend man of God Mr. Peter Hubbard Pastor of Hingam church his translation or Αποθεωσις 23: 11: 1678.

Deepe Hubbard, next Religious awe to thine
Is due, what men allow Virtues Divine.
I in remembrance of thy name essayd
A first and second time but was afraid:
Too big for my poore shell to Comprehend
Where to begin or where to make an end.
Nor Could an Ephod cut by humane witt
This Aaron's gravity compleatly fitt.
I could not trace so deepe and spacious stream
Up to Its head, the name's sufficient Theame
Of such antiquity beyond sea knowne
By persecutions from an Eden blowne
Into a milder clime, yet even there
From Truth-Professing friends hee had his share.
Yet like a Marble pelted by the waves
Hee kept his soundness where some found their graves.
[OMITTED]alone with truth on's side
Than by whole Synods to bee dignified.
The common places of Divines desert
Perfection in the tongues: brave skill in Art
May here adapted bee, for at his Grave
Their excellencies they divested have.
His trade was Jewells: which hee fetcht above:
All his Returnes, Faith, Currant prayers and love.
Mans full allowance, threescore years and Ten
Spent most in pulpit toyles this man of men
[OMITTED]honour to supply the needs
Of his great Charge, without the Reverend weeds
Of purest Lawne, which else might well become
This sufferer in his petty Martyrdome.
His words were Oracles his fervent prayers
Like mighty Angels climbd the Heavnly stairs
Bat'red heavns Frontiers, entred and Came back
With all the blessings which the Church did lack.
His life was Gospel copied out by line,
Exactness best becomes the best Divine.
His Doctrine plaine, yet pungent: free but pure,
Whose efficacy could both kill and Cure.
This Abram kept his bosom Opend Wide
As Jesus armes for babes which some deny'd.
What many pray for only, not indeav'or,
Christs Kingdom's growth hee durst not would not sever.
Infants unborne may well lament his Death
Who saincted all when first they drew their breath
Barring those Temples, least the World or sin
Or Hells great Champion should enter in.
Zeale to the Levits work, the vineyards call
Moved him pay more than tithes of sons nigh all
Greate Benefactor to the Learned sort
This Western World hath cause to bless him for't.
Before this heavnly Hydra Feels his fate
Four heads of the old stock doe Germinate,
True Issue of his braines and Learned loynes
By grace and practise both, Lively Divines.
The Vesper of his life's a constant Cry:
When will deaths curious claws these knots untie?
A crazie cage of bones curtaind with Skin
A Ruind Castle where great strength had beene.
A Blaze of Heavn A beame Divine, A mind
Of the first Magnitude some time Confin'd.
When Aarons Tabernacle work is done
Hee strips his Vestures to adorne his Son
Thus hee uncased himselfe: Resignes the Keys
With (Nunc dimittis) finishing his days.
The travells of almost a double age
Hoary with toyle, and time thus quitts the stage.
Heavns Charioteers, hence with an unseene traine
Up in great Honour Convoy him to Reigne.
And what remains imbalmd in Teares is dust
Not lost but sowne: A Treasure put in trust:
Layd at the Churches doore, Just by the side
Of Saincts, which were his sparkling Crowne, and pride.
That at his death as well as life hee might
Declare the Church to bee his great Delight.
Rest then thy weary bones Thou man of God
If ere the Church fall out assume the Rod
Or rather let the Reverence of thy Name
Bee tutelary Angel of the same
And When thy darksom Cell yee saincts pass by
Say there, the Glorie of His Coat doth lie.

New-Englands grand Eclips by the withdrawing of that vast body, or Trium-virate of Politick, Ecclesiastick, Military Light John Leverett

Governour of the Massathuset, and Moderatour of the Confederate Colonies In New England, who disbanded the 16th: of the 1st: 1678/9 AEtatis suae: 63.

'Tis not a vulgar straine the Learned know
Can speake the Homage which all fancies ow
To this State-Giant. Had I ne're before
Seen Monarchs in their Ermins rold in Gore,
Had I not read on tombs, where publique trust
Assures us lies the most Couragious Dust:
I should have deem'd, twixt us and him this odds
That Wormes like me might die But such turn Gods.
I place not this Grand Heroe in their Spheare
But own by such he wore his title here.
Thanks first to Heaven, next to Caesar's beams
Which still gives Light to pen these dolefull Theams.
Hee's something worse then Monster in defect
Who covers such a piece with disrespect.
Heaven did not winke and chuse. Nor did the voice
Of an whole Countrey once repent this Choice
Form'd to this very end; sent as a Gift
To help this province at a deadly lift.
Lesse Active spirits might serve turn at helme
While th'Vulgar like the sea is still and Calme,
But for a boysterous spell, needs such an one,
Who with his Countenance could quell alone.
Goodness of extract happyly Conjoyn'd
By heavenly Marriage to an Heroe's mind:
In which if anywhere might be confest
The Lion with the Lamb did feed and rest.
Abràm in armes, well might th'acute Divine
Make application at this wine of thine.
Tall Cedars in our forrest, In whose shade
Those Sympathizeing twine so long have laid
Of State and Church. His valour set a spell
And snib'd the outrage of the Infidell.
This Holy Land was preposest before
But Joshua turnd the Heathen out of Dore.
And by the Soul of valour bolted out
Whole Nations of the tawny barbarous rout
Hee clos'd the Churches wounds and kept the peace
When secret undermines did Increase.
When some delv'd deep their enterprize to hide
He trumpeted away their envious pride,
And Cut that Gordian knot which many thought
Would our Assemblys to Confusion brought.
Tis more then Common vertue must stand here
No vulgar Art could such a vessel steer,
Whose passengers were saincts and Cabins hold
Such heavenly treasure as transcendeth Gold.
To keep the Arke so stedy yet not smitten.
In such great Earthquakes may be truly written
Among the Choicest Records: Twas a thing
Whereof from Age to Age our World may ring.
Next to that unseen hand which cannot Erre
We may the Crown of praise on him transfer.
Great were his parts, Sublimer much his grace
Some beams of Majesty had toucht his face
Sufficient to enforme a Countrey whence
He borrow'd his Magestick Influence.
A Generall of such a noble sphear
His person and his purse both scorn'd the Reare.
So amiable both in Court and Field
His hand could Conquer while his spirits yield.
Come fellow souldiers: Chere all hearts amain
The Countreys cordiall is Soveraigne
He Honourably cry'd up all the Joy
When Boston Eccho'd loud Vive le Roy
Tis plaine without him we had had no sence
What meant the things call'd Royall Influence.
Twas not pure Custome but an anuall debt
Which caus'd our Alma Mater humbly set
Great Leveretts name, maine patron of her rights
In publique acts after their studious nights
A Thesis of it self so full of light
All disputations were decided by't.
He left that Marble which before was Stone
Or rather that Created which was none.
A great worke built on ruines former fame
Yet but an urne compar'd with his great name.
Next that Grand matron, creep the Infant schools
Which save some naturall wits from greatest fools
Drest in the weeds of grief: And well they may
Since their Maecaenas is divorc'd away.
The Regiments, professours of the time
Lament in Ranke and file though not in Rhime.
All quarters startled at the suddaine end
Of this brave Joshua their publique friend.
Bring floods of tears, yet some returnd as though
The numerous already would not off.
Whose big swoln Clouds are ready to disperse
Their Amber tears upon the Sable herse
This Providence hath baffled all that Art
Which to the World did heav'n's concerns impart.
Such who the most by starrs and tide did know
Could not portend this full sea of our woe.
By this prodigious stroke of Cruell fate
Which our Eclypses Scheme doth Antidate,
Who setting in our Clime has great Remarke
And proves Star-prophets sometimes in the darke.
Good Reason too Wise men are patent free
And ruld great Starrs themselves and thus did hee.
When angells made a muster in the Skie
And their stupendous ordinance let flie,
Ers while what could their Loud report portend
But preparations for this Generals end.
That spacious field was cleard of that black Guard
To Convoy this up to his high reward.
Such as New Englands Annalls mind to sift
Will find him by quotation. John the fifth: alias sixth
But I recede from this Illustrious Throne
Whither my phancy roves to make my moane
Poor broken Boston, shall thy bleared eyes
And dolefull sighs which dayly stab the Skies
Griefs Hurricanes, what shall they never o're
And force their entry at some other dore?
Must this darke Climate be the onely stage
For Nemesis to act her various rage?
This the Aceldama for wounds and gore
The publick hospitall for pox and poor?
And must that man of sin who plots our woe
And Heav'ns dishonour, always Scotfree goe?
Shall the Laviathan who feasts on states
And quaffs the blood of Kings escape the fates?
Lord cast some Angry sparke into the nest
Of that blood sucking Anti Christian beast.
What yet remains New England's out of view
To pilate in such storms adventure few.
All Caesars subjects with a Common voyce
Cry God save Charles and help you in next choyce.
His diadem which now is soild with tears
So that her Lustre something disappears.
Sole Cordiall in his paines, which by his limbs
In a deep Gulf of tears before you swims
Whilst this small province in its freedom stands
Honour the dead by lending liveing hands
This will be omen of your future peace
Heaven will Create or rayse up more of these.

Upon the very Reverend SAMUEL WHITING.

A short memoriall and Revew of sum Vertues in that examplary Christian, Mary Tompson,

who Dyed in march 22: 1679. penned for the imitation of the liveing.

Of all the treasure which this world doth hould
Tru saints are best whose price transendeth gould
And of all Comforts which Concern this life,
None to be found like to a Vertuous wife.
Our proto parent was environd round
With Rarest things yet no Content he found
Till such an one was formed by his side
With whom he might Convers, in whom Confide
With out which Comfort all our sweets are sowers
And familyes bear thissels with out floures.
And here if any whear it may be said
Lyes the Content of her lamenting head,
His Dearest Choice his Credit and his Crown,
A sweet example to a Christian Town,
Whose life was made of innocence and love,
Whose Death doth all to great Compasion move.
Tis hard to tell where love did beare such sway,
Who twas Commanded or who did obey.
The swetest titles ever past betwene,
A Christian paire and Deeds might here be seen.
A Choicer spirit hardly Could be found
For Universall virtue on the ground.
One who betimes gave Up her virgin heart,
To Christ with solemn vows never to part,
And when she Changd her state she did attend
Such Dutyes as Concernd the maryage end.
With lovely Clusters Round on every side,
The house of god and hers she butified.
Zeal to whose worship in her Constant ways
Makes her an object of transendant prays.
What entercourse twixt heav'n and her I guess,
Besides what others did to me Confess,
Makes me Enrole her Reall saint indeed
For whom her turtle may both weep and bleed.
Ask but the neighbour hood and they will tell,
She was a Dorcas in our israell,
Ready on every hand to run or spend
To sick and pore to minister and lend.
So amiable in her whole Convers,
The least we Can is to lament her hearse.
But twas a stock in hand only on trust
Which to Returne upon Demand is just.
Our intrest houlds no longer, heavens decree,
Must give a supersedeas unto the.
Her wedded Consort from those bitter sighs
She is above a mortall that ner dyes.
Tis tru she might have lived many a year,
And still have shone in her Domestick sphear.
She might have made your lovely number up,
And you a while adjournd that bitter Cup.
You might have livd both long and sweet as ever,
Yet in the end the sword of Death must sever.
The faster love is twisted in the heart
With Roots Confirmd the harder tis to part.
She might have pind a way with tedious mone
But her Dispatch is quick, shees quickly gone.
Two lives in one panting foe, Double breath
She yeilds up both in to the arms of Death.
Well may our teares at such a loss run ore
When such as love most Dear must se no more.
Well may her Consort Call this marys Day,
Deaths bitterness hath swept his joys a way,
But lett in hers at once or lett her in
Such Chambers where never entered sin.
No Tears or pains, nor what brings Cross or wo
The Climate where she is shall ever know.
Should soule and body both posess one grave,
Relations then Could small Refreshment have,
While we discharg poore dutys to the Dust,
Her soule triumphant is among the just.
Could heven one glimps of passion once retaine,
Sheed Chide those teares off, and make you refrain.
Now all her prayers and hopes are spedd,
Her memory survives her body Dead.
Let her example as a Coppy stand
To Childrens Children upon every hand.
Talk of her sayings, one to another tell,
What in her life you have observed well.
Follow her steps and imitate her life,
Who was a Virtuous virgin mother wife.
So when Deaths summons treats you in such wise,
You may with greatest Comfort, Close your eys.

A Short but Sorrowfull memoriall of my dear Sister Sarah Tompson

who entered into glory 15th: 11th. 1679: AEtatis Suae 43:

Penned plainly for the bereaved childrens use and relations Comfort.

If ever Soule found glorios Land I'll venture
To Say her Soule most cleere and pure did enter
Which though by natures filthyness once stain'd
It hath more than its former beauty gain'd
Being rinsed in that fount whereby Saints bee
From filth and Guilt, from fault and charg made free
Tis more than meere Relation that Invites
This testimony of her worth who writes
Twice seven years knowledge bids mee speak the truth
She serv'd her Jesus from her tender youth
When others were on bed and dropt asleep
She to her Saviour oft sate up to weep
She heard, she read, confest, she fasted, pray'd
In public and secret and what els is said
Beseeming real Saints shee said and did
But still with a design of being hid
An hid one during life of rarest worth
And now or never's time to blaze it forth
For others pattern: Well it may be said
He that obtains a wife like this is made.
Speak of her virgin mother maid or wife
She Acted Christian always to the life.
She was a beautious precious crown indeed
Whose soules translation makes her consort bleed
The sweetest fittest Consort could be found
For his Affection on New-Englands ground
One that knew when to Spend and when to Spare
One that knew how to Speake when to forbeare
One in whose heart chast modestie did reighn
That could be angry yet in time refraine
What diligence and prudent ways she had
To make her Chickens round about her glad
By feeding cloathing giving each theyr part
And ordering her household by an Art
Not common: But in her Example true
And imitable but by very few.
An houswife mostly to be found at home
While others from the tents doe ride and rome
A pleasant help to him with whom she joynd
Not meerly for his body but his mind.
How often did her teachings like the dew
Her Children deer daily distill on you
Her tender love and prayrs bespeak your tears
With whome She labourd in her tender years.
For your repentance and your birth anew
Who from her loyns had sins infection drew
Experience sad hath taught mee to confess
It's dolefull to bee left so Motherless
Mothers advantages are very great
The policies of Satan to defeat
Ev'n from the Cradle up their babes to train
In wisdom which to old age may remaine
And hopes I have what of this kind Shee did
When her young hopes spring up will not be hid
Tread in her steps her Christian ways remind
Talk of her words you babes shee left behind,
And you her Solitary mate be sure
May out of this poor Carcas sweet procure
View it o're well, Its but an empty Cage
Where shee was chain'd under a feavors Rage
The Larke at length hath broke its fretting snare
And sings above your head Surpassing fair
While you Lament Shee Smiles: shall her good hour
The Solace of your life at once devoure
Shee has gaind the Start by far: shold she come back
Again to pace her wilderness track,
Shee From Canaans sweetness: To the bloody Sea
Could this with your desires (her love) agree
Surceas those pitteous heart consuming groans
Intomb them with her sickness wither'd bones
YOU and your babes are sadly all depriv'd
But ther's no Sighs nor tears where shee's ariv'd
for Blessed are the dead
that die in the Lord

EDMUND DAVIE 1682.

anagram AD Deum veni

I'm now arriv'd the Soul desired Port
More pleasing far then glories of the Court:
My Saviour is my only Caesar: Here's
Instead of Nobles, Angels hosts, bright Peers,
Great Princes thronging round, thicker then swains
Below at publicke votes: Here each one Reigns.
Our streets are pav'd with Saphires, and we pass
Or'e streams of Christial like to fusil Glass
Heres Treasuries, the like weve never seen;
All guesses at the worth have fool'ries been.
Mountains of Rubies safe from privateers
Within the Ramphiers of these lofty Spheres.
Here's piles of Scepters, Diadems of Gold
More then the worlds vast space at once will hold.
But that which butifies this boundless room
Is great JEHOVAH, unto whom I'm come.
Eternity's the highest link of Bliss;
Its sunshine never sets, nor clouded is.
I've hitt the very Place I wisht at heart,
I'm fixt for ever: Never thence to part.
His heart was erst inamourd with delights
In studious Solitudes, in Attick Nights
To prove the greatest avarice of his minde
After the Gems of Skill his Body pin'd.
Hating the sluggards bed, and flattering sloth,
Nocturnal Wakes had brought him to vast growth.
His tender years were seasoned with a Juice,
Which might have provd, if spar'd, of gen'ral use.
He clim'd the Shrowds of Science: Now hees dead,
Hees got above the verry topmost head,
Hearing that word which set his Soul on fire
With blazing zeal of Love: Brite Soul, come higher,
All that thou see'st is thine, myself to boot;
Heres an Eternal feast of Love: fall to it.
High, we believe, this welcome Guest was seated,
And in an instant all his joys compleated.

EPITAPH.

To my Honoured Patron HUMPHERY Davie

A renewing the Memory of Dr Edmund Davie. Who expired at London; Anno 1681

Bereav'd Sir
Delug'd with tears, by what you heard before,
Here Unexpected meets you one stroke more.
Wave upon wave; Blows fall so thicke, so fast,
Arterial blood, I fear, will come at last
Instead of tears; Methinks I feel the smart,
Which in this hour of tryal cramps your heart.
A spouses Death, so wise, so Chast, so fair,
Would bring a Job himselfe next Door Despair:
Soon after that, the First fruits of your strength;
I fear your patience will you fail at length.
But I recall that word, though hard no doubt
Who tends the Furnace, sure will helpe you out.
Had I an intrest where this Pair are gone,
The Vertuous Mother, with the Learned Son;
I'd beg a Balsom for your bleeding wound,
No where below this Climate to be found
Distance cannot be salv'd: let S'impathize
A very little space your heart suffice.

[Reverend Mr. Mather:]

My Loyalty is still the same
Whither I win or loose the game
True as a Dial to the Sun
Although It bee not shin'd upon

A Character of the most Exemplary Christian, Mr. Samuel Tompson.

Deacon of the Church in Braintree who Deceased June 18. 1695. AEtatis. 64.

'Tis not bare custom which provokes my Pen
To lisp the praises of this Man of men
Nor can it in the least advantage him
Whose Soul in Rivers of Delight doth Swim
But such Examples set before this Age
And me in special wel deserv'd a Page
Plainness and Purity were his delight
Least I offend his Ghost, plainly I write
I write no Hero's, or Terrestrial Peers
Let them be flatter'd by more learned tears
But the translation of one to his place
Who in Gods fear and favour ran his race
An Entercourse with Heav'n mannag'd by Art
And tedious pains of most he did by heart
The morning of his Life's aspireing years
Commenc'd in prayers, and Penitential tears
When but a Child and Mates had led to play
His Spirit prompted him to Read and Pray
His Youth so spotless in such Years transpir'd
As rendred him improv'd, belov'd, admir'd
Whome fitter for the Church, the Court the Field
Of a more upright Life, did Braintree yeild
It boasted Once of a most worthy Store
Blest Tompson, Flynt, the rare presiding Hoare
Rich Jewels: thou of such hast been possest
Whose Weary heads are all layd down to Rest
Make room Renowned's who our Crowns have been
In the same Page to let this Christian in
Whome you all knew, and lov'd, wer't in a fitt
Of Melancholy when these lines were writt
Grave Tompson, were clouds ever in that place
Thy sons arrival sure would clear thy Face
He liv'd under the Umbrage of a Wing
Whose great delight to preach, to pray, to Sing
Thousands in Lancashire 'yond Sea did know
Who in darke times did to such torches flow
And now the Precious Father, and Blest Son
Know whither, and for what they fought and run
Were ever Heav'ns by fair endeavors won
If Prayers could storm it, sure 'twas by this man
But when his hand of Faith those doors had bounced
And wrestled stoutly, yet he all renounc'd
His house was Morn, Noon, Night perfum'd with Prayers
And seconded with Heav'ns Melodious Aires
The sacred Text was Read and Opened so
As sundry stil'd Divines could hardly do
In conferences with his holy Friends
Assistance from sweet Manuscripts he lends
Such as would Old and Modern Preachers heare
Might find the Kernel and the marrow there
With great Affections urged on the hearts
And Balsom poured in after sharp Darts
His Charity was General and Vast
With so small a stock how could it last
By Prayer his secret Key the Heav'ns unlock't
And when most Empty, seldom better stockt
Assistances to poor he ne're denie'd
And few such places where it might be try'd
His soundness in the Faith Divines did Own
Who hath abridg'd their labours One by One
And Ancient Nectarists whose mouths are stopt
Extending fruitfull boughs by him were cropt
Theyr fruit more choice then Pearls with him even
His Manuscripts I call their Magazeen.
Where Honey dropt this painfull Bee was found
Loading his thighs for all his Neighbours round
How many weekly did with him rejoyce
Loveing to see his face, and hear his voice
To Lamentations now our harps are sett
And chearfull Anthems we almost forgett
We can as hardly sing with hiarty thanks
As Israel on the Babilonish Banks
So much of God is from poor Braintree fled
As may be sighed for, more free then sed
His Empty place in Church in Court, in field
By many teares have every day been fill'd
And poor distressed I, O where, O where!
Shall I find friendly hand, or faithfull Eare
Whome shall the poor seek to in pinching grief
Whome the distressed to Obtain reliefe
Whome shall the Widow make her trusty friend
And hand a Prayer at a dead lift to lend,
Here was of Charity a liveing Spring
Whose motives round the Greater wheels did bring
His presence, parts, and Prayers are dearly mist
Who could like Luther have what'ere he list
How would he screw into each hearers brest
When he with fervency Our sins confest
What melting streams of Arguments there flew
From his own heart, as if he others knew.
Such Instruments, so qualifie'd are rare
And very few fall to one Churches share
Predictions I affect not, though I dread
The places publick peace now he is dead
Who lov'd and studied Unity so well
The peace is threatened where this prop is fell
Lord grant us Succour to our sinking hearts
Drop in thy Balsom while we feel thy Darts
Answer the prayers this Blessed Saint hath made
Our Soules let Rest with his when we are laid.

To Lord Bellamont when entering Governour of the Massachusetts.

Transcendent Sir,

Celeberrimi COTTONI MATHERI, Celebratio;

Qui Heroum Vitas, in sui-ipsius et illorum Memoriam sempiternam, revocavit.

The Illustrious Fitz-John Winthrop Esquire—

Governor of Quinecticott Colony in New England

Memorized and lamented by an aged Sylvan of the Massathusets

A Neighbours Tears dropt on the grave of an Amiable Virgin a pleasant plant cut downe in the blooming of her Spring Viz Mrs. Rebecka Sewal.

Anno AEtatis 6. August the 4th. 1710.

O heighth! o Depthe! upon my bended knees
Who dare Expound these Wondrous Mysteries:
That this rare plant is cropt before mine Eyes
(Meer Shadow) left to write her Elegies.
Pray what brave Artist here can Understand
What one intends that takes a pen in hand?
Twas t'other day a place I visited
Where stands a palme, one limb where of is dead.
A bow'r which many years Thousands have shaded
By whome one Church was built: and Willard aided
Seeking the plat of Immortality
I saw no place secure but some must die
Treading that way their Ancient fathers did
Whose faces are, but Vertues can't be hid.
I saw this pretty Lamb, but t'other day,
With a small flock of Doves, Just in my Way.
What New made Creature's this so bright 'thought I
Ah! pitty tis such prettiness should die.
With rare alliances on Every side
Had old physitians liv'd She ne're had died.
Must then the Rulers of this Worlds Affairs
By Providence be brought to us in tears.
Lord keep their Eyes from such smart Judgments free
Such mournfull Sights are more becoming mee.
Pleasant Rebecka, heres to thee a Tear
Hugg my sweet Mary if you chance to see her
Had you giv'n warning ere you pleasd to Die,
You might have had a neater Elegy.

A Clowde of Tears, sprinkled on the Dust of the Amiable Virgin Mrs. Rebecka Sewel who Suddenly died August. 3 1710. AEtatis suae 6.

Heav'ns only, in dark hours Succours can send
And Shew a fountaine where the streams do End.
Behold the Lamb of God (mourners) for there's
Your pretty Lamb which you bewaile in tears.
She is Enfolded, in her Shepards Armes
Hugg'd in a Bosom, full of Heavenly Charmes.
Nothing could Ravish her from your Embrace
But the trancendancy of her Saviours face.
She was so lovely in her Makers Sight
Sweet Virgins may wee Stile his hearts Delight.
The Wisest King in his Magnificence
Kept Virgins Numberless without Offence
Shining like Starrs, his faire pavillion round
With heavenly rays of fairest graces crown'd.
The honours he conferd were pitteous things
Set by the favours of the King of Kings
The least Donations by him to be told
Are Kings with Carbuncles and Chains of Gold.
Purples and Sattins there are all cast by
And all are clad with Little Majesty.
Great Jesus claimd his owne, Never begrutch
Your Jewels rare into the hands of Such.
He with his Righteousness hath finer drest
Your Babe than ere you did, when at your Breast.
Madam, 'tis not your case alone, for thousands have
Follow'd their sweetest comforts to the Grave.
Theres no Withstanding fixed Destiny
Which will prevaile who ever live or Die.
Death that Stern Officer takes no Denyall
I'm grievd he found your Door to make a Tryall:
And bee it on the Shoar or swelling Seas
His boundless Sovereignty doth what he please.
It is a lesson hard (I must confess)
For our proud Wills with heav'ns to Acquiesce.
But when Death goes before; Unseen behind
Theres Such an one as may compose the mind
Pray Madam, wipe those tears from your fair Eyes
And with your New made Virgin Sympathize.
Could she from her new School obtain but leave
Shee'd tell you what would make you cease to grieve
And Wipe those Briny Streams all off your face
Leaving your loving smiles upon the place.
This Suddain Providence my hand did move
To two great familys to show my love
Like a poor mason to prepare a Room
On Earth for one, who finds in Heaven a home.

A Neighbour's TEARS Sprinkled on the Dust of the Amiable Virgin, Mrs. Rebekah Sewall,

Who was born December 30. 1704. and dyed suddenly, August 3. 1710. AEtatis 6.

HEav'ns only, in dark hours, can Succour send;
And shew a Fountain, where the cisterns end.
I saw this little One but t'other day
With a small flock of Doves, just in my way:
What New-made Creature's this so bright? thought I
Ah! Pity 'tis such Prettiness should die.
Madam, behold the Lamb of GOD; for there's
Your Pretty Lamb, while you dissolve in Tears;
She lies infolded in her Shepherd's Arms,
Whose Bosom's always full of gracious Charms.
Great JESUS claim'd his own; never begrutch
Your Jewels rare into the Hands of Such.
He, with His Righteousness, has better dress'd
Your Babe, than e're you did, when at your breast.
'Tis not your case alone: for thousands have
Follow'd their sweetest Comforts to the Grave.
Seeking the Plat of Immortality,
I saw no Place Secure; but all must dy.
Death, that stern Officer, takes no denial;
I'm griev'd he found your door, to make a trial.
Thus, be it on the Land, or Swelling Seas,
His Sov'raignty doth what His Wisdom please.
Must then the Rulers of this World's affairs,
By Providence be brought thus into Tears?
It is a Lesson hard, I must confess,
For our Proud Wills with Heav'ns to acquiesce.
But when Death goes before; Unseen, behind
There's such a One, as may compose the Mind.
Pray, Madam, wipe the tears off your fair eyes;
With your translated Damsel Sympathise:
Could She, from her New School, obtain the leave,
She'd tell you Things would make you cease to grieve.

The Translation by death, of that Holy Man of God, Reverend Mr. JAMES ALLEN, a very Learned, Faithful, Painful Pastor of the First Church of Christ in Boston. Who Expired, September 22d, 1710. Aged 78.

FAme, trim thy Wings, call nimble Mercury
To Arimathaea hence in haste both fly;
Enquire there for a dextrous Lapicide.
Josephs Acquaintance, by him known and try'd.
Who fram'd our Saviours Sepulchre tell him
He should unlock the same: for here's a Lamb
Which to that Blessed Body appertains,
That in the Mount of Highest Glory reigns.
Or from pure Alabaster, hew a Tomb,
And for this PURITAN, polish a Room.
Fetch Spices from the Aromatic East,
Fill up the vacant corners of the Nest
Of this rare Phoenix, whose disease was Age,
Who merited a most transcendent Page.
Having Perfum'd the Church with precious Pray'r
And by sound Doctrine Clarify'd the Air.
Avoiding florid strains, he dived deep,
One Eye to Heaven, one on the Text he'd keep.
Altho' his Meditations were profound,
His Hearers never saw him run a-ground.
Our Living Orthodox with Allen joyn'd
Brighter than Gemini in Boston shin'd.
When first it was my lot his face to see,
I fancied PAUL talking with TIMOTHY.
Grave Cotton had he been that day commanded
Into his Pulpit would them both have handed.
I dare not give the World his Character,
Who am my self too incident to Err.
It's Angels work to write Seraphims praise,
Vertues Divine should be pourtray'd with Rays.
But if the Pictures of our Saviour might
Be worshiped, here's one laid out of sight.
Ah could I like him pray, and get my will,
I would have wrote with a Seraphick Quill.
Such is the end of a Laborious Bee,
And glad am I such rare Successors see.
Jesus to Allen was his All in All,
He never on that Name did vainly call.
Jesus in all his Sermons he proclaim'd,
Who rarely is in many Volumns Nam'd.
The Hearts of Thousands have his Name engrav'd
Who by him as Christ's Instrument are sav'd.
The ancient Saints hearing their Pastor's come,
Old Anthony his friend, cries pray make room.
But when his faithful Master he found out,
No less than JESUS Claspeth him about.
And for his Faithfulness brings him a Crown,
That would all Earthly Diadems weigh down.
Let all my Angels witness what I do,
My faithful Labourers in my Service too.
He's not the first, pray mind your work below,
I can and will on you such Honour show.

The Amiable virgin memorized Elizabeth Tompson who deceased in Boston at Mr. Leggs august 22 1712

Anagram. o i am blest on top.

The height of heavenly love no soule can know
Till Death disects the knots of flesh below.
Above the sunn, beyond the orbs of light
Is built a Cyty filld with all delight
Where no less person then the son of god
Our light, our life, Saints king makes his abode
Here in a pallace heavens fair nunnerye
Chast virgins have faire entertainment free
And such as sought his favour upon earth:
Enjoy their purest love in sacred mirth.
Great Jesus daily steps off his bright throne
And gives them hart embraces every one
He lovd me, me, when I was but very young
And seated me his virgin tribes among.
I Dare not tell what here in hart i find
All tho i left most Christian friends behind.
Christ lovd me in my short morning dawn,
With Cords of love he hath me upward drawn.
All wedding ornaments he for me hath made
And me unworthy in his bosom laid.
Dear parents for your prayers i Dayly prais
Who nurtured me so well in early days
Religious tutors give a blessed lift
To infant souls while millions Run adrift.
Clouded with teares where mourning Clouds I see
I made short use in this apostrophe.
A lovely Cluster on a vine i saw,
So faire it did my admiracion draw,
Climbing the sun side of an house of prayer,
And solaceing it selfe in heavenly aire
Yet sudenly upon an eastward blast
The beuty of his boughs was over cast
The fairest grapes were pickt off one by one.
The Dresser looking like one half undone
Thers no undoing while a saviour lives
Who takes no more then what he lends or gives.
Three manly sons grown up to Comly size,
Two Daughters apples in theire parents eyes,
Pickt out by envious Death, with us remains
Their precious Dust abhorring sin or staine.
What importunity in prayer could reach,
Was handed down in showers from heaven on each
Proximity of blood makes me for beare
All Round her prais her while i Drop this tear.
All Comendations Could befall a maid
A tribute to her memory might be paid
A solitary sigh.
So many lashes from a fathers hand
Make providences hard to understand
Why this befalls the Righteus man, but the
Great sinner left to wright her Elegy.
While you in biternes of soule thuss mourn
Pray for youre sinking onely brothers turn.
I hope you've learned the art of selfe deniall
When faith is active pacients beares the triall.
Keep in the use of such Angellic graces,
Twill make you Cherefull, till you se their faces.
Your streams of grief when you are perchd above
Will all be swallowed up in th' abyss of love
Amazing love o what a sight is here
Where jesus raigns and every saint appear.
Such as on earth their virgin love exprest
With hyest potentates Com here abreast
How ever there i was but mean and low.
My love hath Clothed mee from top to toe
My hart had faild me in the milkie way
Had i not his right hand where on to stay;
Who led me to the mount of pleasures top
Where i all flowers of paradice do Crop.
Pray in this lodgeing where i find sweet Rest,
Let not your sighs nor groans mine ears molest.
Sweet mother close mine eys and turn aside
My Jesus sends for me, Thus said she dyed.

The following Verses were made by Mr. Benjamin Tompson Roxbury June 20th. 1713. being some of his last lines.

I feel this World too mean, and low.
Patron's a lie: Friendship a Show
Preferment trouble: Grandure Vaine
Law a pretence: a Bubble Gaine
Merit a flash: a Blaze Esteem
Promise a Rush: and Hope a Dream
Faith a Disguise: a Truth Deceit
Wealth but a Trap: and Health a Cheat
These dangerous Rocks, Lord help me Shun
Age tells me my Days work is done.