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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 upon Miles Hobart, Esq; who dy'd the Friday before good Friday.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


94

An Elegy upon Miles Hobart, Esq; who dy'd the Friday before good Friday.

What time we thought our fasting almost done,
Another Lent our mourning has begun.
A Lent two Fridays hath, both dy'd in blood,
Ah me (sweet Miles) the bad forestalls the good:
And yet, please you? we'l both good Fridays call,
His for himself, our Saviour's for us all.
He left no Widow to bedew his Hearse,
With fruitless, if not hypocritick teares.
But, as an Angel of a nobler Sphear,
He was in this, as all things, singular.
Such was his lofty, and prodigious Wit,
No Jacob's staff could take the height of it.
And such his candour, Titus like, he sent
None from his presence sad, or discontent.
So just, so generous, so gentile was he,
No Man can say, h'as lost an Enemy.
Coaches and numerous Horsmen have wel-prov'd,
How much lamented, and how much belov'd.

95

Who thought it not enuff at home to mourn,
But many Miles rid weeping to his Urne.
Where neither Brass, nor Marble need be spent
Name but Miles Hobart, 'tis a Monument.