Ex otio Negotium :: :: University of Virginia Library

If by the fall of Luminaries wee
May safely ghuess the world's Catastrophe?
The signes are all fulfill'd, the Tokens flown,
(That scarce a man has any of his own)
Only the Jewes conversion some doubt bred,
But that's confuted now the Doctor's dead.

Great Atlas of Religion! since thy fate
Proclaims our loss too soon, our tears too late,
Where shall the bleeding Church a Champion gain
To grasp with Heresie? Or to maintain
Her conflict with the Devil? For the ods
Runs bias'd six to four against the Gods.
Hell lists amain, nay and th'engagement flies
With wing'd Zeal through all the Sectaries,

167

That should she soundly into question fall,
We were within a Uote of none at all.
But can this hap upon a single death?
Yes: For thou wert the treasure of our breath.
That pious Arch whereon the building stood
Which broke, the whole's devolv'd into a floud
An inundation that ore-bears the banks
And bounds of all religion: If some stancks
Shew their emergent heads? Like Seth's famed stone
Th'are monuments of thy devotion gone!
No wonder then the rambling Spirits stray
In thee the body fell, and slipp'd away.

Hence 'tis the Pulpit swells with exhalations.
Intricate nonsense travel'd from all Nations,
Notions refined to doubts, & maxims squeez'd
With tedious hick-ups till the sense growes freez'd.
If ought shall chance to drop we may call good,
Tis thy distinction makes it understood.
Thy glorious Sun made ours a perfect day,
Our influence took its being from thy ray.
Thine was that Gedeon's fleece, when all stood dry,
Pearl'd with cælestial dew showr'd from on high.
But now thy night is come our shades are spread,
And living here we move among the dead.

168

Perhaps an Ignis fatuus now and then
Starts up in holes, stincks and goes out agen.
Such Kicksee winsee flames shew but how dear
Thy great Light's resurrection would be here.
A Brother with five loaves and two smal fishes,
A table-book of sighs, and looks, and wishes,
Startles religion more at one strong doubt,
Than what they mean when as the candle's out.

But I profane thy ashes (gratious soul)
Thy spirit flew too high to truss these foul
Gnostick opinions. Thou desired'st to meet,
Such tenents that dust stand upon their feet,
And beard the Truth with as intens'd a zeal
As Saints upon a fast night quilt a meal.

Rome never trembled till thy peircing eye
Darted her through, and crush'd the mysterie.
Thy Revelations made St. John's compleat,
Babylon fell indeed, but 'twas thy sweat
And oyle perform'd the work: to what we see
Foretold in misty types, broke forth in thee.

Some shallow lines were drawn, and sconces made
By smatterers in the Arts, to drive a trade
Of words between us, but that proved no more
Than threats in cowing feathers to give ore.
Thy fancy laid the Siedg that wrought her fall,
Thy batteries commanded round the wall:

169

Not a poor loop-hole error could sneak by,
No not the Abbess to the Friery,
Though her disguise as close and subtly good
As when she wore the Monk's hose for a hood.
And if perhaps their French or Spanish wine
Had fill'd them full of beads and Bellarmine,
That they durst salley, or attempt a guard,
O! how thy busy brain would beat & ward?
Rally? and reinforce? rout? and relieve?
Double reserves? And then an onset give
Like marshall'd thunder back'd with flames of fire?
Storms mixt with storms? Passion with globes of ire?
Yet so well disciplin'd that judgment still
Sway'd, and not rash Commissionated will.
No, words in thee knew order, time, & place,
The instant of a charge, or when to face;
When to pursue advantage, where to halt,
When to draw off, and where to re-assault.
Such sure commands stream'd from thee, that 'twas one
With thee to vanquish as to look upon.
So that thy ruin'd Foes groveling confesse
Thy conquests were their fate and happinesse.

Nor was it all thy business here to war
With forreign forces: But thy active star
Could course a home-bred mist, a native sin,
And shew its guilt's degrees how, & wherein;
Then sentence and expel it: Thus thy sun
An everlasting stage in labour run;

170

So that its motion to the eye of man
Waved still in a compleat Meridian.

But these are but fair comments of our loss,
The glory of a Chruch now on the Cross:
The transcript of that beauty once we had
Whiles with the lustre of thy presence clad.
But thou art gone (Brave Soul) & with thee all
The gallantry of Arts Polemical.
Nothing remains as Primitive but talk,
And that our Priests again in Leather walk.
A Flying ministerie of horse and foot,
Things that can start a text but nere come to't.
Teazers of doctrines, which in long-sleev'd prose
Run down a Sermon all upon the nose.
These like dull glow-worms twinckle in the night,
The frighted Land-skips of an absent light.

But thy rich flame's withdrawn, heaven caught thee hence,
Thy glories were grown ripe for recompence:
And therefore to prevent our weak essaies
Th'art crown'd an Angel with cælestial Bayes.
And there thy ravish'd Soul meets field and fire,
Beauties enough to fill its strong desire.
The contemplation of a present God,
Perfections in the womb, the very road
And Essensies of vertues as they bee
Streming and mixing in Eternitie.

Whiles we possess our souls but in a veyle,
Live earth confined, catch heaven by retaile,

171

Such a dark-lanthorn age, such jealous dayes,
Men tread on Snakes, sleep in Bataliaes,
Walk like Confessors, hear, but must not say
What y bold world dares act, and what it may.
Yet here all votes, Commons and Lords agree,
The Crosier fell in Laud, the Church in thee.