Ex otio Negotium :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thus sets th'Olimpian Regent of the day
Laden with honour; after a full survey
Of the deep works of nature, to return
With greater lustre from his watery urne.
Thus leans the aged Cedar to the rage
Of tempests, which the grove for many an age
Hath grac'd, yet yields to be trāspālted thence
T'adorn the nobler Palace of his Prince.
Thus droops the world, after a smiling May
And June of pride into a withering day,

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And hoary winter season, to appear
More lovely in the buds of a fresh year.
Then boast not Time in the eclipsed light
Of Selden's lower orbes, whiles the high flight
Of his enthroned Soul looks down on thee
With scorn, as an ungrateful enemie.
For in his death thou sport'st with thy own dust,
Whiles with his ashes thy poor glories rust.
Mention no more thy Acts of old, nor those
Grand ruines rich in thy proud overthrowes;
In him th'hast lost thy Titles and thy name,
Who dyed the Register of time and fame.
He was that brave Recorder of the world,
When age & mischief had conspir'd & hurl'd
Vast kingdōs into shatter'd heaps; who could
Redeem them from their vaults of dust and mould.
Then raise a monument of honour to
That restor'd life, wch death could nere undoe.
Such was the fal of this Tenth worthy then,
This Magazine of earth and heaven, and men,
He, whereas others to their ashes creep,
(Those common elements of all that sleep;)
Dissolv'd like some huge Vatican from on high
Whose every limbe became a Library.
As therefore in the works of Nature they
Which are most ripe are neerest to decay:
So here this neighbouring Pyramid on th'sky
Drew neerest heaven when furthest from the eye.
And now thy Mare Clausum's true indeed,
The rode's block'd up to th'many reined steed,

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Which to each point of the world's compasse reels,
And tacks her glad discoveries to her keels.
Let then the travelling Mariner in the deep
Of the Reserves of reason goe to sleep;
Since the grave Pole-star of the groaping sky
Has suffer'd ship-wrack in mortallity.

He yt would praise thee well through all thy parts
Must ransack all the languages and arts,
Drain nature to th'last scruple to discry
How far thou went'st in her Anatomy.
Then climbe from orbe to orbe, & gather there
The pure Elixar of each star and sphear,
Which in thy life did club their influence
With thy rich flames as one Intelligence;
Then raise a blazing comet to thy name,
As a devoted Taper to thy Fame,
To live the pitied shadow of that day
And glorious Noon which with thee drew away.

When Common People dye, 'tis but a sight
Whose grief and dole's digested in a night.
But when such brawny sinews of a state
As thee break loose; 'tis like a clock whose weight
Being slipp'd a side all motion's at a stand:
Such sorrows doe not wet but Drown a land.

Could we with that brave Macedonian Spark
Offer whole towns and kingdoms to the Ark
Of a lost friend now floating in our eyes,
And make more worlds in this grief sympathize,

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T'were but due thanks for that high soveraignty
Ore many nations we enjoy'd in thee
To languish any longer at thy shrine,
Melting the sacred sisters into brine
In a salt Hecatomb of tears, 'twould bee
But a weak, faint and pale discoverie
Of those few artires of life they have
Since the last mortal stab giv'n in thy Grave.

Such was the publick universal wound
That the whole bod' of Law & learning found
In thy preposterous and most sad decease,
There's none can probe ye grief, or state ye case.
In short, we lost so many Tongues in thee
There's scarce one left to mourn thine obsequie.
Those shallow issues which now from us rise
Steal through the speechless conduits of our eyes,
Which turning Water Poets tumble forth
Insilent eloquence to bemoan thy worth.
Such deep impressions has thy farewel left
In every bosom, every secret cleft
Of each particular soul, instead of verse
We live thy doleful Epitaph and Hearse.
And what the mournful Prophet sigh'd of old
Seems now broke forth, as of these times foretold.
Each face shall gather blackness, for in thee
Thus gone, w' are shut up in obscuritie.
Such borrowed dependance had our light
Upon thy sun, thy evening was our night.

But since there's no perfection here, thy glass
To become gold indeed translated was.

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Thy furnish'd soul being fill'd with all yt could
Be here extracted from the grosser mould
Of earth's Idea, in a brave disdain
Drew to its proper Center, that vast Main
Of truth and knowledg, great Jehovah, hee
That's all in all to all eternitie.
Where now I leave thee 'midst a glorious throng
Of Saints; but hope to see thee ere't be long.