Ex otio Negotium :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now thou art dead, Unequall'd Sir, thy fall
Confounds no less than England's funerall;
For when ye soul departs that gave her breath,
We are but loathed carkases in thy death.
Thus Pompey's Trunck found on the Egyptian sand
Rome streight pronounc'd her time was at a stand.
So whē a fair ag'd Oak doth downward move
We count not one Tree's loss, but the whole Grove.
As ayre and water when once useless grown
One by too much drouth, one b'infection,
The Citty and Kingdom both deplore ye loss:
And we entitle't one man's private cross.
O that Pythagoras doctrine might obtain,
(Old souls to inform new bodyes hast again)
Then would ye world less sense of sorrow have,
Nought but to life a back-door were thy Grave!

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And like the Phœnix dy'dst in balmy spice,
That thēce thou might'st into new glories rise.

But this we hope not for, & 'tis thy praise
Alone & Salomon's, (None such in your dayes.)
Learned Maimonides hence improv'd his fame,
That none since Moses, such a Moses came.
Joseph's perfections had out-shin'd far more,
If Julius Scaliger had not writ before.
Thou like Melchizedeck knewst no peer nor mate,
Rich only with thy own true estimate.
Witness those matchless volumes that can tell
The world how vast a soul did in thee dwell.
So fraught with such a Mine of knowledg, we
Might think thee well a living Librarie.

Not like our Time-enthusiasts, who disclose
In scurrile Pens, that they can rave in prose,
And in such narrow hoops ye conscience pent,
As man nere durst, nor God for laws ere meant.
Nay souls of men with such high reins keep in,
That to be reasonable is counted sin.
No, in such season'd Judgment flowd thy Pen,
We thence might learn what temper became men.
Thou nor to Sects, nor to parties writt'st (& tis
But just to point thee singular in this.)
But wiht unwearied pain dispenc'd thy store,
What all past ages thought and said before.

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Arabians, Persians, Hebrews, Greeks and all
The Sun in'ts circuit dines or sups withall
Thee in their several Idioms court, and bring
Their common-wealths of learning to their King
As tribute. Selden hadst thou flourished than
When Jew and Greek, Creet and Arabian
What each in varied Dialects said, could tell,
Thy acquir'd pains had lam'd the miracle.

Thy fruitful Tongues might far as day have run,
To language Countreis to the posting Sun:
The western Climes might have bin told by thee
All that the Indian voic'd, Antiquitie.
Nor is that all, for numerous speech affords,
Without good conduct, but a Mart of words.
A bunch of keyes men prize not wealth, but letts,
Where skill comes short t'unlock the cabinets.
A magazine of sounds in most we see
Serve but to stuff and perfect Pedantrie.
Thy copiousness of Tongues findes matter hence,
It lets in matter that conveyes new sense.
And rat'st thy painted words embroideries,
But as they usher strange discoveries.
That East Idolatry yet had lurk'd 'tis ods
But for thy subject of the Syrian gods.
The world had still in ignorance bin held
How great she was, had Selden not reveal'd

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Those pompous Attributes, Titles of renown
Which King, Prince, Emperor challeng'd as their own.
Earles & Marquesses, Dukes & all degrees
Hence found them boundes fix'd for precedencies.
A structure so elaborate it would ask
Europe's joynt labour to out-goe the task.
The Law of Nations 'mongst the Hebrews taught,
And Nature's dictates where could we have sought
But from that labour'd Piece is publish'd forth
To leave the world a Legacy of thy worth.
I name not others thy choice rarities,
The Hebrew Priests, defence of British Seas,
A rundles marbles, and the Hebrew wife,
Thy Sanhedrims Tripartite, Edmer's life,
With other choice which I not reckon here,
Least so the hidden embers I should stir
Of rancor gone in some, who measure test
Not by their judgment, but their interst.
Such as wit-bound themselves can faintly spare
To stab with censures, other choicest care.
Such suburb-wits their shackied judgments binde
To reach the bark, and dwell upon the rinde.
When 'twas thy excellence to pursue ye chase,
Till there was left to scruple no more place.
So long Alcides thought his work unsped,
As he to Hydra left or tayle or head.

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Thy Plummet sinks into the depest sound,
Still plunging onward till it finde ye ground.
What worn inscriptions didst from dust relieve?
And from time's shipwrack didst restore to live?
Custom, or Manners, Ensigne, Form, or Rite,
What is't thy teeming brain not brought to light?
Now thou hast travell'd through the world's wide coast,
And left no creek, nor path, nor Seas uncrost,
And nature's utmost boundaries hast known,
Twas time thou tookst ye period of thine own.
That so thy wakeful soul dismantled hence
Might meet fresh objects for Intelligence
The Grecian Heroe thus when he went through
As far as bounds, wish'd he had more to doe.
So through feirce seas the angry keel is hurl'd
To look out passage to another world.

J.U. M.A. J.C. Oxon.