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University of Virginia Library

Poems By John Hall

Hall, John (1627-1656)

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To the young Authour upon his incomparable veine in Satyre and Love-sonnets.

To his friend Mr. J. H. upon his Poems.

A Genethliacon to the Infant Muse of his dearest Friend.

To the honoured Authour Mr. Hall on his Poems.

To his honour'd friend Mr. J. H.

To his admired friend Mr. Jo. Hall

To the no lesse knowing then ingenious, Mr. Hall on his ignorant Detractors.

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1.

The first Book.

Upon T. R. a very little man but excellently Learned.

A Sea Dialogue.

Upon the Kings Great Porter.

A Burning-glasse.

The Morning-star.

Platonick love.

To the Deformed X. R.

To my honoured Noble friend Thomas Stanley Esquire, on his Poems.

To Mr. Stanley after his return from France.

An Epicurean Ode

On M. W. the great eater.

Upon Samuel Ward D. D. the Lady Margarets Professour in Cambridge.

To the precious Memory of Master William Fenner.

On a Gentleman and his Wife, who dyed both within a very few dayes.

To Mr. Stanley.

On Doctor. Bambrigg, Mr. of Christs.

Upon Mr. Robert Wiseman, Son to Sir Richard Wiseman, Essex.

To his Tutor, Master Pawson.

To an Old Wife talking to him.

The Recantation.

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2.

THE SECOND BOOKE OF Divine Poems.

The Lord commeth with ten thousand of his Saints to execute judgement upon all. Jude. 14. 15.

On an Houre-glasse.

Selfe.

What profiteth a Man of all his labour which he taketh under the Sun? Ecclesiastes. 1. 3.

A Pastoroll Hymne.

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89

Selfe.

1

Traitor selfe, why do I try
Thee, my bitterst Enemy?
What can I beare
Alas more deare
Then is this Center of my selfe my heart?
Yet all those traines that blow me up lie there
Hid in so small a part.

2

How many back-bones nourisht have
Crawling Serpents in the grave? I am alive,
Yet life doe give
To Myriads of Adders in my breast,
Which doe not there consume, but grow and thrive,
And undisturbed rest.

3

Still gnawing where they first were bred,
Consuming where they're nourished,
Endeavouring still
Even him to kill

90

That gives them life, and looses of his blisse
To entertaine them: that tyrannicke Ill
So radicated is.

4

Most fatall men what can we have
To trust? our bosomes will deceive;
The cleerest thought
To witnesse brought,
Will speake against us and condemne us too,
Yea and they all are knowne. O how we ought
To sift them through!

5

Yet what's our diligence even all
Those sands to number that do fall
Chac'd by the winde?
Nay we may finde
A mighty difference; who would suppose
This little thing so fruitfull were and blind
As it's owne ruine showes?