Amanda A Sacrifice To an Unknown Goddesse, or, A Free-Will Offering Of a loving Heart to a Sweet-Heart. By N. H. [i.e. Nicholas Hookes] |
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An ELEGIE on the death of Mr. Frear Fellow of Trin. Coll. in Cambridge, who died of a Consumption. |
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An ELEGIE on the death of Mr. Frear Fellow of Trin. Coll. in Cambridge, who died of a Consumption.
At length upon the wing, haste to possesse
Th' eternal mansions of true happinesse;
To Saints and Angels go, and Fellow be
Amongst those Doctors of Divinity;
Long were't admitted, and now fit it were
Thou take thy journey to continue there;
Pitty thy soul should be no otherwise
Employ'd, then to hold open dying eyes,
And yet how loath she fled, as if sh'had rather
Stay'd here to keep thy skin and bones together.
Some few dayes longer hadst thou drawn thy breath,
Thy frighted friends had taken thee for death;
For which thy meagre shape as well might passe,
As that which holds the spade and houre-glasse;
Thou look'st as if thou'dst past through Chir'rgions hall
A live Anatomie, the Belfree wall
Doth nothing ne'er so grim a shape present:
So thy kinde soule, till all its oile was spent,
Glimmer'd i'th' socket, as if when 't went out
Thy friends should be i'th' dark, and all about
The scritchowls of the sable-winged night,
Hither in errors clouds would make their flight;
Thus whil'st thou seems to be Jobs living story,
Thy death's head was our best Memento mori.
Th' eternal mansions of true happinesse;
To Saints and Angels go, and Fellow be
Amongst those Doctors of Divinity;
Long were't admitted, and now fit it were
Thou take thy journey to continue there;
Pitty thy soul should be no otherwise
Employ'd, then to hold open dying eyes,
And yet how loath she fled, as if sh'had rather
Stay'd here to keep thy skin and bones together.
Some few dayes longer hadst thou drawn thy breath,
Thy frighted friends had taken thee for death;
For which thy meagre shape as well might passe,
As that which holds the spade and houre-glasse;
Thou look'st as if thou'dst past through Chir'rgions hall
A live Anatomie, the Belfree wall
Doth nothing ne'er so grim a shape present:
So thy kinde soule, till all its oile was spent,
Glimmer'd i'th' socket, as if when 't went out
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The scritchowls of the sable-winged night,
Hither in errors clouds would make their flight;
Thus whil'st thou seems to be Jobs living story,
Thy death's head was our best Memento mori.
Alas poor thread-bare, worne out Skeleton,
With one short rag of flesh scarce cloath'd upon,
More bare then in the wombe, unto thy Urne
How truly naked did thy Corps return?
What stranger who had seen thy shriv'led skin,
Thy thin, pale, gastly face, would not have been
Conceited he had seen a ghost i'th' bed
New risen from the grave, not lately dead!
Those things in vaults, whose gently touched shrine
Falls into dust, look fresher farre then thine.
Which was so dry, as if thy carcase were
For many yeares embalm'd and buri'd there;
Who e're had argu'd that thou ne'er would'st die,
Would have disputed very probably:
At least he might have made this topick good.
Thou wert immortal, 'cause not flesh and blood.
But we who know thou spak'st so many tongues,
Will cease to wonder at thy wasted lungs;
And from thy losse of flesh, it was not fit,
We will conclude the wormes should feed on it.
'Twas pity such a piece to th' grave was hurl'd,
For th' curious volume of thy lesser world
An Enoch-like Translation fitter were,
Then Critick death for an Interpreter:
Thy learning was so rich, that I would dare
[Were it hereditary, I thy heire]
To spend with wealthie Cæsars, and out-vie
Europes most learned living library;
Clad all in sackcloth if I were to mourn
In dust and ashes [like a soul forlorn]
Could these externals make me more divine,
Or adde to Piety, I'd call for thine.
With one short rag of flesh scarce cloath'd upon,
More bare then in the wombe, unto thy Urne
How truly naked did thy Corps return?
What stranger who had seen thy shriv'led skin,
Thy thin, pale, gastly face, would not have been
Conceited he had seen a ghost i'th' bed
New risen from the grave, not lately dead!
Those things in vaults, whose gently touched shrine
Falls into dust, look fresher farre then thine.
Which was so dry, as if thy carcase were
For many yeares embalm'd and buri'd there;
Who e're had argu'd that thou ne'er would'st die,
Would have disputed very probably:
At least he might have made this topick good.
Thou wert immortal, 'cause not flesh and blood.
But we who know thou spak'st so many tongues,
Will cease to wonder at thy wasted lungs;
And from thy losse of flesh, it was not fit,
We will conclude the wormes should feed on it.
'Twas pity such a piece to th' grave was hurl'd,
For th' curious volume of thy lesser world
An Enoch-like Translation fitter were,
Then Critick death for an Interpreter:
Thy learning was so rich, that I would dare
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To spend with wealthie Cæsars, and out-vie
Europes most learned living library;
Clad all in sackcloth if I were to mourn
In dust and ashes [like a soul forlorn]
Could these externals make me more divine,
Or adde to Piety, I'd call for thine.
'Tis pitie nature did but lend thee us,
Give, and then take away her jewel thus;
Alas! when she perceiv'd how suddenly,
Dull counterfeits would all in fashion be,
And gems that are the right at nought be set,
She lock't thee up within her cabinet.
Sowe were losers all. But mark his end,
How like a traveller to's loving friend,
He just at' farewel takes a parting cup,
Biddeth us all adieu, and drinks it up;
Reader, 'twas to thy health, and though in beer
Yet prethy kindly pledge him in a tear.
Give, and then take away her jewel thus;
Alas! when she perceiv'd how suddenly,
Dull counterfeits would all in fashion be,
And gems that are the right at nought be set,
She lock't thee up within her cabinet.
Sowe were losers all. But mark his end,
How like a traveller to's loving friend,
He just at' farewel takes a parting cup,
Biddeth us all adieu, and drinks it up;
Reader, 'twas to thy health, and though in beer
Yet prethy kindly pledge him in a tear.
| Amanda | |