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 Dr. Cumber, late Deane of Carlisle, and sometimes Master of Trin. Coll. in Camb.
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An Elegie on the death of Dr. Cumber, late Deane of Carlisle, and sometimes Master of Trin. Coll. in Camb.
What gone to sleep? hush't Reader, let him lie,
And with an easie funeral-lullabie,
Weep o're his Cradle, which (poor Sextons fee)
At the next Earth-quake may be rock't for thee,
For w' are all sleepie, and fore-morning light
May from our friends receive our last good night;
Nay, 'ts odds if thou or I shall watch so long,
As this good father did to's even-song,
Who wanting but just one yeare of fourescore,
I'th' Colledge of the Trinitie once more,
Under the Worlds Tutor is gone to be
Admitted freshman to Eternity;
Would this Abrams bosome-pupil were,
Oh but they 're all Fellowes, all Masters there,
And with the glorious Founder of the place,
Still richly feasting, yet still saying grace.
And with an easie funeral-lullabie,
Weep o're his Cradle, which (poor Sextons fee)
At the next Earth-quake may be rock't for thee,
For w' are all sleepie, and fore-morning light
May from our friends receive our last good night;
Nay, 'ts odds if thou or I shall watch so long,
As this good father did to's even-song,
Who wanting but just one yeare of fourescore,
I'th' Colledge of the Trinitie once more,
Under the Worlds Tutor is gone to be
Admitted freshman to Eternity;
Would this Abrams bosome-pupil were,
Oh but they 're all Fellowes, all Masters there,
And with the glorious Founder of the place,
Still richly feasting, yet still saying grace.
Now, Royal soul, you shall enjoy your due,
Heaven's a mansion-lodge, more fit for you,
There the great King of Kings shall set you down,
And for your Dividend give y'a princely crown,
And that white precious stone of mysterie,
Which none except thy self can reade to thee.
Heaven's a mansion-lodge, more fit for you,
There the great King of Kings shall set you down,
And for your Dividend give y'a princely crown,
And that white precious stone of mysterie,
Which none except thy self can reade to thee.
Those five great Princes, seen by thy dying eye,
Were five of Heavens Kings of Herauldrie,
Sent thence to be thy Conducts on the way,
Thy souls safe convoy from its bed-rid clay;
And those sweet youths which thou 'fore death didst see,
Were Cherubims with crownes to wait on thee;
Farewel, brave Prelate, go and shine with them,
Sainted with a celestial diadem;
Go and be ravish't on Gods holy hill
With melting Ecchoes, which double and double still
Sweet Hallelujahs with ten thousand charmes
By Angels which lie couchant in thy armes.
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Sent thence to be thy Conducts on the way,
Thy souls safe convoy from its bed-rid clay;
And those sweet youths which thou 'fore death didst see,
Were Cherubims with crownes to wait on thee;
Farewel, brave Prelate, go and shine with them,
Sainted with a celestial diadem;
Go and be ravish't on Gods holy hill
With melting Ecchoes, which double and double still
Sweet Hallelujahs with ten thousand charmes
By Angels which lie couchant in thy armes.
Farewel, good soul, thou'st bravely done thy task,
Acted thy part, and left us in a mask.
Tire'd out with our first Scene of Tragedie
And mischief, thou'dst no more Spectator be,
To see Mountebank-worldly goblins play,
The devil jugling the juglers souls away;
No, thou could'st weare no visard, nor pretend,
And be a changeling for some worldly end;
But thy firme conscience which had search't and tri'd
For truth, sat up its standard, fought and di'd:
I must not call thee Martyr, go and be
Whatever thy Religion made of thee.
Blessing on thee, Reader, and God grant we may
'Wake as he did, and 'waking watch to pray.—
Acted thy part, and left us in a mask.
Tire'd out with our first Scene of Tragedie
And mischief, thou'dst no more Spectator be,
To see Mountebank-worldly goblins play,
The devil jugling the juglers souls away;
No, thou could'st weare no visard, nor pretend,
And be a changeling for some worldly end;
But thy firme conscience which had search't and tri'd
For truth, sat up its standard, fought and di'd:
I must not call thee Martyr, go and be
Whatever thy Religion made of thee.
Blessing on thee, Reader, and God grant we may
'Wake as he did, and 'waking watch to pray.—
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