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23
The DELUGE.
Upon the Death of R. Sanderson Esq; by the Eruption of a Vein.
1657.
Sad
Deluge, this! what could no Art restrain,
Nor stop th' o'rflowing Chanal of a Vein?
A Flood in Harvest thus destroys the hopes
Of all the Year, and spoils the fruitful Crops.
Blest Nilus! thou deserv'st immortal thanks;
Thou profit bring'st, when thou o'rflow'st thy Banks.
Of all sad Deluges this was the worst,
And little less destructive than the first.
Where's Surgery become, that boasted Theme?
No Sluce, no Flood-gate that can turn this Stream?
Shall the dull Dutch damm up the Springs o'th' Sea,
And fetter Neptune, till his Tides obey?
Yet our fam'd Artists study all in vain
To stop the little Torrent of a Vein?
Let us confide no more in erring Dust;
That great Physician may command our Trust,
Who stopt, by touching of his Garment's hem,
Th' unruly Current of a Bloody Stream.
Nay more; by vertue of his sole command,
And sacred Pow'r allow'd to Moses's Wand,
Stop't the Red-Sea, and check'd the foaming Tide,
Roaring and swelling with impetuous pride:
And made the crouding Waves, on either hand,
Like shining Walls of polish'd Chrystal stand;
He! he alone! such Miracles can show,
And stop those Fountains who first made 'em flow.
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