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161
ACTIVITY.
Upon the Death of Capt. Matt. Dale.
1676.
In
Nature's chiefest strengths who would confide?
Or in the choicest of her Gifts take pride?
If either Wit, Activity, or Truth,
Wisdom of Age, or Jollity of Youth,
Could have prevail'd with Death; He had been safe,
Not living only in this Epitaph.
Or in the choicest of her Gifts take pride?
If either Wit, Activity, or Truth,
Wisdom of Age, or Jollity of Youth,
Could have prevail'd with Death; He had been safe,
Not living only in this Epitaph.
He with dull Gravity had ne'r to do;
Discreet he was, yet a good-fellow too.
The strongest fumes of Wine he could restrain,
And make 'em useful to his active Brain:
Thus ripening dews in pleasant Meads are found;
When noisome Mists arise in boggy ground;
Unmanag'd Soils are worse for fruitful showers,
And bring forth Weeds, when Gardens smile with Flowers.
His Tongue the motions of his Heart did tell:
So th' Clapper shews the Metal of the Bell.
He made no difference 'twixt Mine and Thine;
Fro' th' low-run Age he did those Dregs refine:
Yet in his own Concernments was no Tool
For Knaves to work with, a good-natur'd Fool:
But, like the useful Swiss, he could defend
His native Cantons, and assist his Friend.
Discreet he was, yet a good-fellow too.
The strongest fumes of Wine he could restrain,
And make 'em useful to his active Brain:
Thus ripening dews in pleasant Meads are found;
When noisome Mists arise in boggy ground;
Unmanag'd Soils are worse for fruitful showers,
And bring forth Weeds, when Gardens smile with Flowers.
His Tongue the motions of his Heart did tell:
So th' Clapper shews the Metal of the Bell.
He made no difference 'twixt Mine and Thine;
Fro' th' low-run Age he did those Dregs refine:
Yet in his own Concernments was no Tool
For Knaves to work with, a good-natur'd Fool:
But, like the useful Swiss, he could defend
His native Cantons, and assist his Friend.
In Running he did others so outvy,
'Tis wrong to him to say he did but fly.
Those mystic Darts, that are from Objects shot,
With slower motion to the Sight are got.
And in his Leaping, his Beholders say,
He did not jump, but shot himself away.
His Back, like Indian-Bow, with Sinews bent;
And like an Arrow, from the Jerk he went.
Nature in one did ne'r more wonders show;
Himself the Archer, Arrow, String, and Bow.
Nay, at his Death he practis'd o're this part;
And did, in several Postures, try his Art.
First, to the Posture of the Swede he got,
And then from bended Knees his Arrows shot;
With out-stretch'd Arms fro's Breast such Darts he drew,
Sherwood's fam'd Bow-men's shafts they quite o're-flew.
Theirs only aim'd at Sun and Moon! his high'r;
Feather'd with Angels Plumes, and Piles of fire:
Nothing flyes swifter than inflam'd Desire.
Then Death's convulsive Cramps his Body drew
To th' utmost bent, till it in pieces flew.
A Bombard thus o're-loaden, when 'tis broke,
Sends forth its dying groans in sighs of Smoak.
Th' infolded Ball tho, cloath'd in bright attire,
Elias-like, mounts in a Coach of Fire.
'Tis wrong to him to say he did but fly.
Those mystic Darts, that are from Objects shot,
With slower motion to the Sight are got.
And in his Leaping, his Beholders say,
He did not jump, but shot himself away.
162
And like an Arrow, from the Jerk he went.
Nature in one did ne'r more wonders show;
Himself the Archer, Arrow, String, and Bow.
Nay, at his Death he practis'd o're this part;
And did, in several Postures, try his Art.
First, to the Posture of the Swede he got,
And then from bended Knees his Arrows shot;
With out-stretch'd Arms fro's Breast such Darts he drew,
Sherwood's fam'd Bow-men's shafts they quite o're-flew.
Theirs only aim'd at Sun and Moon! his high'r;
Feather'd with Angels Plumes, and Piles of fire:
Nothing flyes swifter than inflam'd Desire.
Then Death's convulsive Cramps his Body drew
To th' utmost bent, till it in pieces flew.
A Bombard thus o're-loaden, when 'tis broke,
Sends forth its dying groans in sighs of Smoak.
Th' infolded Ball tho, cloath'd in bright attire,
Elias-like, mounts in a Coach of Fire.
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