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Iter boreale

With large additions of several other poems: being an exact collection of all hitherto extant. Never before published together. The author R. Wild
Wild, Robert (1609-1679)

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THE TRAGEDY OF Mr. Christopher Love, Late Minister of the Gospel;
  
UPON The much to be Lamented DEATH OF THE Reverend Mr. Vines.
  
TO THE MEMORY OF Mr. Jeremy Whitaker,
  
On his Preaching.
  
UPON THE DEATH OF So many Reverend Ministers of late.
  
AN ELOGY UPON THE Earl of Essex HIS FUNERAL.
  
To the Father of a very vertuous Virgin, Deceased; who desired an obscure Person to make an Elegy, &c.
  
IN MEMORY Of Mris E. T.
  
AN EPITAPH Upon E. T.
  
UPON The Learned Works of the Reverend DIVINE Ed. Reynolds, D. D.
  
Another.
  
Aliud.
  
AN EPITAPH For a Godly Mans Tomb.
  
AN EPITAPH For a Wicked Mans Tomb.
  
[From a kind Hand there came t' enrich a place]
  
Alas poor Scholar, VVhither wilt thou go?
  
THE Norfolk and Wisbich.
  
UPON THE DEATH OF Dennis Bond, Esq;
  
Upon some Bottles of Sack and Claret, laid in Sand, and covered with a Sheet.
  
AN ESSAY Upon the late VICTORY obtained by His Royal Highness the Duke of York,
  
To the KING.
  
THE GRATEFUL NON-CONFORMIST:
  
A POEM UPON THE Imprisonment OF MR. CALAMY In NEWGATE.
  
ON THE DEATH OF MR. CALAMY,
  
The EPITAPH.
  
THE Loyal-Nonconformist;
  
THE RECANTATION Of A Penitent Proteus;
  
THE PORING DOCTOR,
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THE FAIR QUARREL.
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Mr. Nathan Wanley to Dr. Wild, who was laid aside for Nonconformity.
  
Dr. Wild to the Ingenious Mr. Wanley.
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Mr. Wanley to Dr. Wild.
  
Dr. Wild to Mr. Wanley.

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31

TO THE MEMORY OF Mr. Jeremy Whitaker,

Powerful in Prayer and Preaching, Pious in Life, Patient in Sickness, &c.

Nay, now forbear; for pity sake give o're,
You that would make the Clergy none, or poor:
We are made miserable enough this year,
That we have lost our Reverend Whitaker;
Loss above Deans and Chapters! had but he
Liv'd still and preach'd: Ziba take all (for me.)
Nay I believe had sacrilegious hands
Finger'd our poor remains of Tithes and Lands,
Whil'st he surviv'd they had but pray'd in vain,
Whitaker would have pray'd them back again,
32

As Luther did a young mans Soul repeal,
Giv'n to the Devil under Hand and Seal,
A Chariot and an Horseman we have lost,
In whose each single Pray'r incamp'd an Host.
How have I heard him on some solemn Day,
When doubtful War could make all London pray)
Mount up to Heav'n with armed cries and tears,
And rout, as far as York, the Cavaliers!
Have you not seen an early-rising Lark
Spring from her Turf, making the Sun her mark,
Shooting her self aloft, yet higher, higher,
Till she had sung her self into Heaven's Quire?
Thus would he rise in Pray'r, and in a trice
His Soul become a Bird of Paradise:
And if our faint Devotions Prayers be,
What can we call his less than Extasie?
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