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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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Iter Boreale.
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XVI.
  
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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IV.

Now broke in Egypts Plagues (all in a day)
And one more worse than theirs,—We must not pray
9

To be deliver'd:—Their scab'd folks were free
To scratch where it did itch;—So might not we.
That Meteor Cromwel, though he scar'd, gave light;
But we were now cover'd with horrid night:
Our Magistracy was (like Moses Rod)
Turn'd to a Serpent by the angry God.
Poor Citizens, when Trading would not do,
Made brick without straw, and were blasted too:
Struck with the botch of Taxes and Excise;
Servants (our very dust) were turn'd to Lice;
It was but turning Souldiers, and they need
Not work at all, but on their Masters feed.
Strange Catterpillars are our pleasant things;
And Frogs croakt in the Chambers of our Kings:
Black bloody veins did in the Rump prevail,
Like the Philistims Emrods in the Tayle.
Lightning, Hail, Fire, and Thunder Egypt had,
And England Guns, Shot, Powder, (thats as bad.)
And that Sea-Monster Lawson (if withstood)
Threatned to turn our Rivers into Blood.
And (Plague of all these Plagues) all these Plagues fell
Not on an Egypt, but our Israel.
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