Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 10 Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving,

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;

And so sepúlchered in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

ON TIME.

(To be set on a clock-case.)

FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Call on the lazy, leaden-stepping Hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain!

For, whenas each thing bad thou hast entombed,
And last of all thy greedy self consumed,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When everything that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine

About the supreme throne

Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone

When once our heavenly-guided soul shall

climb,

20

Then, all this earthly grossness quit,
Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and
thee, O Time!

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,

Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ,

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ;

And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne,
To Him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee;
Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row, 10
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow;
And the cherubic host, in thousand choirs,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious
palms,

Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly;

That we on earth, with undiscording voice,
May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportioned sin

Jarred against Nature's chime, and with harsh

din

Broke the fair music that all creatures made

20

To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed

In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.
Oh, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heaven, till God, ere

long,

To his celestial consort us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light!

SONG ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright Morning-star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap
throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

10

ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER,

Who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reason of the Plague.

HERE lies old Hobson. Death has broke his

girt,

And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt;
Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
'Twas such a shifter, that (if truth were known)
Death was half glad when he had got him
down;

For he had any time this ten years full
Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and The
Bull.

And surely death could never have prevailed,
Had not his weekly course of carriage failed; 10
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end was come,
And that he had ta'en up his latest inn,
In the kind office of a chamberlin

Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,

Pulled off his boots, and took away the light. If any ask for him, it shall be said,

'Hobson has supped, and's newly gone to

bed.'

ANOTHER ON THE SAME.

HERE lieth one who did most truly prove That he could never die while he could move; So hung his destiny, never to rot

While he might still jog on and keep his trot; Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

Until his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his

time;

And, like an engine moved with wheel and

weight,

9

His principles being ceased, he ended straight. Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his

death;

And too much breathing put him out of breath;

Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation hastened on his term. Merely to drive the time away he sickened, Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened.

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Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretched,

"If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetched; But vow, though the cross doctors all stood

hearers,

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For one carrier put down to make six bearers." Ease was his chief disease, and, to judge right, He died for heaviness that his cart went light. His leisure told him that his time was come,