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Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And some flowers, and some bays,
For thy herse, to strow the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitst in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian shepherders,
Who after years of barrenness,
The highly-favor'd Joseph bore
To him that serv'd for her before,
And at her next birth, much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bosom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light:
There with thee, new welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.







ow the bright morning star, day's harbinger,

N ,

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowllip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth and youth and warm defire;



Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we falute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and with thee long.


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ON SHAKESPEAR. 1630. WHAT needs my Shakespear for his honor'd

The labor of an age in piled stones,
Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid,
Under a star-ypointing pyramid ?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,

What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
For whilst to th' fame of flow-endevoring art
'Thy eafy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took,
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving,
Doft make us marble with too much conceiving;
And so sepulcher'd in such pomp

dost lie,

15 That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.



XI. On the UNIVERSITY CARRIER ; Who ficken’d in the time of his vacancy, being forbid

to go to London, by reason of the plague. TERE lies old Hobson; Death hath 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, 5 Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had any time this ten years full Dodg’d with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull. And surely death could never have prevaild, Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd; 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 Showd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pullid off his boots, and took away the light: If any ask for him, it shall be faid, Hobson has supt, and 's newly gone to bed.

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Another on the same.
ERE 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,




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Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

5 Until his revolution was at stay. Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time: And, like an engin mov'd with wheel and weight, His principles being ceas'd, he ended strait. Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, And too niuch breathing put him out of breath; Nor were it contradiction to affirm Too long vacation hasten d on his term. Merely to drive the time away he ficken'd,

15 Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd; Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd, If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd, But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers, For one carrier put down to make fix bearers. Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right, He dy'd for heaviness that his cart went light: His leisure told him that his time was come, And lack of load made his life burdensome, That ev'n to his last breath (there be that say't) As he were press’d to death, he cry’d, More weight! But had his doings lasted as they were, He had been an immortal carrier. Obedient to the moon he spent his date In course reciprocal, and had his fate

30 Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas, Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase : His letters are deliver'd all and gone, Qnly remains this superscription.





L'A L L E G R 0.

HENCE, loathed Melancholy.

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Of Cerberus and blackeit Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and fights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell,

5 Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings;

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-casing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ;
Or whether (as some fages fing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

25 Jeft and youthful Jollity,



H 3

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