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Yet on the foften'd quarry would I score
My plaining verse as lively as before;

For fure fo well inftructed are my tears,

That they would fitly fall in order'd characters.
VIII.

Or fhould I thence hurried on viewless wing, 50
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would foon unbosom all their echoes mild,
And I (for grief is easily beguil’d)

Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud 55 Had got a race of mourners on fome pregnant cloud. This fubject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinish'd.

FU

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LY 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 thyfelf with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is falfe and vain, And merely mortal drofs,

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So little is our lofs,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou haft intomb'd, And last of all thy greedy self consum'd,

A a

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Then

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kifs;

And Joy fhall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is fincerely good

And perfectly divine,

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With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine About the fupreme throne

Of him, t'whofe happy-making fight alone

When once our heav'nly-guided foul shall clime, Then all this earthy groffness quit,

Attir'd with ftars, we shall for ever fit,

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(Time.

Triumphingover Death, and Chance, and thee, O

VI.

Upon the CIRCUMCISION.

'E flaming Pow'rs, and winged Warriors bright That erst with music, and triumphant fong,` First heard by happy watchful shepherds ear, So fweetly fung your joy the clouds along Through the foft filence of the liftling night; Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear Your fiery effense can distil no tear,

Burn in your fighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep forrow:

He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere
Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas, how foon our fin

Sore doth begin

ΙΟ

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His infancy to seise!

O more exceeding love or law more juft?
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remediless
Were loft in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness ;

And that great covenant which we ftill tranfgrefs
Entirely fatisfied,

And the full wrath befide

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,

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And seals obedience first with wounding smart 25 This day, but O ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

BLES

Wed

VII.

At a SOLEMN MUSIC.
LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious fifters, Voice and Verse,
your divine sounds, and mix'd pow'r employ
Dead things with inbreath'd fense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantafy present
That undisturbed fong of pure confent,
Ay fung before the saphir-color'd throne
To him that fits thereon

With faintly shout, and folemn jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row

A a 2

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Their

Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic hoft in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With thofe juft Spirits that were victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy pfalms,

Singing everlastingly;

That we on earth with undiscording voice

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May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did till difproportion'd fin

Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair mufic that all creatures made

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To their great Lord, whofe love their motion fway'd In perfect diapafon, whilft they flood

In firft obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that song,

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And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long To his celeftial confort us unite,

To live with him, and fing in endless morn of light.

VIII.

An EPITAPHOn the MARCHIONESS of Winchefter.

HIS rich Marble doth enter

TH

The honor'd wife of Winchester,

A Vicount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Befides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than fhe could own from earth.

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Sum

Summers three times eight fave one
She had told; alas too foon,

After so short time of breath,

To house with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no ftrife
In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet:
The virgin quire for her request
The God that fits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood,
Ye might difcern a cypress bud.

Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,

ΙΟ

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And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;

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But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree.
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.

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