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Woods and groves are of thy dreffing, Hill and dale doth boast thy bleffing. Thus we falute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.





'HAT needs my Shakespear for his honor'd

WHA bones

The labor of an age in piled ftones,

Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid,

Under a star-ypointing pyramid ?

Dear fon of memory, great heir of fame,

What need'st thou fuch weak witnefs of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Haft built thyself a live-long monument.

For whilft to th' fhame of flow-endevoring art
Thy eafy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Thofe Delphic lines with deep impreffion took,
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving,
Doft make us marble with too much conceiving;
And fo fepulcher'd in fuch pomp doft lie,
That kings for fuch a tomb would wish to die.

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I. On



On the UNIVERSITY CARRIER; Who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reason of the plague.


ERE lies old Hobson; Death hath broke his girt,
And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt,
Or elfe, 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
Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.
And furely death could never have prevail'd,


Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd;
But lately finding him fo 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

Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light:

If any ask for him, it shall be said,

Hobfon has fupt, and 's newly gone to bed.


Another on the fame.

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 ftill jog on and keep his trot,

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Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

Until his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainft 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.
Reft, 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 haften'd on his term.

Merely to drive the time away he ficken'd,





Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;
Nay, quoth he, on his fwooning bed out-ftretch'd,
If I mayn't carry, fure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,
But vow, though the crofs doctors all ftood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make fix bearers.
Eafe was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He dy'd for heavinefs that his cart went light:
His leifure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdenfome,
That ev'n to his last breath (there be that say't)


As he were prefs'd to death, he cry'd, More weight!
But had his doings lafted as they were,

He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the feas,

Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increase :
His letters are deliver'd all and gone,

Only remains this fuperfcription.





HENCE, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongft horrid shapes, and fhrieks, and fights unholy, Find out fome uncouth cell,


Where brooding darkness fpreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven fings;

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

In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sages fing)

The frolic wind that breathes the fpring,
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.
Hafte thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful Jollity,

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Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,

And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain nymph, fweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew

To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And finging startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rife;
Then to come in fpite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine :

While the cock with lively din

Scatters the rear of darkness thin,






And to the stack, or the barn-door,

Stoutly ftruts his dames before:

Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Chearly roufe the flumbering morn,
From the fide of fome hoar hill,

Through the high wood echoing fhrill:



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