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SON G. On May Morning.

NOW

OW the bright morning Star, Day's harbinger,

Comes dancing from theEast and leads with her The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.

Hail bounteous May that doft inspire
Mirth and Youth and warm defire,
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.

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On SHAKESPEAR. 1630. WHA

HAT needs my Shakespear, for his honour'd

The labour of an agein piled Stones, [Bones, Or that his hallow'd reliques Tould be hid Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid? Dear Son of memory, great heir of Fame, What needst thou sạch weak witness of thiy name?

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Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Haft built thy self a live-long Monument.
For whilst to th’shame of slow-endeavouring art
Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book,
Thofe Delphick lines with deep impression took,
Then thou our fancy of it felf bereaving,
Dost make us Marble with too much conceiving;
And fo Sepulcher'd in such pomp

dost lie, That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.

On the University Carrier, who fickn'd in the time

of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reafon of the Plague.

H.

Ere 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, Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had

any

time this ten years full, Dodgʻd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull

. And

And furely Death could neýer have prevailid,
Had not his weekly course of carriage failid;
But lately finding him fo long at home,
And thinking now his journeys end was come,
And that he had ta’ne up his latest Inn,
In the kind Office of a Chamberlin
Shew'd him his room where he muft lodge that night,
Pulld off his Boots, and took away the light:
If any ask for him, it shall be faid,
Hobson has supt, and's newly gon to bed.

Another on the same. ERE lieth one, who did most truly prove HER

That he could never die while he could move, So hung his destiny, never to rot While he might still jog ơn and keep his trot, Made of sphear-metal, never to decay Until his revolution was ac ftay. Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time: And like an Engine mov'd with wheel and waight, His principles being ceast, he ended strait,

Rest

U 4

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 hasten’d on his term.
Meerly to drive the time

away

he sickn'd, Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn'd, Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd, If I mayn'c 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 burdensom, That even to his last breath (there be that say't) As he were prest to death, he cry'd more waight; 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 Link'd to the mutual flowing of the Seas, Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increase;

His Letters are deliver'd all and gon,
Only remains this Superscription.

Anno Ætatis. 19. At a Vacation Exercise in the

Callege, part Latin, part English. . The Latin Speeches ended, the English thus began.

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Ail native Language, that by sinews weak

Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to And madít imperfectwords with childish trips, [1pcak, Half unpronounc'd slide through my infant-lips, Driving dumb silence from the portal door, Where he had mutely fate two years before: Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask, That now I use thee in my latter task: Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee, I know my tongue but little Grace can do thee: Thou need'st not be ambitious to be first, Believe me I have thither packt the worst: And, if it happen as I did forecast, The daintieft dilhes shall be sery'd up last. I pray thee then deny me not thy aid For this famę small neglect that I have made:

But

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