O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie, Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;...
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 jogg on, and keep his trot, Made of sphear-metal, never to decay...
O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie, Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;...
Am pius extrema veniens Jacobus ab arcto Teucrigenas populos, lateque patentia regna Albionum tenuit, jamque inviolabile foedus Sceptra Caledoniis conjunxerat Anglica Scotis:...
Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,...
Because you have thrown of your Prelate Lord, And with stiff Vowes renounc'd his Liturgie To seise the widdow'd whore Pluralitie From them whose sin ye envi'd, not abhor'd,...
When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever....
Here lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt, And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt, Or els the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown....
I who e're while the happy Garden sung, By one mans disobedience lost, now sing Recover'd Paradise to all mankind, By one mans firm obedience fully tri'd Through all temptation, and the Tempter foil'd...
Perplex'd and troubl'd at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discover'd in his fraud, thrown from his hope, So oft, and the perswasive Rhetoric...
Lord how many are my foes How many those That in arms against me rise Many are they That of my life distrustfully thus say, No help for him in God there lies. But thou Lord art my shield my glory,...
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won...
A Peasant to his lord yearly court, Presenting pippins of so rich a sort That he, displeased to have a part alone, Removed the tree, that all might be his own. The tree, too old to travel, though before...
Oh that Pieria's spring1 would thro' my breast Pour its inspiring influence, and rush No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood! That, for my venerable Father's sake...