A p[i]ndarique elegie upon the death of the R.R. Father in God Jeremy, late Lord Bishop of Doune, Connor, and Dromore by Le. Mathews ... Mathews, Lemuel, fl. 1661-1705. 1667 Approx. 12 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 7 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A50273 Wing M1289 ESTC R32058 12308557 ocm 12308557 59320 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A50273) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 59320) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1015:15) A p[i]ndarique elegie upon the death of the R.R. Father in God Jeremy, late Lord Bishop of Doune, Connor, and Dromore by Le. Mathews ... Mathews, Lemuel, fl. 1661-1705. [2], 5-14 p. Printed by John Crook ... and are to be sold by Samuel Dancer ..., Dublin : 1667. In verse. Indistinct letter in second word of title. Reproduction of original in the Cambridge University Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Taylor, Jeremy, 1613-1667 -- Poetry. Elegiac poetry, English. 2000-00 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2001-09 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-06 Sara Gothard Sampled and proofread 2002-06 Sara Gothard Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-07 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A P●NDARIQUE ELEGIE Upon the death of the R. R. Father in God JEREMY , Late Lord Bishop of Doune , Connor , and Dromore . By Le. Mathews A. M. à sacr . domest . Dublin , Printed by Iohn Crook , Printer to the Kings most Excellent Majesty , and are to be sold by Samuel Dancer , Bookseller in Castlestreet , 1667. TO THE MEMORY Of the most Venerable Doctor JEREMY TAYLOR , Lord Bishop of DOWNE ; &c. Stanza . I. HAppy the man ! whom fate permits to stay In the abodes of old eternity ; Careless what 't is to live , and what to dye , Or what 's a doing in mortality ; Well satisfi'd only to be , To dwell in an immortal ray , Hid in the light of that long lasting day . But happier he ! if'tis his doom From Natures silent tyring room , To enter on our busie Stage , the world ; Who not by fortune hither hurl'd . An empty place to fill , Or to make up the Cities bill , Or stand a mute , or gaze amongst the crowd , And do ingloricus things and vile , And idly laugh and prate a while , Till out of breath wrapt in a common shroud , I● laid with unknown bones , and has no fame allow'd ; But he who bravely speaks and bravely does , And throughout all the various Scenes Worthy and fit himself demeans ; Whether his part the Prince or Peasant shows , For that the Drammatist and not he chose : He does deserve th' applause of all , Thrice happy him ! may the spectators call , When th' worlds almighty Poet bids the curtain fall . II. Such was the man whom all admir'd , Whom ●ame , and Heaven's sweet breath inspir'd , Whose funeral voice made others live , And Immortality did often give ; And yet though such he were ; Though thus the mighty man has done The mighty man ( alas ! ) is gone : He , he is gone and left us here To doubt if heaven can such another send , Or what for us it does intend , For all our joyes and hopes are frighted flown Ere since the whole Church heard by a catholick groan The Doctors gone . III. Open great volumn of Fame , open wide , Written fair and full on every side ; To all the world his story show , Though all the learned world already know But Fame , be elegant like him ; Be quaint , be copious , and not obscure ; And Book unsullied be and trim ; Have a large character ; but specially be sure without , within No blot , no stain be seen , For this to latest ages must endure . IV. He was the man , so pure , so innocent , So careless of forbidden fruit , Richly supply'd with Natures own recruit ; So masculine his soul , and so content To be but man ; so little bent To vice , that you might call Him one not bruis'd by Adams fall . Iv'e never but with admiration seen His generous looks , his glorious meen , They made me think of heaven , and of the Saints above . So Angels live , and smile , and love ; And one might guess as soon , that they Had ancient scores to pay , And smelt our Grandsires mouldy clay . V. So vast his knowledge , he Had tasted oft of each allowed tree , On all their sweets had daily fed The Bird of Paradise , he kindly bred A gaulless Dove within the Serpents head : The Cherubs bow'd , and sheath'd their swords ; For 's tongue had all the charms of words , All that language and wit affords , And new and fitter names did wear ; And 's lucky pen ( as if a pencil 't were ) Made gold , by guilding it , more golden to appear . Ye , wisdoms Sons with him there 's lost A Vatican of learned things , which cost A Treasury of precious time ; but grieve ye most For undiscover'd Arts and Sciences , And what is excellent in those or these ; What never was , what never shall be found , With him lye buried under ground . VI. Had he been where the Lycaonian throng Thought those two Prelats Gods in humane shape ; He scarcely could escape Their worship , and a canonizing Song ; Iove for his presence , Mercury for his tongue . Had he been thine , fond Rome , th' hadst gloried more In him then all thy wondrous Saints before ; His birth had famous been and great , His life a golden legend should repeat ; The Hero dead had sainted bin ; and soon His Reliques miracles must have done , Whilst his the Rubrick names did far out-shine ; Yet though thy native , he had not been thine ; Strong prejudice his free-born soul Custom and interest were never able to controule : Could my weak voice make Fames trump louder sound , I 'de speak thy praise the Universe around ; Great Saint ! thy humblest votary ; A thousand hymns I would bestow , Alas ! ten thousand would not do : Too big the subject , and too strait the Poetry , For all that can be bravely said is due to thee . VII . Oft have I thought , and still admir'd , Religion's Sons in blacks ●tti●d Black , natures mou●ning vaile ; a hew More d●smal far than cypress or the yew ! Black ! that checks the ●oying beams of light : Black ! the mantle of forsaken night : Canonick habit of a Tragedy ! Misfortunes dress ! Deaths livery ! There was of yore ( and , yet there scarce could be ) Religion 's darling , an illustrious he , bright Saint , like thee ; Whose face did shine When thou didst preach God's Law , like thine , Who lighted the bewildred host With a dark Lanthorn , a cloud and flaming post , Till in Mount Neboes vale their guide and light they lost ; For some such loss as theirs or ours , I guess The mystick train of men profess An art of death , and ghostly things do talk , And ever since in mourning gravely walk . VIII . Such was the mitred man Our great Diocesan , Whose Crosier aw'd our murmuring land , As he those tribes with a miraculous Wand ; Whose eye not dim , but natures heat intire ; The sacrifice on th' altar did expire : His sacred feaver , his ardent love Heav'd him to Heaven , and to those flames above ; Iehovah suck't , and kiss'd his soul away , As Rabbins of Israels Prophet say : Or as the Tishbite in his fiery coach Rode up toth' Gate , and Heavens bright palace did approach : Strange was his death , and strange his grave ! And our great Prophet too ascended so ; O had he left his mantle here below ! A harder thing then Shaphats Son we crave , A double portion of thy spirit may thy Successors have . IX . How poor , how short a thing is all The time which here we living call ! Scarce , is our race begun , Ere half our race is run ; The noble prize how very few have won ? With Tim's quick wings to death we fly As swiftly as the hours ; and you and I , Reader and all must dye . Stay serious thought , prethee stay ; See how apt 't is to flee away ! When th' undiscerned hand does snatch us hence , For what goood deed expect we recompence ? When we are tumbled into dust , What can Fame say , if it be true and just ? We must like common people die , Nothing but vulgar in our Elegie ; There 's nothing of our own To be by future ages known ; Our memories 'mongst undistinguisht beasts are thrown . X. Thy fate , blest soul , cannot be such , Whom none could prize , whom none could praise too much : My Beads I le bid before thy venerable shrine , Who like the Stars , to which th' art gone , didst shine : I fear my rhimes , my love So ill exprest , may libels prove ; For what is set too high , no man can reach , But in thy stile , none ought of thee to preach ; To read the Text again is the best gloss ; Thy glorious Works can praise thee most ; thy name Shall be preserv'd by th' spicy breath of Fame ! Support and ornament o th' Christian Cross ! The Churches Doctor ! the Catholick loss ! XI . But though the Doctors dead , Though from the Fane the Oracle is fled , The Temple still is hallowed ; His sacred ashes still are there ; I le humbly pay a figh , a tear : Rest holy clay , Slumber till the judgement day ; Devout cinders ! contrite dust ! Mild heart ! free from cank'ring rust ! Learned brain ! eloquent tongue ! Charmes of the attentive throng ! Bright cheerful looks ! which ne're Envie or grief , anger or fear , Though they have try'd a thousand times and mo●e , Could make you pale before ! Pious breaths ! you 'l sigh no more , but sleep : Rest closed eyes ! no more you 'l weep : Rest facred clay , Slumber till the judgment day ! Thus I said , and as I said , The awfull Relick made me bow my head , What was in life so great , is something great when dead . XII . His soul from golden Fetters free , Rapt to its own dear liberty , To highest Heaven knew all the wayes , For there't had been ten thousand times in pray'r and praise , Wrapt in a commendatory prayer , A mouthful of artic late Air , — Air rarifyed with hearty zeal was its first vehicle ; A nimble Cherub quickly flyes From the best wardrope in the skies ; For soon the news had fill'd th●se starry rooms , The Prelat comes ; The welcom guest is quickly cloath'd upon With A bes of pure etherial lawne ; Subtile as Angels joy , and fine As is the breath divine : Clad in that Robe of white , Of soft and never with'ring light , He gently passes through A long admiring row Of sainted Ghosts to martyr Charle's wa●n Come , Tayler , come ; Here 's Hammond , there is Sanderson : The lesser Angels all make room , And they embrace — ill natured men ! in vain Ye kept these three from the entreating Soveraign : Enter bright Soul this general Convention , This Quire of Priests ; hither's thy translation , Bishop Elect ! there shortly will be given To thee a Diocess in the large Hierarchy of Heaven . FINIS ,