An elegy, in memory of that famous, learned, reverend and religious Doctor Oldsworth late chaplain to the ever living Majesty of Charles the Martyr, and sometime vice-chancellour to the now dying University of Cambridge, a principall sufferer in stormy-beaten Sion, but a stout maintainer of the purity of the Protestant profession. W. F. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A85199 of text R211254 in the English Short Title Catalog (Thomason 669.f.14[70]). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 9 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A85199 Wing F65 Thomason 669.f.14[70] ESTC R211254 99869983 99869983 163057 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. A85199) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 163057) Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 246:669f14[70]) An elegy, in memory of that famous, learned, reverend and religious Doctor Oldsworth late chaplain to the ever living Majesty of Charles the Martyr, and sometime vice-chancellour to the now dying University of Cambridge, a principall sufferer in stormy-beaten Sion, but a stout maintainer of the purity of the Protestant profession. W. F. 1 sheet ([1] p.) s.n., [S.l. : 1649] Signed at end: W.F. Imprint date from Wing. Verse - "Amongst th' traine of Friends (good Sir) I bring". Annotation on Thomason copy: "August. 30". Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng Holdsworth, Richard, 1590-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Elegiac poetry, English. A85199 R211254 (Thomason 669.f.14[70]). civilwar no An elegy, in memory of that famous, learned, reverend and religious Doctor Oldsworth, late chaplain to the ever living Majesty of Charles th W. F 1649 1491 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2007-09 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-09 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-10 Elspeth Healey Sampled and proofread 2007-10 Elspeth Healey Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion AN ELEGY , In Memory of that Famous , Learned , Reverend and Religious Doctor OLDSWORTH , late Chaplain to the ever living Majesty of CHARLES the MARTYR , and sometime Vice-Chancellour to the now dying University of Cambridge , a principall sufferer in Stormy-beaten Sion , but a stout maintainer of the purity of the PROTESTANT PROFESSION . AMongst th' traine of Friends ( good Sir ) I bring Religious Anthems , but want breath to sing . Infuse my Muse with some religious fire Of Thine , that I may blaze , and then expire . But rather doth it seem to blaze in wet , Then with an ardent heat , for Oldsworth's set . Then who can hope to build for him a shrine , Or speak him dead in Verse ? but in the Cristalline Of every eye he is intomb'd , each teare Like staved torches wait upon his bier . Then , what need I attend thy Reverend hearse With Elegies , when eyes drop balme and verse ? But least the heat of griefe be drown'd in wet , Here 's my Sun dyall ( though the Sun be set ) . Then busie grief , let 's passe upon Parole To Register his worth in verse ; Controle No more my senses : under the notion , His worth is best known in corruption . What though his worth hath built his worth a Shrine ? His worthinesse may be interr'd in mine . Who knows not ? but day nights a tapers light , And the Meridian justles night from sight . Th' enameld floor in which the gold doth lye , Is rather waste , then grace to it's purity . What need a Diamond lustre have a foil ? Or Oldsworth lines , to shew he was divine , Let a skill'd Lapidary ope the tombe Of a rich Diamond , and a wombe Of rare production summons every sense To aid its lustre in a rich defence . Then grac'd , not wast , when divers stones are plac'd In golden quarryes , as if from thence rac'd . How can the world truly pen thee divine , When thy bright beames to us through crannies shine , As if thy graces could comprised bee , In such a roome , where thou art layd to be ? I love the Limner which can draw the man , With each proportion , in a ten-inch span : But I dislike the lyar , when his talk Unshapes the shape by saying it can walk . Some of thy worth , sweet Soul , let me impart , For soul dumb sense , to shew more what thou art . Selected Gemms all thy set graces were , Of grace and goodnesse . O forbear , forbear . To promulgate ! impiety 't would be : That thou shouldst dye , and none ask what was he ? What tongue can answer give for such a losse ? But words would lose themselves in their own choyce . Wert thou a man morally good , or so , No other Elegy , but thy dust should show : But every soul that knew thy gifts can tell , Channells must change , and the vast center reele Of every soul , where can they fixed be , Since doctrine and the Doctour both agree ( I fear ) to leave us . Oh may you here be found In every pulpit ! though y' are under ground . And there my Fancy spies him , while I see Him drawn an Angel to Eternitie . How grave ? How sweet ? How Rose-like was each look Of his ? as if his Saviour in his book H'ad met with face to face , and not by faith , The promise promis'd glorified he hath . Still more reviving life sprang in each cheeke , Whilst nearer to his text through 's prayer he would breake , And when concluded his , he would rejoyce , And sound his makers praise with cheerfull voice In Christs own prayer : that done , he would begin Again to chime his lips , not heard but seene , Then taking up his bible by the strings , Hee 'd turne the leaves as if hee 'd spread Christs wings : Under which he , and those that did beleive , The comforts there contained might receive A Paul , A Moses , and Elias , three , Zealously one , and so divine was hee . Emphatically would be presse a point , As if his senses mov'd were out of joynt , Which in his hearers such impresse did take , As if all senses did their place forsake , And center in the eye . There every eare Was turn'd into the sight , whilst looks did heare . His lips had kiss'd the God of Love , for jarres Were sweetly reconcil'd , though with his tears . Oh pious soule ! melodious are those pleasures , Which are constrain'd with unconstrained measures . His birth took part with wit , each age grac'd hee , As if his cradle had been his library . The Church ( when present hee ) lackt not a head , The State confest that he in Court was bred . A Pastor , Citizen , dwelt amongst many , Yet of their factions favour'd he not any . Free in discourse , morall , as well divine : Who knew thy worth ? must know all worth was thine . Not like sun-dyalls , when the Sun is gone , Can show no more of day , 's if day were done : But like the Diall of the day , the Sun That posts through this , or that Meridian . Each Climate to his Genius was as fit , As if he had the universall wit ; That call'd him to the Court , where every one , Like a Court-diall cast reflection , So usefull in the fortunes of each Peer Were shadows cast , hee 'd shape a substance clear . In all the solitudes of the deceased King , No going to Chappel , but when he rung in . Oldsworth the man , Oldsworth the mouth from whence , He drew the comfort of soul-influence , Oh glorious Star ! that shin'd in Charles his Court , By which the wisest Charles had beames of comfort , Though dipt in deepest depths of wo , yet shind His teares for pitty , when his tongue declind . But dimm'd in shining ! Left this earthly state . Whither ? to attend the Martyr to inaugurate . That 's done already , no sooner born again , But of four Kingdoms was he crown'd a King . A lane , yee holy Guard ! since he is gone , To attend heavens Court , glad not with such connexion ; Since thou art gone , who moans not this his fate ? For Doctors , Dunces ; so unfortunate Each University ! they suffer , by Passion each member , Church by sympathy . Blest is that man , who when he liv'd , was lov'd , And mist with sighs , when from earths center mov'd . Why moves this Bell ? what means this dolesome knell ? Tolling out tones , as if it bad farewell To some one parting hence ? why rings it out ? Oldsworth is dead , then faces turn about . Who could be confident of this ? but goes , Whil'st on the way , the pavement fresh he strows With pearly showers of tears , and being come , The Bel's the man , whilst that the man 's struck dumb . In louder stroaks it tels the world the News Whom t is heaven gaines , and whom the earth doth lose . Departing hence , each party rings a knell , In the domestick Steeples where they dwell ; The difference none , their metals melt away Like mine ; and I contemplate what they say . Since thou art dead ( oh reveverend Ghost ) I bring A Pillow stuft with down of Angels wing To rest thy sleepie head on ; for its fit , Rest should it now , which could not rest for wit , Then in the Mansion of thy dust I le now Here take my leave ( Sir ) : But Heaven allow My hearts expansion to contemplate , what Thou art , I am satisfied in knowing not : Or what 't is where thou art . I know not what I know in knowing not , Thy place is that . W. F. FINIS .