AN ELEGY On the Much Lamented DEATH of D R. SANDERSON, Late Lord BISHOP of Lincoln, Who Deceased the latter end of January, 1662.  

BRing hither Sacrifice, and Feral You,  
The sacred pavement with death's Frondage strew.  
The Malign Cypress, and sad Myrtle Bough  
That wreath the mighty Libitina's Brow  
Sprinkle with pious Tears, the Dew of Love;  
With suppliant sighs, her slanting Garland move.  
In soft procession let us obvious meet  
The insulting Foe, and gently her entreat;  
The insulated tribe advance before,  
And with propitiating words adore,  
 
And for the Altars do thyself Devote.   

When will the unhallowed doom of death surceas  
When will the Prelates Fatal Bill decrease?  
Far more contagious than that pestilent Heat  
Of zeal, which but their Honours did unseat.  
Their precious lives did propagate the Creed,  
Instaured the Church by living Martyrs seed;  
But this Barbarian rage the Flamens Kills,  
And robs the Church with complicated Ills;  
The Church int's infancy, not yet matured,  
Beyond the sense of what it had endured.  
For scarce the common woe was over blown,  
When the sad Church distinctly weeps her own,   

If the pale Horse drive on this furious rate,  
Time will o'er taken be and falter Fate;  
Nor will succrescent strength so fast succeed;  
As soon will pillars rise from bending reed.   

What heavy ta●k than hath this muse to mourn,  
In this most useful blessed Bishop's Urn?  
This Age's unable, or unfit to grieve,  
Knows not where to begin or where to leave;  
Horror becomes the times that passed are,  
Treasures of grief relieve not present care;  
And who so bold to undertake the Debt,  
That to th' account of future time is set?  
And will run up to such a vast arrear,  
That Pearls won't pay if grief could crust a Tear.   

As Moses, who the Wildred Jew's did guide,  
On Nebo mount in sight of Canaan died,  
And was entered where's grave could not be found  
That murmurers might not Idolise the Ground;  
So Heaven resumes this our great Leader hence,  
And leaves the late gainsayers in suspense;  
Feign would they Honour Goodness they confess  
But 〈…〉 sacred Order 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Whose Institution being next divine,  
Leavs the ungrate, lost in a fond design.  
But who thy Title to thy worth oppose,  
Do the whole Orders brighter Fame disclose.    

EPITAPH.  

HEre lies Conscience enshrined,  
To its first excellence refined;  
There under lies the Solemn League,  
And Presbyterian Intrigue;  
Whose Ashes passing his strict Sift,  
There ' s not a Scruple of'um left:  
He proved, the King's success and force  
Was placed in Reason and Discourse,   

Death took upon it to declare the Rest,  
By its Resolving of this Casuist.    
Ja. H.  

LONDON, Printed for W. Gilbertson at the Bible in Giltspur-street, 1663.