A POEM Dedicated to the Memory OF The Reverend and Excellent Mr. VRIAN OAKES the late Pastor to Christ's Flock, and President of Harvard-Colledge, in Cambridge▪  
Who was gathered to his People on 25d d 5 more 16●● In the fifty'th Year of his Age.  1 Sam. 25. 1. And SAMUEL died, an● the Israelites were gathered together, and Lame●●●● him. 
Scindentur Vestes, Gemmae frangentur, et Aurum  
Carmina quam tribuunt Fama perennis erit.  O 〈…〉 
Magna dabit qui magna potest; mihi parva potent●  
Parvaque poscenti, parva dedisse sat est.  〈…〉 
BOSTON IN NEW-ENGLAND, Printed for john Ratcliff. 1682.   

TO THE READER  

WOrthies to Praise is a Praiseworthy thing  
Christ did it; and will do it! And to Sing▪  
The Elogyes of Saints departed in  
The Rhythm of Elegyes, has always been  
Esteemed Reason! David bids me go  
My Christian Reader! and like him do so.   

Cotton Embalms great Hooker; Norton Him▪  
And Norton's Hearse does Poet-Wilson trim  
With Verses: Mitchel writes a Poem on  
The Death of Wilson; And when Mitchel's gone▪  
Shepard with funeral Lamentations gives  
Honour to Him: and at his Death receives  
The like from the [like-Maro] Lofty Strain  
Of admirable Oaks! I should be vain  
To thrust into that gallant Chorus: Pride  
Ne'er made me such an Icharus: I cried  
Of good Exemples [Ahimaaz his Thought]  
How if I should run after them? And brought  
These as a Pattern, and a Plea for what  
I do; that my cross Reader blame me not.   

But why so late? my Naenia's some will deem  
Both out of Time, and Tune! To some I seem  
Grief's Resurrection to essay; and be  
Just like the Trojans who came late to see  
And sorrow with Tiberius!— Only this  
Shall be Replied! The fond Bookseller is  
Now guilty of this Paper's ravishment  
When long suppressed: Give him thy Discontent!  
Since Oaks (as Homer) has all Places Claim▪  
Let Boston too forget its Anagram!    

Memoirs of the Life and Worth▪ Lamentations for the Death, and Loss of the every way admirable Mr. VRIAN OAKES.  

WEep with me, Reader! Never Poet had  
His Quill employed upon a Theme so sa●  
As what just Providence (Grief grumble not)  
Does with black Warrant Press me to! O what?  
This! OAKES is dead! One of the bittrest Pil●  
(Compounded of three Monosyllables)  
That could have been dispensed! Absalon  
Sure felt not more Distress, Death, Danger, come  
With the three Darts of joab!—  
Blessed Shade! an Universal Tax of Sorrow  
Thy Country owes thee! Ah! we need not borrow  
The Praefica's: Say, Oakes is dead! and there!  
There is enough to squeeze a briny Tear  
From the most flinty Flint: Once at the Blow  
Of Moses, from a Rock a Stream did flow;  
But look! th' Almightye's Rod now smites us home  
Oh! what Man won't a Mourner now become?  
Dear Saint! I cannot but thy Hearse bedew  
With dropping of some Funeral Tears! I Rue  
Thy Death! I must, My Father! Father! say,  
Our Chariots and our Horsemen where are they?  
I the dumb Son of Croesus 'fore mine Eyes  
Have set, and will cry when my Father dies.  
Oh! but a Verse to wait upon thy Grave,  
A Verse our Custom, and thy Friends will have:  
And must I brew my Tears? ah! shall I fetter  
My Grief, by studying for to mourn in Metre?  
Must too my cloudy Sorrows rain in Tune,  
Distilling like the softly Showers of june?  
Alas! My Ephialtes takes me! See't!  
I strive to run, but then I want my feet.  
What shall I do? Shall I go invocate  
The Muses to mine aid? No▪ That I hate!  
The sweet New-England-Poet rightly said,  
It is a most unchristian Use and Trade  
Of some that Christians would be thought. If I  
Called Help, the Muse's mother Memory  
Would be enough: He that Remembers well  
The Use and Loss of Oakes, will grieve his fill.  
Ih'd rather pray, that He, in whose just Eyes  
The Death of his dear Saints most preciose is,  
And He who helped David to bewail  
His Ion'than, would not my Endeavours fail.  
A sprightly Effort of Poetic Fire  
Would even Transport me to a mad Desire:  
How could I wish, Oh! that the nimble Sun  
Of thy short Life before thy Day was done  
Might backward Ten Degrees have moved! or  
Oh! that thy Corpse might but have chanced for  
To have been buried near Elisha's bones!  
Oh! that the Hand which raised the Widow's Sons  
Would give thee to thy Friends again! But, Fie!  
That Passion's vain! To sob, Why didst thou die?  
Is but an Irish Note: Death won't Restore  
His Stolen Goods till Time shall be no more.  
Shall I take what a Prologue Homer hath  
Let me Relate the Heavenly Powers Wrath?  
Or shall I rather join with jeremy,  
And o'er our great and good josiah sigh,  
O that my Head were waters, and mine Eyes  
A fountain were, that Hadadrimmon's Cries  
Might bubble from me! O that Day and Night  
For the Slain of my People weep I might!  
Ah! why delay I? Reader, step with me,  
And what is for thee on Grief's Table see  
Memoria Praeteritorum is  
The Dish I call thee to: Come taste of this.  
Oaks was! Ah! miserable word! But what  
He was, Let Never, Never be forgot.  
Believe me once, It were a worthy thing  
Of's Life and Worth a large Account to bring  
To public View, for general Benefit.  
I would essay (with Leave, Good Reader) it,  
So far as feet will carry me▪ but know it  
From first to last, Grief never made good Poet.  
He that lashed with a Rod could versify,  
Attained, and could pretend far more than I!  
Short was thy Life! Sweet Saint! & quickly run  
Thy Race! Thy Work was, oh! how quickly done!  
Thy Days were (David's measure) but a Span;  
Five Ten of Years rolled since thy Life began.  
Thus I remember a Greek Poet Rhimes,  
They whom God Loves are wont to die betimes.  
Thus Whit●ker, Perkins, Preston, Men of Note,  
Ay! many such, Never to fifty got.  
And thus (Rachel New-England!) many Seers  
Have left us in the akme of their Years.  
Good Soul! Thy jesus who did for thee die,  
In Heaven longed for thy Company.  
And let thy Life be measured by thy Deeds,  
Not by thy Years; Thy Age straight nothing needs.  
Divert, My Pen! Run through the Zodiac  
Of Oakes his Life: And cause I knowledge lack  
Of most Occurrents, let me now and then  
Snatch at a Passage worthy of a Pen.  
Our Mother England, even a Village there  
(Fuller, insert it!) did this Worthy bear.  
Over the Ocean in his Infancy  
His Friends with him into New-England fly:  
Here, while a lad, almost a miracle  
(As I have heard his Aged Father tell)  
Saved him from drowning in a River: He  
Would (guess) a Miracle and Moses be.  
Now did Sweet Nature in him so appear  
A Gentlewoman once cried out, If ere  
Good Nature could bring unto Heaven, than  
Those wings would thither carry Vrian.  
Prompt Parts, and early Pity now made  
Men say of him, what once observers said  
Of great john Baptist, and of Ambrose too,  
To what an one will this strange Infant grow?  
Her Light and Cup did happy Harvard give  
Unto him; and from her he did receive  
His Two Degrees: (A double Honour to  
Thee (Harvard! Own it!) did by this accrue!)  
So being furnished with due burnished Tools  
The Armour and the Treasure of the Schools,  
To Temple-work he goes: I need not tell  
How he an Hiram, or Bezaleel  
Did there approve himself; I'll only add  
Roxbury his first-fruits (first Sermon) had▪   

Some things invite: He back to England goes;  
With God and Man he there in favour grows;  
But whilst he lives in that Land, Tichfield cries  
Come over, Sir, and help us! He complyes:  
The Star moves thither! There the Orator  
Continued charming sinful mortals for  
To close with a sweet Jesus: Oh! he wooed,  
He Thundered: Oh! for their eternal good  
How did he bring the Promises, and how  
Did he discharge flashes of Ebal? Now  
He held Love's golden Sceptre out before  
The Humble Soul; Now made the Trumpet roar  
Fire, Death, and Hell against Impenitent  
Desp'rates, until he made their hearts relent.  
There did he merit Sibs' Motto, I  
Just like a Lamp, with lighting others die.  
Ah! like a Silkworm, his own bowels went  
To serve his Hearers, while he sound spent  
His Spirits in his Labours. O but there  
He must not die (except Death Civil) Here  
(Why mayn't we Sigh it! here dark Bartholomew  
This gallant and heroic Witness slew.  
Silenced he was! not buried out of sight!  
A worthy Gentleman does him invite  
Unto him; and like Obadiah, hide  
Him, dear to them with whom he did reside,  
Finding his Prayers and Presence to produce  
An Obed-Edom's blessing on the House.  
A Spirit of great Life from God does enter  
Within a while into him: He does venture  
To stand upon his feet: He prophesy's;  
And to a Congregation Preacher is,  
Joined with a loving Colleague; who will not  
Be buried, till Symmons be forgot.   

But our New-England Cambridge wants him, and  
Sighs," Of my Sons none takes me by the hand,  
" Now Mitchel's gone! Oh! where's his parallel?  
" Call my Child Vrian! Friendly Strangers tell  
" An OAK of my own breed in England is,  
" That will support me Pillar-like; and this  
" Must be resolved; I'll Pray and Send! Agreed!  
Messengers go! and calling Council, speed!  
The good Stork over the Atlantic came  
To nourish and cherish his Aged Dam.   

Welcome! great Prophet! to New-England shore!  
Thy feet are beautiful! A number more  
Of Men like thee with us would make us say,  
The Moral of More's famed Utopia  
Is in New-England! yea, (far greater!) we  
Should think we Twisse's guess accomplished see,  
When New jerusalem comes down, the Seat  
Of it, the waist America will be't.  
Cambridge! thy Neighbours must congratulate  
Thy Fate! Oh! where can thy Triumvirate  
Meet with its Mate? A Shepard! Mitchel! then  
An Oaks! These Chrysostoms', these golden Men,  
Have made thy golden Age! That fate is thine  
(To be blest with the Sun's perpetual Shine)  
What Silvius says of Rhodes. Sure thou mayst call  
Thy Name Capernaum! But oh! the fall  
Of that enlightened Place we'll humbly pray  
Dear Lord! Keep Cambridge from it!—  
But Quill! where fliest thou? Let the Reader know  
Cambridge some years could this brite jewel show,  
Yet here a Quartane Ague does arrest  
The Church's Comfort, & the Country's Rest.  
But this (Praise Mercy) found some Ague-frighter,  
He mends, and his Infirmity grows lighter,  
Even that his dear Orestes smiled, So small  
Your Illness, you'd as good have none at all.  
Well! the poor College faints! Harvard almost  
(An Amnesty cries ' st!) gives up the ghost!  
The branches dwindle! But an OAK so near  
May cherish them! 'T was done! The gloomy fear  
Of a lost College was dispelled! The Place,  
The Learning, the Discretion, and the Grace  
Of that great Charles, who long since slept & died  
Loved, and Lamented, worthy Oaks supplied.  
His Nurse he suckles; and the Ocean now  
Refunds what th' Earth in Rivers did bestow.  
Pro Tempore (a sad Prolepsiis) was  
For a long time his Title; but just as  
We had obtained a longed for Alteration,  
And fixed him in the Praesidents firm Station,  
The wrath of the Eternal wields a blow  
At which my Pen is gastred!—  
But Up!— Lord! we're undone!— Nay! Up! and Try!  
Heart! Vent thy grief! Ease Sorrow with a Sigh!  
Let's hear the matter! Write de Tristibus!  
Alas! Enough!— Death hath bereft us!  
The Earth was parched with horrid heat: We fea'rd  
The blasts of a Vast Comet's flaming Beard.  
The dreadful Fire of Heaven inflames the blood  
Of our Elijah carrying him to God.  
Innumerable Sudden Deaths abound!  
Our OAKS a Sudden blow laid on the ground,  
And gives him blessed Capel's wish, which the  
Litany prayes'gainst, To die Suddenly.  
The Saints hope to have the Lord's Table spread;  
But with astonishment they find him dead  
That used to break the Bread of Life: O we  
Deprived of our Ministers often be  
At such a Season. Lord, thy Manna low  
In our blind Eyes we fear is wont to go!  
The Man of God at the first Touch does feel  
[With a Praesage] his Call to Heaven's weal;  
He sits himself for his last Conflict; Saw  
The ghastly King of Terrors Icy claw;  
Ready to grapple with him; then he gives  
A Look to him who died and ever lives;  
The great Redeemer does disarm the Snake;  
And by the Hand his faithful Servant take,  
Leading him thorough Death's black Valley, till  
He brings him in his arms to Zion's Hill.  
Fallen Pillar of the Church! This Thy Translation  
Has turned our Joys into this Lamentation!  
Sweet Soul! Disdaining any more to trade  
With fleshly Organs, that a Prison made,  
thou'rt flown into the World of Souls, and we  
Poor, stupid Mortals lose thy Company.  
Thou joinest in Consort with the Happy gone,  
Who (happ'er than Servants of Solomon)  
Are standing round the Lamb's illustrious Throne  
Conversing with great Isr'el's-Holy-One.  
Now could I with good old Grynaeus * say  
" Oh! that will be a bright and gloriose Day,  
" When I to that Assembly come; and am  
" Gone from a world of guilt, filth, sorrow, shame!  
I read how Swanlike Cotton joyed in Thought,  
That unto Dod, and such he should be brought.  
How Bullinger deaths grim looks could not fright  
Because 'twould bring him to the Patriarches Sight.  
(Well might it be so! Heathen Socrates  
In hopes of Homer, Death undaunted sees.)  
Who knows but the Third Heaven may sweeter be  
Thou Citizen of it! (dear Oakes!) for thee?  
Sure what of Calvin Beza said; and what  
Of thy forerunner Mitchel, Mather wrote,  
I'll truly add, Now Oakes is dead, to me  
Life will less sweet, and Death less bitter be.  
Lord! Let us follow!—   

Nay! Then, Good Reader! Thou and I must try  
To Tread his Steps! He walked Exemplar'ly!  
Plato would have none to be praised, but those  
Whose Praises profitable we suppose:  
Oh! that I had a ready Writer's Pen,  
(If not Briareus hundred Hands!) and then  
I might limn forth a Pattern. Ah! his own  
Fine Tongue can his own worth Describe alone  
That's it I want; and poor I! Shan't I show  
Like the man, whom an Hero hired to  
Forbear his Verses on him! Yet a lame  
Mephibosheth will scape a David's blame.   

Well! Reader! Wipe thine Eyes! & see the Man  
(Almost too small a word!) which Cambridge can  
Say, I have lost! In Name a Drusius,  
And Nature too! yea a compendious  
Both Magazine of worth, and Follower  
Of all that ever great and famous were.  
A great Soul in a little Body. (Add!  
In a small Nutshell Graces Iliad.)  
How many Angels on a Needle's point  
Can stand, is thought, perhaps, a needless Point▪  
Oakes Virtue's too I'm at a loss to tell:  
In short, Hee was New-England's 
t 〈…〉  SAMUEL;  
And had as many gallant Propertyes  
As ere an Oak had Leaves; or Argus Eyes.  
A better Christian would a miracle  
Be thought! From most he bore away the Bell!  
Grace and good Nature were so purely met  
In him, we saw in Gold a jewel set.  
His very Name spoke Heavenly; and He  
Vir sui Nominis would always be.  
For a Converse with God; and holy frame,  
A Noah, and an Enoch he became.  
Vrian and George are Names equivalent;  
We had Saint George, though other Places han't.  
Should I say more, like him that would extol  
Huge Hercules, my Reader'l on me fall  
With such a check; Who does dispraise him? I  
Shall say enough, if his Humility  
Might be described. Witty Austin meant  
This the First, Second, and Third Ornament,  
Of a Right Soul, should be esteemed. And so  
Our Second Moses, * Humble Dod, cried, Know,  
Just as Humility men's Grace will be,  
And so much Grace so much Humility.  
Ah! graciose Oakes, we saw thee stoop; we saw  
In thee the Moral of good Nature's Law,  
That the full Ears of Corn should bend, and grow  
Down to the ground: Worth would sit always low.  
And for a Gospel Minister, we had  
In him a Pattern for our Tyroes; sad!  
Their Head is gone: Who ever knew a greater  
Student and Scholar? or beheld a better  
Preacher and President? We looked on him  
As jerom in our (Hungry) Bethlechem;  
A perfect Critic in Philology;  
And in Theology a Canaan's Spy.  
His Gen'ral Learning had no fewer Parts  
Than the Encyclopaedia of Arts:  
The old Say, He that something is in all,  
Nothing's in any; Now goes to the wall.  
But when the Pulpit had him! there he spent  
Himself as in his only Element:  
And there he was an Orpheus: he'd even draw  
The Stones, and Trees: Austin cries, If I saw  
Paul in the Pulpit, of my Three Desires  
None of the least (to which my Soul aspires)  
Would gratified and granted be. He might  
Have come and seen't, when OAKES gave Cambridge Light.  
Oakes an Uncomfortable Preacher was  
I must confess! He made us cry, Alas!  
In sad Despair! Of what? Of ever seeing  
A better Preacher while we have a being.  
He! oh! He was, in Doctrine, Life, and all  
Angelical, and Evangelical.  
A Benedict and Boniface to boot,  
Commending of the Tree by noble Fruit.  
All said, Our Oaks the Double Power has  
Of Boanerges, and of Barnabas:  
He is a Christian Nestor! Oh! that we  
Might him among us for three Ages see!  
But ah! he's gone to Sinus Abrahae.  
What shall I say? Never did any spit  
Gall at this Gall-less, Guile-less Dove; nor yet  
Did any Envy with a cankered breath  
Blast him: It was I'm sure the gen'ral Faith,  
Let Oaks Be, Say, or Do what e'er he would,  
If it were OAKS, it must be wise, true, good  
Except the Sect'ryes' Hammer might a blow  
Or two, receive from Anabaptists, who  
Never loved any Man, that wrote a Line  
Their naught, Church-rending Cause to undermine.  
Yet after my Encomiastic Ink  
Is all run out, I must conclude (I think)  
With a Dicebam, not a Dixi! Yea,  
Such a course will exceeding proper be:  
The jews, whenever they build an House, do leave  
Some part Imperfect, as a call to grieve  
For their destroyed Ierus'lem! I'll do so!  
I do't!—   

And now let sable Cambridge broach her Tears!  
(They forfeit their own Eyes that don't; for here's  
Occasion sad enough!) Your Sons pray call  
All Ichabod; and Daughters, Marah! Fall  
Down into Sackcloth, Dust, and Ashes! (To  
Be senseless Now, Friends, Now! will be to show  
A CRIME & BADGE of Sin and Folly!) Try  
Your fruitfulness under the Ministry  
Of that kind Pelican, who spent his Blood  
The feed you! Dear Saints! Have ye got the Good  
You might? And let a Verse too find the Men  
Who flyed a Sermon! Oh! Remember when  
Sirs! your Ezekiel was like unto  
A lovely Song of (Beened deaf Adders you)  
One with a pleasant Voice! and that could play  
Well on an Instrument! And i'n't the Day,  
●he gloriose Day, to dawn (ah! yet!) wherein  
You are drawn from the Egypt-graves of Sin  
Compelled to come in? For shame come in!  
Nay! Join you all! Strive with a noble Strife,  
To publish both in Print (as well as Life)  
Your preciose Pastor's Works! Bring them to view  
That we may Honey taste, as well as you.  
But, Lord! What has thy Vineyard done, that thou  
Commandest the Clouds to rain no more? O show  
Thy favour to thy Candlestick! Thy Rod  
Hath almost broke it: Let a Gift of God,  
Or a sincerely Heaven-touched Israelite  
Become a Teacher in thy People's sight   

At last I with Licence Poetical  
(Reader! and thy good leave) address to all  
The children of thy People! Oh! the Name  
Of Vrian Oaks, New-england! does proclaim  
SURE I AN OAK was to thee! Feel thy Loss!  
Cry, (Why forsaken, Lord!) Under the Cross!  
Learn for to prise Survivers! King's destroy  
The People that Ambassadors annoy.  
The Council of God's Herald, and thy Friend,  
[Be wise! Consider well thy latter End!]  
O lay to heart! Pray to the heavenly Lord  
Of th' Harvest, that (according to his Word)  
He would thrust forth his Labourers: For why  
Should all thy Glory go, and Beauty die  
Through thy default?—  
— Lord! from thy lofty Throne  
Look down upon thy Heritage! Let none  
Of all our Breaches be unhealed! Let  
This dear, poor Land be our Immanuel's yet!  
Let's be a Goshen still! Restrain the Boar  
That makes Incursions! Give us daily more  
Of thy All-curing Spirit from on High!  
Let all thy Church's flourish! And supply  
The almost Twenty Ones, that thy Just Ire  
Has left without Help that their Needs require!  
Let not the College droop, and die! O Let  
The Fountain run! A Doctor give to it!  
Moses's are to th' upper Canaan gone!  
Let Ioshua's Succeed them! goes when one room!  
Elijah, raise Elisha's! Paul's become  
Dissolved! with Christ! Send Tim'thees in their  
Avert the Omen, that when Teeth apace  
Fall out, No new ones should supply their place!   

Lord! Let us Peace on this our Israel see!  
And still both Hephsibah, and Beulah be!  
Then will thy People Grace! and Glory! Sing,  
And every Wood with Hallelujahs ring.   
N. R.  
Vixêre fortes ante Agamemnona  
Multi; sed illachrymabiles  
Vrgentur ignotique longà  
Nocte; carent quia Vate sacro.  Hor. 
Non ego cuncta meis amplecti Versibus opto.  Virg. 
— Ingens laudato Poema:  
● legito!—  Call. 
●ui legis ista, tuam reprehendo, si mea laudes  
Omnia, Stultitiam: Si nihil, Invidiam.  Owen. 
Non possunt, Lector, multae emendare Liturae  
Versus hos nostros: una Litura potest.  Martial.  

Advertisement.  
THere is to be sold by john Browning, at the Corner of the Prison-Lane next the Town-house, a Sermon of the late Reverend Mr. VRIAN OAKES, preached from Eccl. 9 11. Showing that Fortune and Chance are infallibly determined by God: By which alone, it might appear that the Elogyes of him are not a vain Hyperbole; but as it were, the Echo of those Words which his Works speak concerning Him.