ON THE DEATH OF MR. MATTHEW POOL. ANAGRAM 

MATTHEW POOL.  
O the LAMP Out!    

OUR LAMP is out! Needs must we mourners be;  
Darkness is Nature's Mourning Livery:  
When Sun sets, Lamp a while, prolongs the Day,  
And on that hasting light, Embargoes lays,  
This Lamp was sent, the Evening to clear,  
Of the declining World; but now I fear,  
Its Courfeu rings; its sure dead time of Night,  
When Death (like Bell-Man) cries, Put out your light.  
A Lamp indeed; well may Men style him so,  
He spent himself in giving Light to you,  
For whilst with restless Wit, the Critics vast  
Conrracting; he in lesser moulds doth cast,  
And yet illustrates; making all confess,  
Divinity grows more, by being less:  
As light of Sun, contracted in Burning-Glass,  
Doth hotter grow, and brighter than it was,  
Death takes advantage, at oppressed Nature,  
And proves at last, the great abbreviator.  
One Work he wholly finished, nor much less,  
A Second, when Death stopped the teeming Press.  
Ask not his Age then (Reader,) for 'tis clear,  
This Learned Man died in his Critic Year:  
Thus our bright Lamp expired, yet left behind,  
A Work whose Beams through Christendom hath shined.  
Each wise Expositor, a Star is named,  
But here they are in Constellations framed.  
Clusters of light combined Heavens milky way's;  
But a SYNOPSIS made, of lesser rays:  
Long live! thou mighty Treasury, of Food Divine,  
Thou Mine of Wealth, thou Heavenly Magazine  
Of Light! thou Universal Remedy  
Of Ghostly Maladys; henceforth we'll thee  
Call Our CATHOLICON; for whither sure,  
Should Sick Men go, but to the POOL for Cure.