Oxfords Lamentation IN A DIALOGUE BETWEEN OXFORD AND LONDON: Concerning the Dissolution OF THE Parliament.  Oxford. 
WHat is the Pomp and Glory of this World?  
How soon is all into Confusion hurled?  
I, who in Pride, held up my Head of late,  
With so much Joy, expectance and State,  
Seeing my Sister Cities of the Land,  
Like Servants, at a distance from me stand;  
Whilst I Exalted was by King and Court,  
Am on a sudden made Dame Fortune's Sport;  
And with one Breath am to the Ground thrown down,  
My Pomp, my Pride, and Glory all is gone:  
One puff of Royal Fire away has sent  
My Hopes together with the Parliament:  
Was it for this I laid out so much cost,  
To have my Glory in a moment lost?  
But few Days since my Conduits did run Wine,  
And now as fast they run with Tears salt Brine.  London. 
What ho! what sad Nymph hear I thus complain,  
That makes me my salt shower of Tears refrain ▪  
Am I deceived, or may I my Eyes trust,  
Is it my Sister Oxford in the Dust?  
She who had robbed me of my chief Content,  
My Hope, my Love, my Joy, my Parliament?  Oxf. 
O Sister London it is I you see,  
As sorrowful as e're was Niobe;  
And now the King and Parliament are gone,  
Like her I weep, till I am changed to ston.  land. 
Tho' you had robbed me of my Hope and Joy,  
And sought with Pride my Comfort to destroy  
Yet since my King had willed you to be great,  
I did with Tears and with sad Heart submit;  
When I resigned my Love, and gave you place,  
Would you so soon Kill him with your Embrace?  Oxf. 
Oh! name no more your Love, behold my Eyes  
They'l witness that his Death was my surprise;  
My Sadness, Tears, and Mourning are too true,  
I have a Lovers pangs as well as you.  
Against me all my Sisters will be bent,  
And 'twill me of my short-lived Parliament,  
A mere Ephemeron Lover, of a Day,  
appeared, was seen, then Vanished away;  
A Mushrump, that in one Night up did spring,  
gathered ith' Morn, a salad for a King;  
The Peoples Representives are but Men  
Set up by Kings, to be tipped down again;  
But Oh! my Heart is full, I cannot speak,  
At me with Scorn, I see your Head you shake;  
I'll lay me down by Silver Isis side,  
And with my Tears increase her crystal Lyde.  land. 
Ah! mournful Nymph you do not grieve alone,  
I weep as well as you our Lover gone;  
Beloved Thames makes music to my sigh,  
And with sad voice my side runs murmuring by.  
All England weeps, and doth in sackcloth Groan,  
Humber, Trent, d'ye, Severn, and Meadway moan  
The loss of our Dead Lover, and we find  
Our numerous Cities, to his Memory kind;  
Throughout the Land, their Tears like Currents flow,  
And in sad murmuring sighs they tell their woe.  Oxf. 
Oh! Sister when shall ever we be sped?  
How soon have we seen two dear Lovers dead,  
As if the Plague, or Murrain, they had got,  
They die like Sheep that's Killed with the Rot.  
Assist me now Melpomeny to Weep,  
Oh! my dear Muses are you all asleep?  
You that e're while melodiously did Chant,  
Have you no Elegy left fit for Complaint?  
Hang up your Harps upon the Willow-Tree,  
And sit you down and weep, and weep with me.  land. 
With you my doleful Sister, I'll bear part,  
For I am grieved as well as you at Heart:  
Let us Embalm with Tears our Lover dead,  
Whose Soul is now among the People fled:  
His Body's gone, a shadow now we weep,  
For ever laid in an Eternal Sleep:  
Weep Sisters of this Isle, and ne'er give o'er,  
For 'tis in vain to Hope for Lover more:  
We ne'er a true kind Lover e're shall Wed,  
Some evil Doemon strikes our Lovers dead;  
And no one with us e're Alive can stay,  
Till Raguel drives the Evil-Spirit away.  
FINIS.   

Printed for T. Benskin, in St. Brides Church-Yard, 1681.