Elegies, offered up to the memory of William Glover Esquire, late of Shalston, in Buckinghamshire.  
By Thomas Philipot, Mr. of Arts of Clare Hall in Cambridge.  
LONDON, Printed by Tho. and Rich. Cotes. 1641.   

To the Right worthy as well by virtue as Birth, the Lady Anne Glover.  
Madam,  
THough it be unlawful to offer up sacrifices to the dead, yet license me to sacrifice these Elegies to the memory of your son, and permit me to make his name an Altar, though not his tomb. Those reciprocal endearments which at first fed and fomented our friendship, have made such an impression on all those faculties that officiate to my soul, on all those functions that hold Correspondence with Invention and fancy, that I should not only seem ungrateful, appear unfruitful, but also supinely forgetful, if I should not endeavour by consecrating some trophy (though ne'er so rude and inconsiderable) to his remembrance, to redeem and rescue it from the Vault, and so preserve it, that it might never be raked up amongst his ashes. And though peradventure those benefits that he shed on others, fell but upon barren and unthankful ground, yet those he poured upon me, have not languished into oblivion, but teemed with a grateful acknowledgement: Death only by usurping his life too soon excluded me from enlarging my Gratitude to himself, that I might profess it to you, who shall be the Delegate to receive the payment of a Debt I owed to your son, which shall be done with a Devotion as emphatical as that which excites me to send up my orisons to Heaven for your happiness in this world, and before inspired me to pour forth my prayers for your son's glory in the other. Madam, if you think that these low expressions of my zeal and Monuments of my Affection can improve your son's memory to any perpetuity, suffer them I beseech you to give themselves up to your view, since you may ascertain yourself that they issue from one whose entire study is, whose whole practice shall be, how he may declare himself,  
The humblest of your Servants Tho. Philipot.   

An Advertisement to the Reader.  

REader thou needst exhaust no Time to look  
Within the Pages of the herald's book,  
And sift that Index to Times past, to see  
Whence Glover did deduce his Pedigree  
Or search t'instruct thyself to what extent  
His noble and Illustrious Descent  
Spins out itself, since thou mayst find him here  
Deciphered in a fairer Character  
Than any there, and his Descent made good,  
By being derived from virtue not from blood.  
Thy eye needs not take notice of his Crest,  
Nor scan those Metals that his arms invest;  
Nor see if clothed in purple they appear,  
Or the pale fur of speckled ermines wear,  
Since these sad lines that only can display  
Their Heraldry in Sables, will array  
His name with as much eminence and note,  
As those rich colours that improve his coat:  
Nor care to be informed what Issue He  
Left to convey and waft his Memory  
To after Times, and make himself survive  
His ruin; and be still preserved alive  
In them, since thou mayst be advertisd, he  
Lives in no Issue but in elegy,  
The offspring of my brain; Where thou mayst view  
His face appear more genuine and more true  
Than if exactly 'twere limned out and set  
By Nature in a living Counterfeit.  
And if thou passest by where glover's Dust  
Lies in the Casquet of his grave in trust,  
And seest no Pile or Monument adorn  
The bleack and naked surface of his urn,  
Argue not any guilty of neglect  
To his Remaines, nor Art of a Defect  
'Cause she forgot her Trophies to impart,  
He needs no tomb that has one in my Heart.    

Elegies offered up to the memory of William Glover Esquire.  

Elegy 1.  

IS Glover dead? and could stern Death employ  
No sickness but a surfeit to destroy  
The structure of his Earth & make even meat  
That should foment, stisle & choke that heat?  
Which kindled in the Chambers of the Heart,  
Is thence diffused to air and warm each part.  
We need not now I see the fatal knife  
Of Atropos to cut the twist of life,  
Nor shivering Agues to congeal the blood,  
Nor fevers to lick up that purple flood,  
Or Rheums in briny showers to distil  
And drown the lungs, when meat itself can kill.  
Who then would in his earthly fabric trust,  
Whose brittle walls are moulded out of dust,  
Which let good diet plaster ne'er so well,  
Sickness may yet make them dissoluble:  
For we're compact of miseries and fears,  
Kneaded into a lump with our own tears.  
With our first milk our nurses do bequeathe,  
Diseases to us, and we bed with Death  
Even in our Cradles making them become,  
Types and Ideas of our future tomb.  
Those eyes whose glances all did seem t'implore,  
And superstitiously did e'en adore  
Th'effusion of their radiant beams may be  
Enforced to weep vexed with an Opthalmy.  
A palsy dares disturb and shake that hand,  
That with its sceptre can the world command:  
Those feet which proudly walked on Kings may be,  
Brought by the Gout into Captivity.  
And Glover in whose lineaments appeared  
Such harmony, that Nature seemed t'have reared  
An Altar to perfection which she meant  
Itself should farm his polished Tenement,  
We see was but an Edifice of Earth,  
Within whose Heart as on some oily Hearth  
A fire was fed, whose flame was blown about  
Each vein and nerve, which Death has now put out.  
How much exposed tooth Injuries of fate  
Is all the glory then a human state  
Can but lie claim to, in accessable  
To rest is swelling greatness, a brief Cell  
Can shelter and include more solid Peace,  
Than the extended roofs of palaces.  
For those that pillage Nature to invite  
And egg on a luxurious Appetite,  
Do so encumber all their faculties,  
They only hatch a tribe of Maladies,  
Which like a progeny of Vipers will  
Turn Parricides and their own Parents kill.    

Elegy 2.  

We can for every cheap and trivial loss  
Condole so much we even see me t'engross  
The public stock of grief and at our eyes,  
Embezzle our exhausted faculties,  
Whilst our dull passions pant with eager throes,  
As if they teemed with mountains of vast woes.  
Each maim by fire, each shipwreck can induce  
Our souls to such intemperate and profuse  
Resentment, that those Cataracts of Raine  
Our eyes diffuse might quench the flame again,  
Or in their briny hurricans once more,  
Ingulph the ruined bark upon the shore.  
But when a friend shakes off mortality  
And his frail Earth drops into ashes, we  
Should from th'officious limbecks of our eyes  
Distil, as rites due to his obsequies,  
Such floods of pious tears that if dull Art,  
Should by some lame neglect forget t'impart  
Her nard and unctuous balsams to exempt,  
His precious relics from Times rude contempt,  
They might embalm his fading mass of clay,  
And fortify it so from all decay  
It may remain till time shall die, and have  
Himself a Habitation in his grave.  
Should I then now my melting eyes reprieve  
From tears, or be too thrifty in my grief,  
When he (to whom my soul was so endear,  
So twisted into his, that we e'en steered  
Two bodies with one Heart, and did improve  
By mingling of each others thoughts that love)  
Is disinvested of that dross and Earth,  
Which did impeach and intercept his birth  
To immortality, I then should be  
Tainted with scandalous apostasy  
To Friendships sacred vow, and should enter  
My short-breathed love within his sepulchre.  
No! such a permanency I'll enstate  
On my Affection that neither Fate  
Nor Time, shall blast or wither it to Death.  
Yet I'll not to his memory bequeathe  
Some brazen obelisk whereon shall be  
Engrafted some patheticke elegy,  
Which may to a succeeding Age declare  
What a strong emphasis my griefs did bear,  
Because the Cottage of his clay so soon  
Languished into a Dissolution;  
For't would be trivial since his name alone,  
Will prove more firm than either brass or stone.  
Yet I'll not depraedate the Phoenixnest,  
Or pillage the Exchequer of the East  
To gather balms or odorous spices thence,  
By whose benign indulgent influence  
The ruins of the Earth may be so charmed,  
They may 'gainst all th'Assaults of time be armed:  
For the kind Earth shall from her womb distil,  
Drops of rich gum mixed with a fragrant drill  
Of balmy dew, which shall descend upon  
His dust, and bail it from Corruption,  
So that no bold intruding worm shall dare  
To be an Inmate to his sepulchre.  
Nor will I to embellish and adorn  
The gloomy Climate of his private urn,  
Rifle the Parian Quarries, and erect  
Some gaudy Pile his ashes to protect:  
Since that like these will wear away and rust  
And mingle both in undistinguished dust.  
No, from the Inlets of mine eyes I'll lave  
Streams of unsummond tears out on his grave  
Which shall again concentrate and collect  
Themselves into a swelling Cataract,  
Which shall by th'coldness that my sighs shall vent,  
Congeal into a crystal Monument;  
And stand a trophy there to propagate,  
His memory 'gainst all th'attempts of Fate.  
But when the world and her gay pomp expire,  
And both lie gasping in the general fire,  
When God will cancel Times Commission  
And call in Fates strict Patent, when the Sun  
And all the throng and petty stars like tears  
Shall drop in flaming jelly from their spheres,  
When th'impenitent Earth so long shall burn,  
Till it into repentant ashes turn;  
And each conspicuous Ornament it wearens  
falls into dust; this shall resolve to tears.    

Elegy 3.  

PAle ruins of my friend is there no charm  
No magic that can bridle or disarm  
Deaths eager malice and exauthorize  
That power by which he seized those faculties  
That were thy life's Retinue 'las no spell,  
No charm can make us inexpugnable  
'Gainst his assailments; for when h'eel employ  
Some fierce malignant sickness to destroy,  
And raze our Tenements of Earth we must  
Moulder away into rude heaps of dust▪  
No! since those sparks of life which first did burn  
Within thy breast are dropped into thy urn,  
Where raked up in thy ashes they shall lie  
Till Times calcined into Eternity,  
And then again a purer light acquire,  
Revived and kindled by the general fire.  
I'll not invade or pry into that chest  
Which shrouds thy ashes to dissolve thy rest;  
But may a soft eternal slumber flow  
In gentle silence through the Vault below,  
Whilst thy immortal part purged and redeemed  
From its dull weight of clay which only teemed  
With humours and diseases, shall descry  
That frame and well composed economy  
That Heavens digested in, and fully be  
Acquainted with that modern Colony,  
Fancy has planted in the moon, and know  
Whether each star be peopled yet or no,  
And shall unveil those mysteries which we  
(Eclipsed by mists of ignorance) can see  
(Knowledge being in her Solstice) with an eye,  
But bleared and hoodwinked though we should apply  
Nature's faint glimpse to't, which imparts a light  
Like that that's shed by glowworms in the night,  
And when it has with strict survey o'errun,  
Each Province of the starry Region,  
'twill with its charming music, both inspire,  
And mingle notes with the seraphic choir;  
And its soft airs in sacred Anthems rear,  
Set tothth' harmonious chiming, some sphere,  
And as they there in tuneful accents flow,  
My sighs shall be their echoes here below.    

Elegy 4.  

LEt some loose widow seek to personate  
And forge laments, and more to palliate  
The scene of her imposture, bribe her eyes  
To weep her dead husband's Obsequies,  
And from those magazines of moisture, drain  
Such numerous streams of tears, they may again  
Swell to a Torrent, that may equal Nile,  
Wherein herself shall be the Crocodile.  
Let the wild unthrift, who can scarce allow  
From his large acres, earth enough t' endow  
His father's ashes with a grave, put on  
The crabbed discomposed complexion  
Of wrinkled sorrow, when he does transfer  
His Sires pale relics to his sepulchre,  
And o'er his tombstone so profusely mourn,  
He would e'en seem to drown him in his urn,  
And o'er his hearse raise a transparent shrine,  
Made up out of his humour crystalline.  
So have I seen your Marble to distil  
Through the close limbeckes of its pores, a Rill  
Of unctuous moisture, and yet still withstand,  
All the impressions of the Carvers hand.  
No, I'll not now my friend, by death's rude touch  
Is scattered into dust, to show how much  
His ruinous dispersion I bemoan,  
Make my eyes fountains, when my heart is stone,  
For those sad tears my sorrow shall dispense,  
Shall with that part maintain intelligence,  
Which I with such immoderate waste will strenws  
Upon his Monument, that to renew  
That bankrupt and impoverished stock, my heart  
Shall from her private Treasury, impart  
New moisture, to foment and feed my grief,  
But when I have imbereld that relief,  
And my too lavish and unthrifty eyes,  
Have melted into tears all their supplies,  
I fear, I shall turn Marble and become,  
Myself at once, his Mourner and his tomb.    

Elegy 5.  

I Can (Dear Friend) no swelling trophies raise,  
To clothe thy urn, yet I'll erect thy praise.  
Nor can no smooth Egyptian stone impart,  
To frame a tomb for thee, yet in my heart  
Thou hast one built, I can collect no Jet,  
Nor Porphyry to form thy counterfeit.  
For I'm confirmed 'tis vain, since each may find  
Thy figures lodged already in my mind;  
Nor will I gather up that balmy sweat,  
Which gums lave out when they're assailed by heat,  
With its rich odours to perfume thy hearse,  
Since I'll embalm thy memory in Verse:  
Which being thus preserved, fame's tainted breath  
Shall not with poison blast thee after death.  
And though I cannot from mine eyes disburse,  
For thy untimely loss, so large a source  
And stock of tears, as grief exacts, yet they  
Which shall their homage to thy relics pay,  
Shall have no double▪ faced hypocrisy,  
Lie bathing there to mock credulity,  
But shall be so unfeigned, that Truth shall hide  
Herself in them, as o'er each cheek they glide,  
And they'll prove so transparent that I fear,  
Each vulgar eye will see her naked there:  
Whilst Heaven itself in constant dews shall weep,  
And with my grief true correspondence keep:  
And my tears be by the enamoured Sun,  
Courted into an exhalation.  
Which being glard on by his searching beams,  
Shall be again thawed, and dissolve in streams:  
To show, the world's bright eye itself, let fall  
Those showers, as tears shed for thy funeral.    

Elegy 6.  

ALl other mourners can some method keep,  
(Wherein their grief's digested) when they weep  
They can seduced credulity assail,  
By masking sorrow with the crystal veil  
Of their adulterate tears, their souls can wear  
A grief arrayed with black, like that they bear  
Ith' outward habit, which are both put on,  
Only until the Obsequies be done:  
But for my glover's sad departure, I  
Will pluck the sluices up in either eye,  
And from those storehouses of grief, discharge  
Such floods of tears, they shall themselves enlarge  
Into an Inundation, and make  
With their collected streams, a briny lake,  
Which being diffused into a Rill, shall keep  
A constant correspondence with the deep,  
So that some Siren, straggling from the main,  
Shall to the Confines of this Lake attain,  
And hearing how with my laments the Day,  
Forgot and undistinguished melts away.  
She shall some sad and solemn Dirge devise,  
To warble forth at glover's Obsequies:  
And raise her elegiac notes so high,  
She shall herself with real sorrow die.  
But lest she should remain forgotten there,  
Wholly devested of a sepulchre,  
And want some stable Trophy to dilate,  
And amplify the memory of her fate  
To after Times, the northwind shall dispense,  
Such keen and gelid blasts, they shall condence  
This Lake into a crystal heap, whereon  
Shall be divulged this sad Inscription.   

Here lies a Siren who exhaled her breath,  
In too profusely mourning glover's Death,  
And whilst in tuneful airs, she strained her tongue,  
To chant his Dirge she her own Requiem sung.    

Elegy 7.  

NO gaudy shroud (Friend) shall be framed for thee,  
Out of the drudging silk-worms Huswifry,  
For from my eyes two crystal streams shall run,  
Which swelling to an Inundation,  
Shall circumscribe thy withered Earth, and there  
Settle, till the inclement North shall dare  
T'invade thy tomb, and with some impious gust  
Make a rude Onset on thy hallowed dust,  
And seeking to dissolve that precious mass  
By his chill breath transform my tears to glass,  
So shall thy Clay be wrapped up and enclosed  
Within a crystal shroud, and be exposed  
Through that clear veil, to every glance minen eye  
Shall to thy Tomhe employ in embassy  
To waft thy species to't, from whennce it may  
Find by that thorough fare a compendious way  
To journey to my Heart, where when 'tis come,  
I'll vent so many sighs to make it room,  
They shall benumb my Heart itself to stone,  
Which I'll beset with this Inscription.   

Here lies the figure of a Friend which Fate  
Nor Time, nor Death shall ever extirpate,     

An Epitaph on Mr. William Glover, being buried in one grave with his daughter before deceased.  

REader, those lie beneath this Stone  
Whom life made two first out of one,  
But having now resigned their breath,  
They will grow one again by Death.  
For as before this pretty fair  
(Her fathers lesser Character)  
From him resulted, so if we  
After some mutability  
Of Time, should on his grave intrude  
To view how much Vicissitude  
Attends on Nature, and how she  
Masques herself in variety  
Of numerous shapes and after dare,  
To paddle in his sepulchre,  
Amongst his dust we might infer,  
He was shuffled into her,  
For Time determines that both must  
Resolve into one heap of dust:  
But when the world itself expires,  
Panting with heat, and God requires  
Each gloomy Vault, and hollow tomb  
To open its corrupted womb,  
And give their ashes which were penned  
And cased up there, enfranchisement,  
That being re-edified, they may  
No more be obvious to delay,  
Or nature's Tumults, this last birth  
Will disunite their mingled Earth.  
And as their first life did divide them, so  
This second life again shall make make them two.    

A Collation between Death and sleep.  

DEath and his drowsy kinsman, sleep, agree  
In all the symptoms of conformity.  
Sleeps caused by eating, for the natural heat,  
Entices exhalations from the meat.  
Transfused to Chylus, which the brain possess,  
With an intoxicating drowsiness.  
Death too by fatal eating, first came in,  
When our first parents wilfully did sin,  
And violated God's renounced decree,  
Tasting the fruit of the forbidden tree,  
When from that Apple such a damp did creep  
It filled their souls with an eternal sleep.  
And as when sooty Night her darkness sheds  
Through all the Confines of the air, and spreads  
A veil o'er bright Hyperion, we divest  
Our bodies, to compose ourselves to rest.  
So our enfranzised souls shall likewise be  
Disrobed o'th' weeds of their mortality,  
When Death shall an eternal night disperse  
Through all those functions that with life commercen.  
And as when the great eye o'th' Day displays,  
In the illuminated air his rays  
The light dispersed in glimpses, does inspire  
Our hands again our bodies to attire;  
So when the trump at the last Day shall all  
By its shrill summons to God's Audit call,  
And Christ the Sun of righteousness shall come,  
To distribute to th'world a public doom,  
Our mouldered and disbanded bodies must  
Quit the close confines of their Beds of Dust,  
To clothe again our widowed souls, and be  
Made both joint Tenants of eternity.  
You then that glover's dissolution mourn,  
And sigh 'cause he's contracted in his urn,  
Appease that Tempest of your breasts, and weep  
In gentle Showers, lest you disturb his sleep.    

On the thought of our Resurrection.  

Who can be of so cowed a soul heeled fear  
To be regenerated i'th' sepulchre,  
Since who exactly looks into the tomb  
Shall find 'tis but the emblem of the womb  
To which we're not Coufind but trusted, so  
As if we lay there in Deposito;  
For when our Dust is gathered into th'Urne,  
It lies but Hostage till the souls return.  
And as the Phoenix when she gasping lies  
Upon her tragic Pile of spiceries  
And glows with heat, her fleshy Cinders must  
By the sun's rays be martyred first to Dust,  
Before her pregnant ashes can redeem  
Themselves from ruin, or again can teem  
With a new Phoenix; so before this Earth  
We bear about us, can improve its Birth  
To immortality, its whole compact  
Must first be so disjointed and so slacked  
It fall to dust, and then 'twill moulded be  
To such a body that eternity  
Itself shall farm that Tenament, which shall  
No more be obvious to a funeral.  
And as before men can compile or frame  
Their glasses, they their ashes first i'th' flame  
Transfuse to crystal; so before our dust  
Can be assoiled from Excrements and rust  
Raveled amongst it by our Tombs, and be  
Jmproved to such a clear transparency  
It shall no more encumber or control  
The eye, from taking a survey o'th' soul  
It must be by the general fire refined,  
And be to a translucent mass calcined.  
So Shall each tomb become God's Mint, where he  
(Our Earth being purged from all impurity)  
Will on it coin the Image of his face  
Which Time no more, nor sit ne shall ne'er deface.   
FINIS.