An Elegy on the Death of that much Lamented And no less wanted, Industrious Labourer in God's Vineyard, the Reverend Mr. Ralph Venning, Who quitted this Vale of Tears, and put on Immortality the 10th day of this Instant March, 1673/4.  
— Fretum vitae gaudente Carina  
Tranavit— Tutum tenet Anchora portum;  
Nunc hilaris, ventos ridet, tumidasque Procellas.  

HArk! how our Zion with Heart-piercing Groans,  
Her Chariots and her Horseman's Loss bemoans;  
See! how each Pious blubbered Cheek doth wear  
The sad enamel of a Briny Tear;  
Each Soul turns a Close Mourner in its Cell;  
And every Tongue becomes 〈◊〉 Passing-Bell:  
Must good Men still die first, and is there gone  
Another Cedar in our Lebanon?  
Are Holy powerful Preachers snatched so fast?  
They're Pre●iou●, Death, Oh! do not make such waist;  
Well may the Scarlet Whore begin her Tricks,  
Such Lights pufe out, threatens our Candlesticks;  
And we may fear that God intendeth wars  
When he thus fast calls home's Ambassadors;  
Sweet Pious VENNING could no longer stay,  
CARRYL in Glory Beckoned him away,  
Whilst Heaven to lend more Moisture to our Eyes,  
At his Remove in Tears did Sympathise;  
But Love and Zeal appeared so I'll below,  
They soon Congealed each falling drop to Snow,  
Yet that White Roah the Earth put on, did prove  
But a black foil to what he wears Above.  
Go happy Saint! I knew 'twas not a Shrine  
Of Flesh could lodge so pure a Soul as thine;  
I saw it Labour (in a holy scorn  
Of living Dust and Ashes) to be sworn  
A Heavenly Quirister, it sighed and groaned  
To be dissolved from Mortal, and Enthroned  
Amongst his Fellow-Angels, there to Sing  
Perpetual Anthems to His Heavenly King:  
He was a Stranger to his House of Clay,  
Scarce owned it, but that necessary stay  
Miscalled it His, and only zeal did make  
Him love the Building for the Bvilder's sake.  
Amongst the Throng that Crowd to Sacrifice  
To's Memory the Torrents of their Eyes:  
Let me (although a Stranger unto those  
That Weep in Rhyme, though oft I Mourn in Prose)  
Water his Hearse, since my bigbellied eyes  
Long for Deliv'ry at his Obsequies,  
Wherein what Art and Nature both deny,  
Grief and the Subject's Merits may Supply:  
For who e'er writes, but Truth of Him will be,  
Slandered by Ignorance with Poetry;  
And those that speak not half his worth in Verse,  
The Sensual Crew may think Idolaters;  
But flattery can never Reach his State,  
We only Praise, to make men Imitate,  
And so must spe●●● in sober terms, for know,  
If Saints in Heaven can ●ear things here below,  
A Lie, though in his Praise, would make him Frown  
And Chide us, when in Glory he comes down  
With his Dear Lord to Judge the World, and pay  
Each Soul Rewards according to its way.  
He was no Jingling Drolster of the times,  
That as on Stage, up to a Pulpit climbs  
To tr●fle out an hour, Tickle the Ear,  
And Lullaby their Heads to sleep that hear,  
Whose Preachments are but a Romantic Clatter,  
A Sea of words, but scarce a drop of matter;  
Some Piebald scraps of new Philosophy,  
Or Dough-baked Dictates of Morality;  
Nor was he of that rash unpolisht Race,  
Whose Sluttish hands do Sacred things disgrace;  
Knowledge and Zeal in him, so sweetly met,  
His Pulpit seemed a Second Oliver.  
Where from his Lips he would deliver things,  
As though some Seraphin had clapped his Wings;  
His painful Sermons were so neatly dressed,  
As if an Anthem were in Prose expressed;  
Yet quick and powerful, that without control,  
They reached the Heart, and pierced the very Soul;  
Oh! what an excellent Surgeon has he been,  
To Set a Conscience (out of joint by Sin)  
He at one blow could Wound and Heal, whilst all  
Wondered to find a Purge, a Cordial:  
His Manna-Breathing Sermons often have  
Given our Good Thoughts new Life, our Bad a Grave.  
His Life was the Use of's Doctrine still annexed,  
And all his Actions Comments on his Text,  
He made a Christian Frame of Heart appear  
So Imitable, that Preached every where;  
Nor owe we less to his Ingenious Quill,  
Whereby (although now Dead) he Preaches still;  
The Way to Happiness he plainly showed,  
And how Canaan with Milk and Honey Flowed;  
To Things worth thinking on, he did apply,  
And still sought to promote true Piety:  
Sins dreadful Plaguesore, which none should endure,  
He soon discovers, and prescribes a Cure;  
And when's acquaint wit brought forth a Paradox,  
His Christian Spirit made it Orthodox.  
In Life, he taught to Die, and now did give  
In Death, a great example how to Live:  
Fond Earth then cease, and let thy childish eyes,  
Ne'er weep for Him, thou ne'er knewest how to prize;  
But if you needs must weep, oh come, come in,  
Ye Multitudes his pains have healed of Sin;  
If you'll be grateful Debtors, pay him now  
Some of those Tears which he laid out for you.    

LONDON, Printed in the Year 1674.