AN ELEGY On the much Lamented Death of Mr. Samuel Loveday Who Departed this Life on the 15th of Decemb. 1677. in the 59th Year of his Age.  

O Heavy stroke! Oh bitter lamentation!  
Scarce will my Tears give way to vent my Passion.  
My Tears so overflow, I scarce can guide  
My trembling Hand. O stop, you swelling Tide  
Of brinish Tears! Alas! my Heart doth break▪  
So strong's my Grief, although my Muse be weak.  
Though to the Mournful Muses I make suit  
For their assistance, and they all stand mute:  
My Grief and Sorrow will my Muse supply,  
And teach me to Indite an ELEGY.  
My Grief sufficient Matter will infuse  
Into my Heart: True Sorrow needs no Muse.  
Dear LOVEDAY's Dead, that for this many Years  
Has fed the Flock of Christ: Let floods of Tears  
Run from the Conduits of your moistened Eyes;  
How shall the Flocks be fed when th' Shepherd dies?  
When Shepherds die, and cruel Wolves remain,  
The tender Lambs have reason to complain.  
Dear Samuel's gone, he's gone that used to keep,  
A faithful Watch, when we could take our sleep.  
He's gone! he's gone! that Sacred Food provided:  
Ah! he is gone, by whom the Flock was guided.  
How careful was he always to provide  
Good Food, and Food convenient beside,  
For tender Babes, who in the Faith were young,  
Provided Milk, and also for the Strong,  
Or Men in Christ, provided stronger Meat;  
Also provoked an Appetite to Eat.  
The Ignorant this Holy Man instructed  
In paths of Righteousness, and then Conducted  
Into the Fold of Christ, where he with care  
Did feed them as Christ's Flock, and did not spare,  
But spent his strength to find good Pasture out;  
Strengthening the Weak, confirming every Doubt.  
And that which will perpetuate his Name,  
And mount him up upon the Wings of Fame;  
And make him like the Stars of Heaven shine;  
Yea, make him to the World appear Divine:  
And make his ever Honoured Name to live,  
When Death has not another stroke to give.  
Oh! 'twas his pious, rare, and virtuous Life,  
The Loss of whom calls for a world of Grief.  
Had I but skill to paint his Virtues forth,  
Suitable to his Merits, and their worth;  
So many were they, and so Excellent,  
I should but leave the World a Monument  
To be admired, rather than believed:  
But ah! he's gone; for which my Soul is grieved.  
Grief in my Heart's impressions are so deep,  
While Loveday with his Virtues falls asleep,  
There's no Physician in the Earth can Cure;  
And scarce obtain I patience to endure.  
Were't only I that did this Loss sustain,  
The Contemplation of dear Loveday's gain  
Would much abate the Grief, that now surprises  
My Lovesick Soul: But hence my Grief arises,  
His Death's a public Loss, and every Eye  
Has cause to drop a Tear, as well as I.  
His Life and Doctrine both were excellent,  
His Doctrine sound, his Life a Precedent.  
Mists that obscured God's Universal Love  
He did disperse, and wholly did remove.  
And though the Lord has called dear Samu'l hence,  
Yet has he left us such an Evidence  
Of God's endeared Love to all Mankind,  
That we who for a time are left behind,  
Have cause to turn our Mourning to a Song,  
And bless the Lord that lent us him so long.  
And they which never yet beheld his Face,  
Have cause to give God thanks that gave him space  
To lose those Snarls, and all those Knots untie  
That in the Ninth of th' Romans seemed to lie.  
But ah! He's gone, that never undertook  
To preach from Scripture, God's most sacred Book,  
But he so fully oped every part  
It seldom missed to satisfy the Heart.  
But here my Muse must stop, I must not dwell  
Upon his Doctrine, lest my Poem swell  
Into so large a Volumn, that my Theme  
Will quit her single Sheer, and want a Ream.  
Yet one word more to you whom God did lend  
So sound a Preacher, and so sweet a Friend;  
Lay up his Doctrine by you now in store  
For Loveday's gone, will never Teach you more.  
And you whose itching Ear and wanton Eyes,  
Could relish nothing under Novelties;  
Your wand'ring wanton Eyes now sees the Day  
Your loathed Manna's taken quite away.  
Ah! that sweet Oracle no more will rouse  
Sin-slumbring Souls out of their fleshly Drowse.  
Oh! he whose Doctrine dropped like showers of Rain,  
Who often strove, yea often strove in vain;  
And with endeared Love and Souls-affection  
Besought you often to make sure Election:  
Who often told you that you must suppress  
Your sinful Lusts, your Pride, your vain Excess:  
And yet his Doctrine you did not receive,  
For which this good Man's Soul did often grieve.  
Ah! Death has called him hence, he's fled, he's gone,  
You've now but half your Food to feed upon.  
O may that half that's left you yet to use,  
Be like the Widow's Barrel, and her Cruse!  
O may we never see that Cruse drawn dry,  
Till God be pleased to send a fresh supply,  
And unto some a double Portion give,  
In whom our Friend that's Dead again may Live.  
But he's not Dead, he's only fallen asleep:  
Let's cease our Mourning, and not always Weep.  
If he has changed his Sorrow into Peace,  
Why should not we with him from Sorrow cease?  
Let's moderate our weeping for our Friend:  
Excessive hope less weeping may offend.  
He's fallen asleep, who waking was so kind  
To leave some Soul-refreshing Food behind.  
Come, gather up some Fragments that remain,  
And freely feed, so will he Live again.  
The first choice Dainty that I here present,  
Highly conducing to Soul-nourishment,  
Is our dear Loveday's choice selected Gift,  
His Sermon preached from Matthew twenty fifth,  
Upon the foolish Virgins, and the wise;  
It's real Worth thou canst not overprize.  
All you that this choice Dainty do possess,  
Feed of it every Day, or more or less.  
And when the sable Curtains of the Night  
Are closely drawn, then feed by Candle-light.  
And you who for its worth would fain enjoy it,  
Let its rich worth invite you all to buy it.  
Those Soul-refreshing Cordials likewise  
Drawn from the Third of Isaiah's Prophecies,  
By him prepared, though not by Humane Art:  
O! that they were engraven in each Heart.  
His Rules for guiding of the Tongue, endeavour  
To keep it as an Antidote for ever:  
Which will resist the Poison of the Tongue,  
Which is infectious both to Weak and Strong.  
That Sermon preached on th' Third of Revelation,  
Drawn from our blessed Saviour's Invitation  
To every Soul, to open when he knocks  
Their closed Hearts, and to unboult these Locks,  
And entertain him as a sacred Guest,  
To Sup with them while he provides the Feast.  
O that that Sermon might for ever live,  
While there's a Soul true Comfort to receive!  
Here stop my lavish Muse, these strains recall,  
Attend dear Loveday to his Funeral.    

AN EPITAPH.  

S Samu'l lies here Entombed in the Dust,  
A A Man both Learned, Virtuous, Wise, & Just.  
M May Lovday's pious Life our Pattern be  
U Until we sleep in Dust as well as he.  
E Earth is dissolved by Death, its brittle frame  
L Lasts but a while, returns from whence it came.  
L Letoy Death, yea, let the Grave triumph a while,  
O Our Louday shortly will them both beguile.  
V Under Death's ashes long he'll not remain  
D Death-conquering Louday will arise again;  
A And shall come forth like Gold that has been tried  
Y In the Refiners Fire, and Purified.    

London, Printed for Francis Smith, at the Elephant and Castle in Cornhill, near the Royal Exchange. 1677.