AN ELEGY On the Renowned Memory of the Right Reverend Edward, late Bishop of Norwich.  

WHat means our Poet's silence! all struck dumb!  
Where are our Troops of rhyming Drolls become!  
A Bishop dead, and none to make a Verse,  
Nor drop a Tear upon so grave an Hearse!  
Ah! 'tis no Subject for a Droll; too sad  
A Theme for Poets, whom their Wit makes mad.  
It is an Argument for graver Souls,  
Than those whose Brains must first be steeped in Bowls.  
Add, That posterity alone must tell  
The worth that in so great a Soul did dwell.  
Some trifling goods are in th' Enjoyment known:  
Greater, scarce understood till some time gone.  
This Bishop who would know, must Sum up all,  
That wiser Mortals, good, or lovely call;  
The Ornaments of Nature, and of Art,  
With what the Holy Spirit doth impart,  
T' ennoble Souls. Out of a thousand minds  
(And those the pith of Mankind, not the rinds)  
Pick whatsoever is good, leaving their dross;  
Then he will something understand our lost.  
God first in Nature, the Foundations laid,  
Gave him a Soul that would not be betrayed  
To dirty Objects, but alone pursue  
Things that were honest, noble, just and  
At brave things aiming, always pressing  
Unto the pitch of all perfection.  
Yet so complexioned, as not to despise  
The least. (A lofty Soul, no lofty Eyes)  
Adorned with Natural humility,  
And most Obliging affability.  
Sweetness of temper, gravity, what e●●  
Might make the World a mortal to revere.  
The Muses seeing this Object for their turn,  
Each in an Emulation did burn,  
Which should heap most upon his Head. One brings  
Invention; others Wit; and other, Thin●●  
Which they fit Presents judged for him. Not one  
But to this shrine brought her Oblation.  
First Madam Clio brought him all her Books  
Of story. Erato her lovely looks.  
Terpsiehore her Cittern brought: the kind  
Euterpe with her Pipe stayed not behind.  
Then Polyhymnia tenders her sweet Art:  
Not one but did her faculties impart,  
At least an offer make: He thanks them all,  
But did at last most for Urania call.  
Calliope would leave him her sweet tone:  
Clio, her treasures of Invention.  
But to adorn him, a tenth Muse came forth  
Which far excelled the other Nine in worth;  
Madam Sophronia, she poured on  
His head great Prudence and Discretion.  
After the Muses, came to him the Graces,  
And sacrificed here their lovely Faces.  
Plato and Aristotle hearing, come,  
Would have him for their Scholar, took him home.  
At Stagyra, he studied many years;  
There Plato taught him th' Doctrine of the Spheres.  
At length Diviner Seneca him got  
('Twas there about the Passions he wrote).  
Next, wiser Solomon showed him the features  
of all the World, The vanity of Creatures,  
He Comments on that Text, while God did show  
Him th' emptiness of every thing below;  
Sins sinfulness, and Christ's excellings, next,  
Were taught him by his dearest lord (That Text  
No Art expounds) He chose this as the best  
Of Knowledge. Here his Soul came to its rest.  
And after this, was careful nought to know  
But a Christ-crucified. All things below  
He trod upon, counted them dung, and dross,  
If measured with the Knowledge of the Cross.  
Of all perfection he an End now saw,  
Saving what was in the Diviner Law.  
In closest studies on these Books he lay,  
They were his meditation night and day,  
Till he found out what e'er God had revealed,  
But posed at something which there lay concealed.  
[The vision of God face to face, what 'tis  
To know as we are known, or as he is].  
Lingering after this Knowledge too, God threw  
Two or three Stones, which to his Kidneys flew.  
These fetched out frequent Sighs, and many a Groan.  
With many a Prayer, Lord, forbear thy Rod,  
How can worms bear thy mighty hand, My God  
He had hard labours under this disease;  
But as the thoughts of Rachel once did please  
Jacob, so as he counted all as nought,  
By which he might into her Arms be brought:  
So did this Father often kiss the Rod,  
He saw would end i' th' Vision of God:  
Nor were his hopes in vain; His pains abated  
That very hour, when he was translated.  
You that think Bishops are but things of Honour,  
Whom none can please but Gardiner, or Bonner:  
That can control God's wisdom, who first chose  
The meekest man on Earth, to govern those  
That were his only people. You that can  
Dress up a Bishop shall not be a Man!  
Correct your Judgements. Say once to you came  
One, who a Bishop was more than in Name.    

An EPITAPH.  

REader! Why standest thou still to know  
Whose bones they are, which lie below  
This stone: they are Remains of one  
Who (in this Age) must lie alone.  
Sexton, forbear thy Spade too near  
The limits of this Sepulchre:  
The measures of that soul first take,  
For whose Case thou a Grave wouldst make:  
If thou findest it a Treasury  
Of Learning, Virtue, Piety,  
Possessed of Abraham's Faith, Job's Hope  
And Patience, a Telescope  
Of use for th' heavens only. Clothed  
With th' Sun, while th' Earth was by it loathed.  
If Moses meekness thou canst see  
In it, and grave Humility  
It's garment; then, when it might glory  
Of whatsoever can fill the story  
Of any Mortal: If the Case  
Shined with reflections of Grace;  
Thou may'st go on. If not, forbear;  
The Holy Spirit's Temple's here,  
Profaner flesh must not lie near.    

Licenced and Entered according to Order.