skull with shovels, axes, bones and hourglasses 
MEMENTO MORI   
ON THE DEATH OF THE Honourable ROBERT boil.  

NOT least concerned tho' last our Muse appears,  
With broken words to bath thy Urn in Tears:  
She thought to hid within her sighing Breast  
The sullen Grief, the Torments that oppressed  
Her stifled Spirits; till at length a flamme  
broken thro' the Trance, amongst the crowd she came  
Upon thy Sacred Obsequies to wait  
To weep our Own, not Thine unhappy Fate.   

Great boil by Birth, Greater by Knowledge far,  
Natures chief Fav'rite, and the brigtest Star  
That Heav'ns ere shew'd to guide the Learned World  
Tho' tumb'ling Seas of Trials, Waves that hurled  
The tender Bark, in quest of Truth rigged out,  
And often lodged her on the Sands of Doubt,  
As oft the Rocks of School Disputes were made,  
And wrack't the Hopes of all the Learned Trade.  
But by thy Labours guided we may steer  
Betwixt these Dangers thro' an Ocean clear  
And pleasing as thy Style enriched with new  
Useful Discoveries, and yet always true.  
Truth was thy aim, Experiments the way,  
And Nature yielded to thy least Essay.  
Above the toil of business thy high Mind  
stooped not to glittering Earth, only inclined  
To Universal Good, and valued more  
An Useful Secret than the Indian Store,  
Or Great Arcanum, and that Day was lost  
When tedious business or Diversion crost  
Thy chief Design, th' Advancing Knowledge raised  
In Blooming Youth, and to thy last it blazed.  
In this thy sickly hours were spent, and then  
Thy Life seemed lent Three but for other Men.  
To you the Air new qualities revealed,  
Nor ought within her thin Embrace concealed  
The powers of Heat and could, of Moist and Dry,  
The Cause of Fixtness and Fluidity  
You sought, you found: Not the Seas Depth could hid  
Nor hidden Qualities in flamme reside.  
The far-stretcht Universe to you seemed small,  
You reached, and yet not only reached at all.  
To bring thy several great Designs in view,  
Were to repeat the Labours you went thro'.   

Nor were thy thoughts less influenced from above,  
Thy Soul was fired with seraphic Love.  
This Christian Virtuoso shew'd the Age,  
Men may for Nature and for God Engage.  
Greatness of Mind suits both, and he that's Wise,  
Offers to Heav 'n the grateful'st Sacrifice.   

At last, when Nature called, he slept away,  
Nor ope'd his Eyes till in Eternal Day:  
No Pain, no Sickness rudely forced his Breath,  
'twas a Translation rather than a Death.  
Th' Airs weight grew heavy for his purer Mind,  
And on its Spring it mounted up to find  
A Nature like itself, Divine and Free  
From Earthly Dross and all Impurity.  
Equilibrated there't at Rest remains,  
Scorning our Joys, and freed from all our Pains.  
filled with the Knowledge which below it sought;  
filled, yet acquir'ing for th' enlarged Thought,  
Grows more and more Capacious to receive,  
As the Eternal Mind vouchsafes to give.    

LONDON: Printed for Samuel Smith at the princes Arms in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1692.