AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the Worthily Honoured THE LORD CHARLES RICH.  

CAn one of Englands Cedars shrink away  
So privately, into a Bed of day,  
And be Eclipsed from the eye of Day?   

HOw should this gem be lost? could we not crave  
A short Reprieve? But now are forced to have  
Ten thousand Weeping eyes to watch his Grave:   

ALas! the hand of Heaven has Cut his Twine,  
And locked him in a Tomb, whose bars confine  
More Glorious Riches than an Indian Mine.   

raised with the Glorious Angels to their choir,  
This High born Soul sings with th' Immortal Lyre,  
warmed by the Sacred Heat of Holy Fire.   

LOve's Triumph, Earth's fair gem, and Flora's Bower,  
Beauties Array, Worlds Wonder, Natures Flower,  
Was cropped, and crwoned in a happy hour.   

EArth, to thy trust we recommend the prise  
Of this bright Oar, there needs no watchful eye,  
Love stand to Guard him while he butted lies.   

SParkling in Brightness, situated High,  
Clob'd in the highest Glory, there his Eye  
Is filled with Triumphs of Eternity.   

REst in thy quiet Urn, let no Weed dare  
Spring from thy hallowed Earth, but flowers most fair  
Surround thy Closet with presumed Air.   

jove, Pallas Juno, and the Muses, near  
This place will sit sometimes, to drop a Tear,  
While this sweet Captive is a prisoner here.   

COuld I but reach thy Virtues in their Prime,  
My Fancy would be quickly so Sublime,  
I'd out-write Ovid in his highest Rhyme.   

HArmonious Soul, now all thine Anthems be  
High hallelujahs, and 'tis best that we  
Do sing our Maker's Praise in Imitating Thee.   Written by Jeremiah Rich