your sad branches thicker join,
And into darksome shades combine,
Dark as the grave wherein my Friend
Large was his soul; as large a soul as eer
Submitted to inform a body here;
High as the place
twas shortly in Heaven to have,
But low and humble as his grave;
So high that all the virtues there did
As to their chiefest seat
Conspicuous and great;
So low, that for me too it made a room.
Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught,
As if for him Knowledge had rather sought;
did more learning ever crowded lie
In such a short mortality.
Wheneer the skilful youth discoursed or
Still did the notions throng
About his eloquent tongue,
Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit.
His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit,
Yet never did his God or friends forget;
deep talk and wisdom came in view,
Retired, and gave to them their due.
For the rich help of books he
Though his own searching mind before
Was so with notions written oer,
As if wise Nature
had made that her book.
With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
He always lived, as other saints do die.
Still with his soul
severe account he kept,
Weeping all debts out ere he slept.
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
the suns laborious light,
Which still in water sets at night,
Unsullied with his journey of the day.
But happy Thou, taen from this frantic age,
Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!
time for Heaven no soul eer chose
The place now only free from those.
There mong the blest thou
dost for ever shine;
And wheresoeer thou casts thy view
Upon that white and radiant crew,
Seest not a
soul clothed with more light than thine.
WELL then! I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall neer agree.
The very honey
of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity
Who for it can
endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings,
Of this great hive, the city.
Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave,
May I a small house and large garden have;
And a few
friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And since love neer will from me
A Mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian angels are,
Only beloved and loving me.
O fountains! when in you shall I
Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy?
O fields! O woods!
when, when shall I be made
The happy tenant of your shade?
Heres the spring-head of Pleasures flood:
wealthy Natures treasury,
Where all the riches lie that she
Has coind and stampd for good.
Pride and ambition here
Only in far-fetchd metaphors appear;
Here nought but winds can
hurtful murmurs scatter,
And nought but Echo flatter.
The gods, when they descended, hither
did always choose their way:
And therefore we may boldly say
That tis the way too thither.
How happy here should I
And one dear She live, and embracing die!
She who is all the world,
and can exclude
In deserts solitude.
I should have then this only fear:
Lest men, when they my pleasures
Should hither throng to live like me,
And so make a city here.
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