See there the happy troups of purest sprights
That live above in endless true delights;
And see where once thyself shalt ranged be,
And look and long for immortalitie:

And now before-hand help to sing
Allelujahs to Heaven's king.

ON

MR. GREENIIAM'S BOOK

OF THE SABBATH.

WHILE Greenham writeth on the Sabbath's rest,
His soul enjoys not, what his pen exprest:
His work enjoys not what it self doth say,
For it shall never find one resting day.

A thousand hands shall toss each page and line,
Which shall be scanned by a thousand eine;
That Sabbath's rest, or this Sabbath's unrest,
Hard is to say whether's the happiest.

ELEGY

ON DR. WHITAKER'.

BINDE ye my browes with mourning cyparisse,
And palish twigs of deadlie poplar tree,
Or if some sadder shades ye can devise,

Those sadder shades vaile my light-loathing eie:
I loath the laurel-bandes I loved best,
And all that maketh mirth and pleasant rest.

If ever breath dissolv'd the world to teares,

Or hollow cries made Heaven's vault resound: If ever shrikes were sounded out so cleare,

That all the world's wast might heare around: Be mine the breath, the teares, the shrikes, the cries, Yet still my griefe unseene, unsounded lies.

Thou flattering Sun, that ledst this loathed light,
Why didst thou in thy saffron-robes arise?
Or foldst not up the day in drierie night?

And wakst the westerne worldes amazed eies?
And never more rise from the ocean,
To wake the morn, or chase night-shades again.

Heare we no bird of day, or dawning morne,
To greet the Sun, or glad the waking eare:
Sing out, ye scrich-owles, lowder then aforne,
And ravens blacke of night of death of driere:
And all ye barking foules yet'never seene,
That fill the moonlesse night with hideous din.

Now shall the wanton Devils daunce in rings
In everie mede, and everie heath hore:
The Elvish Faeries, and the Gobelins:
The hoofed Satyres silent heretofore:
Religion, Vertue, Muses, holie mirth
Have now forsworne the late forsaken Earth.

'King's professor, and master of St. John's College, Cambridge; he died in 1595. This Elegy was annexed to the Carmen Funebre Caroli Horni, 1596. N.

Seldome had ever soule such entertaines, [crowne.
With such sweet hymnes, and such a glorious
Nor with such joy amids the heavenly traines,
Was ever led to his Creator's throne:

There now he lives, and sees his Saviour's face,
And ever sings sweet songs unto his grace.

Meanwhile, the memorie of his mightie name
Shall live as long as aged Earth shal last:
Enrolled on berill walles of fame,

Ay ming'd, ay mourn'd: and wished oft in wast. Is this to die, to live for evermore.

A double life: that neither liv'd afore?