A funerall Ellegie, upon the death of Mr. John
Pim one of the worthy Members of the house of Conmons
Deceased the 8 of December.
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HAth Fate, and Time, conspird, to send thee Death,
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In spite of all the life guard of his breath:
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Health, Wit, and Courage, [strength for to withstand,]
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Natures [declining age], by temperance hand:
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Grew not his sences like the lawrell greene,
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By yeeres experience still more riper seene,
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Grew not his care still for his countries good;
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A Bulwarke that false Antichrist withstood:
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Was not his care his study, and his mind,
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To beate downe Vice, and have the Church refin'd:
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Did not his Judgement in the knowing Lawes,
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Both Temporall and Divine deserve applause:
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Did not his care spread like a saving shroud,
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With wholsome Counsell fit to b[e] allow'd,
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Like to a reverend Rabby of the Land.
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Judgement possest his Braine, Justice his Hand;
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Patience and temperance both liv'd in his mind,
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Pity his heart, his eyes alwaies inclind,
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To looke upon distresses of the poore, and apply helpe,
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What can a man doe more.
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His well pend Speeches, grave, discreet, and good,
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Hath been approv'd, by those that understood,
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To favour nothing, but of care, and weale,
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To publique health, who their defects would heale.
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Harsh roughnesse mixture had not in his blood,
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Meekenesse, and patience in his actions stood,
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Petitions given him from humble hands,
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As humbly he takes, and for them stands;
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So far that if they righteous things require,
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'Tis hard if he cannot finish their desire:
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And what gain'd he for all his well inclind,
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But censure evill from the base of mind,
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Hate of Malignant Papists, Cavaliers,
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With their abusive libells, still appeares,
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To fling at him reproch, and scandalls base,
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Which backwards still return[']d unto each face:
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And still in spite of their weak Etnian ire,
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His perfect gold outliv'd their hatefull fire,
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And I could wish that that from his ashie urne,
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That his new Fenix might to us returne.
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AN
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ACROSTICK
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on his name.
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I doe not grieve but thousands more,
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Over thy marble drops a second showre.
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Hearts fill'd with sorrow, eyes still overflowes
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Nothing but teares can ever drown sad woes.
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Peace quiet rest give thee, yet thy name shall be
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In every heart worn for thy memory:
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Meane time we stand engag'd thou hast discharged thine.
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Heres Earth in Earth involv'd Oh su[c]h a mold!
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Whose ore is purer then refined gold.
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Worms touch it not 'tis such a sacred clay
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You cannot rape, remain then t[i]ll the day
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Your separations meet, when both may bee
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Happy reviv'd in blest eterni[t]y.
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