IN HONO [...] OF THE RIGHT WORSHIPFVLL DOCTOVR ROBERT PINKE, Doctour of DIVINITIE, And VVarden of New Colledge in OXFORD.
Printed in the Yeare, 1648.
On the much lamented death of the Right VVorshipfull Doctour PINKE VVarden of New Colledge in Oxon.
COme, droppe a Teare from some relenting eye,
That I may weepe, or sigh an Elegy.
Teares of so high-Concernment, Accents raise,
Of Longer Durance, then the Poëts Bayes.
He that can pen a sigh, and write a teare,
Deserves to be a Poët-Laureat here.
Whoso with-Inke, not Teares, indites one Verse,
Is but a Poë aster at this Herse.
Come then, ye Muses, in a Black-Disguise,
And bring whole Helicon within your eyes.
Empty your Treasures, and unload your store;
Your best knowne Freind will never know you more.
Attend, yee Graces, doe your Homage too,
Adde Grace to him, that was a Grace to You.
But ô! Hee's gone! Nature, and Wit, and Art,
No other Mansion had but in his Heart.
All Christian-Virtues too, which he knew best.
Had severall-Thrones appointed in his Breast.
But that All-Hee, and all these too are lost,
Read this in him alone, that All ingrost.
Would you then know how kind and good he was?
Goe, read this in the weeping Orphan's Face.
Or how devout to workes of Charity?
Goe, be resolved by the Poore Mans eye.
Nor was he in Divinity the least
Of our grave-Pauls: He may be well the best;
Whose words, when you some Scripture doubts would know,
Might well have pass'd for Text and Comment too.
Just such was Hee. In his inspired-eye,
You might have read exact Divinity.
Nor was his End unlike unto his Life,
His Life and Death were at a sacred-strife,
Which should excell in Goodnesse: His last voice
Might well Enthrone him in Eternall-Joyes.
For how can hee, but ever Blessed bee,
That made's Last-Words a Benedicite?
On the Death of the Reverend ROBERT PINKE Doctor of Divinity, VVarden of New-Colledge in Oxford.
O Let mee sigh and burst! my heart's too great
To be contain'd within a Cabinet
Brimfull with sorrowes pregnant in my breast,
Some Pegasus to stricke a spring at least,
Like that of Helicon may flow in Verse
And weepeng Elegies about his Herse,
Are we design'd for ruine i [...] our fate
Drawne out inevitably desperate,
Destruction threatned long before his fall,
Now rides in Triumph at this Funerall,
Enjoyes the Tyrants wish, glories that shee
In one hath murther'd a Society.
For are wee living yet, shall it be sayd
The Body walkes about without an Head?
At best wee are but Bruits for it is cleare
Our Reason and our Iudgement's buried here,
And that advantage from our soules shall bee
That wee have sence to tell our miserie,
Hell-paines are most in losses and wee know
Our owne as great as can be here below,
To loose a Le [...]rned and an Eminent man
Puts us beside or studies when wee can
Plead for our ease that all our industrie,
Our thoughts, our Learnig, with our selves they die.
To loose a President of such entire
And honest Principles, makes us enquire
Whether all goodnesse is not banish't hence
And wee alone exempt from Providence,
Too loose a Doctor of our Church whose life
Was a continued Sermon without Strife,
Or Faction, true to God, and Church and King,
Would make Us feare a downefall: when wee bring
Examples of whole States ran to decay
When such Palladiums were snatch't away.
Yet to draw nearer when wee looke uppon
Our Academies late distraction,
Whats aime to shatter and disjoint the whole
And then consider how this publicke Soule
That did Unite and actuate, and led
Our University, is vanished.
How will the Body fall a Sacrifice
To Malice, Sacriledge, and Avarice.
Lastly to understand our owne distresse,
Under what Prejudice and Tempests these
Unhappy times wee lie, our Pilot dead
Who with a skilfull eye discovered
The Storme at distance knew to steere his course
With such an even hand would breake the force
Of threatning Waves so that we past these yeares
Of troubles most secure, but now our feares
And terrours compasse Us, as thunderstrooke
Wee stand amaz'd, on one another looke
And know not what to trust too, where to lay
Our Anchors, whose command we sh [...]uld obey,
Give mee a draught of Shipracks for 'tis sure
Wee all must sinke in th'storme or beg on th'shore.
On the much lamented death of ROBERT PINKE, Doctour of Divinity, & VVarden of New Colledge.
WEre I all Rheume, and made of Teares,
I could not droppe one on this Hearse.
He was a Dunce's enemy,
And never could endure mee.
Were I a Wit I'de weepe in Verse,
And drench the Dropsi'd sun in Teares.
I'de make each Muses eye to run,
Like a new sprung Helicon.
You Schollers might methinks devise,
Meanes to distill old Tragoedies,
In greifes Alymbeck till there flowes,
From thence a Quintissence of woes.
Then take the Spirits of them [...]ll,
And sprinkle o're this Fune [...]all.
Nothing but the soule of Woe,
Can actuate a greife for You,
What Vollies of your sighs would well,
Fill th' obits of your Colonell.
One that like a Rocke hath stood,
Curb'd the stormes, and checkt the floud.
Who for your sakes regarded not,
Th'insulting Souldier, or his shot;
Who kept Apollo's Florets free,
From th'clutch of rude Hostility;
Walkt round the Battlements of wit,
When Barbarisme stormed it.
For when he was in th'Gatehouse led,
All Learning was imprisoned.
By what he suffer'd there we know,
What torments dwell in hell below.
He dranke his, Teares and sorrowes Lees;
And 'ate the Bread of carefullnesse;
Yet his Fancy was as cleare,
As if he fed on Sunbeames there.
Being got from thence; for by the story,
It was not Hell, but Purgatory;
He kickt Rebellion out of Towne,
Pull'd Ignorance and Atheisme downe,
He purg'd the Schooles of Solecisme,
Refin'd pedanticke barbarisme.
His silken Phrase made Logicke run,
As smooth as calmed Helicon.
But oh! hee's gone, the wellcome bee,
Dullnesse and stupidity.
Burne your Bookes, or onely con,
The Talmud or the Alkaron;
Studdy you may your hearts out; but
This Anabaptist, Death, hath cut,
All humane Learning downe at once,
As if he had beene brib'd for th'nonce,
By th'Agitatours, to doe what,
Yurberry and they could not.
A greater blow there never came,
From Poland or from Amsterdam.
Let Boyes play on his name and cry,
'Tis pitty such a flower should dye.
I cannot thinke him dead that is,
Transplanted into Paradise.
Nor are we of his sweet bereaven,
Since what we loose is gain'd by heaven.
For though I love a Posie well,
I doe not envy Gods the smell.
On the Death of ROBERT PINKE Dr. of Divinity, and late VVarden of New-Colledge.
LOe here the pride of Wicham's Garden dyes
Cropt to be made a flower in Paradise,
As wee doe bruise a root to put i'th Earth
That it may sprout and gaine a second birth,
Thus is Hee layd in ground never to dye
But to spring up to all Eternity:
Su [...]e as I live Hee's dead! w'have lost the man,
N [...]y more w'have lost our all-who justly can
Let downe the Flood-gates of his bigge swolne eyes
When hee shall heare of such sad obsequies?
But is Hee dead, Ile not beleeve it! froward fate
Could never be so curst to Anti-date
The latter-day; Philosophy controle
and leave the drooping world without a soule.
But oh!
Hee's dead! dead on my life! Rude Death
How durst thou be so bold to filch his breath
That gave so many life? how knowst but Hee
May hasten time to throw a dart at thee?
How many things in blacke might we home fate
Have freely seiz'd and nee'r bin murmur'd at,
Such who devoutly chew the coud upon
Some new found fangle in Religion
For seven yeares together, then scot free fall
To tel's at las [...] wee sh [...]ll have none at all.
How well might these be spar'd; e'n let them dye,
Wee'l thank ill favou [...]'d Death for's courtesie.
But oh! when ver ue dyes! who can forbeare
That hath a Teare to lend but give it there.
And here lyes one who when hee liv'd possest
All ingrost vertue in his Catholique breast,
Whom every Grace did court to be her sphere,
And every Muse had plaid her mansion there
And sadly now unto thy sacred-tresse
Bring in each eye a Teare, each hand a Verse,
Hee was [beleeve mee Reader for 'tis rare]
One in whom all choise gifts implanted were
Whose masculine Phrase and Soveraigne Speech was such,
Tully might talke more but not speake so much,
Whose every action had the noble end
O [...] to advance desert or grace a friend.
Hee was not gouty fingred who more free,
More open handed to the poore than Hee
If good works prove, that liv'd hence you may read
The sad but certaine cause 'tis PINKE is dead
Hee was to good to live; Bee this pride
With him all vertue liv'd, with him all died,
FJNJS.