had so

But if precedency in death doth bar

The A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre,

teous Under this curled marble of thine own,

gol Sleep, rare tragedian! Shakspeare, sleep alone, her That unto us and others it may be

he tre

Honor hereafter to be laid by thee!

A HYMN TO THE SAINTS, AND TO MAR-
QUESS HAMILTON.

WHETHER that soul, which now comes up to you,
Fill any former rank, or make a new,

Whether it take a name named there before,
Or be a name itself, and order more

Than was in heaven till now; (for may not he
Be so, if every several angel be

A kind alone ;) whatever order grow
Greater by him in heaven, we do not so.
One of your orders grows by his access,
But by his loss grow all our orders less:
The name of father, master, friend, the name
Of subject and of prince, in one is lame;
Fair mirth is damp and conversation black,
The household widowed, and the Garter slack;
The chapel wants an ear, council a tongue,
Story a theme, and music lacks a song.

Blest order, that hath him! the loss of him Gangrened all orders here; all lost a limb! Never made body such haste to confess What a soul was; all former comeliness Fled in a minute, when the soul was gone, And, having lost that beauty, would have none: So fell our monasteries, in an instant grown, Not to less houses, but to heaps of stone; So sent his body that fair form it wore, Unto the sphere of forms, and doth (before His soul shall fill up his sepulchral stone) Anticipate a resurrection;

For, as in his fame, now, his soul is here, So in the form thereof his body is there. And if, fair soul, not with first innocents Thy station be, but with the penitents; (And who shall dare to ask then, when I am Dyed scarlet in the blood of that pure Lamb, Whether that color, which is scarlet then, Were black or white before in eyes of men?) When thou rememberest what sins thou didst find Amongst those many friends now left behind, And seest such sinners as they are, with thee Got thither by repentance, let it be

Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them clean: With him a David, her a Magdalen.

END OF FUNERAL ELEGIES.

DIVINE POEMS.

HOLY SONNETS.

I. LA CORONA.

DEIGN at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
Weaved in my lone devout melancholy,

Thou, which of good hast, yea, art treasury,
All-changing unchanged, Ancient of days;
But do not with a vile crown of frail bays
Reward my Muse's white sincerity,

But what thy thorny crown gained, that give me,

A crown of glory, which doth flower always.

The ends crown our works, but thou crown'st our

ends,

For at our ends begins our endless rest;
The first last end now zealously possest,
With a strong sober thirst, my soul attends.
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high,
Salvation to all that will is nigh.

II. ANNUNCIATION.

SALVATION to all that will is nigh;
That All, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bea!',
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie
In prison in thy womb; and though he there