Prototypes, or, The primarie precedent presidents out of the booke of Genesis shewing, the [brace] good and bad things [brace] they did and had practically applied to our information and reformation / by that faithfull and painefull preacher of Gods word William Whately ... ; together with Mr. Whatelyes life and death ; published by Mr. Edward Leigh and Mr. Henry Scudder, who were appointed by the authour to peruse his manuscripts, and printed by his owne coppy.

Banburies Funerall teares powred forth upon the Death of her late pious and painefull Pastour M^r. William Whately deciphered in this Sympathizing Elogy.

I am that Orbin which of late did shine An heav'n enlightned starre with raies divine, Which did arise within mee and dispence Light, life, heate, Heav'n-infusing influence, And went before me, steering right mine Eye Vnto the very place where CHRIST did lye. He was a Cynosura in my motion To Heaven's bright haven on this worlds vast Ocean; Or as the Aegyptian Pharos to descrie The rockes of sinne and errour to mine Eye. Hee was my Glorie, Beautie, Consolation, My very soule, I but the Corporation.

I would goe on with bleedings to recite, His and mine owne sad fall, but I can't write, Throbs shake mine hand, and griefe my sight destroyes, And when I speake, ah! teares doe drowne my voice: Yet will I sigh, and give my sorrowes pent Within my breast, by mournefull breathings vent. Come then speake sighs, write teares, and sadly storie, The dark Ecclipse that hath befell my glorie.

My Starre is falne, and Heavens did so dispose, That there he fell, where he at first arose: The Starres above us thus their races runne Returning thither whence they first begunne. But did I say hee's fallen? Stay me there, He is translated to an higher spheare, Where (though to th' world he is obscur'd) he may Shine forth unvailed in a purer ray, Fixt to an endlesse rest in heavens bright throne, Above all starry Constellation. But ah, alas Death hath dispos'd it so

That his rise prooves my fall, his weale my woe: His weale my woe? strange! what a change is this? My welfare was but now in wrapt in his: But thus Death innovates; and did he not Tell me that he Commission hath got, And warrant for his fact from heavens great King I would have brought him into questioning; Ah death what hast thou done? Dost thou not care To make a breach which ages can't repaire? So rare a Frame in peeces for to take VVhich Heav'n and nature did combine to make A Master-peece? For who did ere behold So sound a spirit in so strong a mold? Heaven's treasure which within his breast abode VVas by his liberall tongue disperst abroad. All Graces gave a meeting in him, even, To make his breast a little map of Heav'n. His lips distilled Manna; and he stood Not so for Church-goods as the Churches good. His voice it was a trump, whose sound was made VVith breath divine which it from Heaven had. His life a dayly Sermon, which alas, Methinkes was measur'd by too short a glasse. Ah Death though Painters give thee holes for eyes Yet thou canst see to take the richest prize, To hit the fairest mark; yet I suspect It was my sinne which did thine hand direct: My light had I improov'd it well for gaine VVould have remaind, els lights sha'nt burn in vain. Yet sure he is not dead, for why? I find Him still surviving, in my breast enshrin'd; And who can say that he's of life bereaven That lives in's works, inpious hearts in Heaven? He's but a sleepe, by death undrest, not dead, Or hath but changd his dresse; for he in stead Of these sin-staind ragges of mortality VVeares a pure robe whose length's eternity.

M. B.