The severall speeches and songs, at the presentment of Mr. Bushells rock to the Qveen's Most Excellent Majesty, Aug. 23. 1636 Her Highnesse being gratiously pleased to honour the said rock, not only with her royall presence, bvt commanded the same to be called after her owne princely name Henrietta.

M^r BVSHELL his Contemplation vpon the Rock.

GReat nature, had I not a Soule, that spies A greater power enthron'd aboue the skies, I should adore thee, and should I dolize This maister-peece of thine, and sacrifice The fat of Bullocks to thy memorie, But we forbidden are to deifie What may be seene; since that it is reveal'd The face of what's divine must be conceal'd From mortall eyes, untill that greatest light Be quite put out that severs day from night. Where are the Muses, that were wont to sing Their well tun'd note about Parnassus spring? Where is that Master-peece of Poets now That had a Lawrell wreath to crowne each brow? Where are those paper-spoylers, that can part With many sheetes to paint out painted Art In praising faces, features such as be In beautie poore, if once compar'd to thee? Shall I not thinke the world on's death-bed lyee, And summon'd to his funerall obsequies,

The soules departed hence, when thus I see Nature unlocke her richest treasurie. And in this doting age discover more Then in six thousand yeares that past before. You, that can sequester your selves from men, And buried be alive, in Caue, or den, In hollow ROCK, or in a desart groue, That the sad note of murmuring water love; Ile bring you to a ROCK, that for it's pleasure The Indies cannot purchase with their treasure, Where none but virgin silence liveth there And sweetest Musicke charmes the chastest eare The fountaines times doe keepe to birds that sing, And on the plaine song utter'd by each spring The ayerie Choristers division run; The solid ROCK that various streames hath spun Even into strings as small as smallest wyre, Seemes to consort, and so make up a quire Such as the holy virgines sweetly raise When their choice Hymnes doe sing on holy-dayes. So that devotion here is kept on wing, And rather rais'd, then checkt by whispering Of springs with ROCKS, or ROCKS with light heel'd streames Night swimmes away in rest, the day in dreames, So that the watchfull HERMIT needs no clock, There are perpetuall Chymes within this ROCK, That will not let his contemplation sleepe, Would he be sad, there he may learne to weepe Of every object offer'd to his eye; The humble pavement never shall be dry, But moystened still, with teares that there are shed, From the rich fountaine of the ROCKS curl'd head. This my Propheticke soule foretells shall be, ENSTON, the honour, that shall dwell with thee.