Saints memorials, or, Words fitly spoken, like apples of gold in pictures of silver being a collection of divine sentences / written and delivered by those late reverend and eminent ministers of the gospel, Mr. Edmund Calamy, Mr. Joseph Caryl, Mr. Ralph Venning, Mr. James Janeway.

LONDONS LOSS: OR, An ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THAT Reverend Servant of God, AND Minister of Christ's Gospel, Mr. IOSEPH CARYL, Late Minister at Magnes London-bridge.

ROom for our Tears; for here are thousands come To vent our Founts at his commanding Tomb. But oh what Mortals Genius can devise A decent Flood for such a Sacrifice? His Pious worth must in our Hearts be writ, For 'tis above the reach of Head, or Wit. Happy's that earthly Closet keeps in trust The Reliques of a Saint now turn'd to dust. 'Tis one whom flatt'ry knows not how to paint Londons Divine, and Londons Magnes Saint.

See, see, the day by sable Clouds orespread, And bids us Weep, for Caryl now is dead; But by and by, do's seem to say, This Globe Could not detain him from his patient Job. Calamy went before, but there's no odds, Since each design'd to be a Child of God's. Observe the hours, how striving to retire, Caryl, and Comfort, seeming to expire, Bids Night and Nature hang the Vniverse With Black, due Obsequies for such an Herse. He ne'er was cruel to exhaust a Tear; All Weeping was reserv'd to spend it here: Those flattering Arts which Poets use, to save Decaying Reputations in the Grave Are here but vain, for no Hyperbole Can tell the World how great his Merits be. And Chronicles themselves can say no more Than what his Learning told the World be∣fore: His Pious Sermons did declare his worth, His Expositions set his Learning forth; And whilst we here lament his being gone, Angels with Anthems welcome him at home, And I my self a Catholick could be At least to Pray to such a Saint as he. Caryl, whose Conversation, free from ill, Can be express'd but by an Angel's quill: As in some mirrour you might clearly see In him, a perfect Map of Piety;

The Beauty of whose Vertues may incite The World to imitation and delight. Let us lament our loss, and blame his fate For not allowing Life a longer date. Reverend Caryl, may his Vertues shew As bright hereafter, as they're Glorious now: Who when he through this Earthly Globe had past, He dy'd, left he should idle grow at last; For when grown Ancient, he would even then Both study Piety, and use his Pen: He like an Artist did true Patience paint To us on earth, now to some Glorious Saint He shews the same, who can no longer cease, That, to extol, as Caryl's Masterpiece.