An elegie on the death of the Right Honourable Iohn Warner, late Lord Mayor of London.

AN ELEGIE On the death of the Right Honourable IOHN WARNER, Late Lord Mayor of LONDON.

THe sweetest, fairest, and the best of flowers, Lose their choise rarity in a few run hours: The wandring, glorious stars, when night is done Go down, and vail their bodies to the Sun: And when great Phoebus riseth in a flame To view the throne of darknesse, and proclaim Joy to all drowzy Mortals, and doth say, Rise slumbering Man, arise, and welcome day. The Moon ashamed of her pale face, doth shrowd Her, in the bosom of some darkened cloud: And thus among earths Lamplets, there is one This day gone down, and left our darkened throne; A glorious Star indeed, whose shining name Was blown by Honour, and the breath of Fame: His heart was faithfull, vertuous, and his face Was drest with greatnesse, goodnesse, truth, and grace: Vertue and wisdom taught him what to do, To unite all by love, and Justice too His lips, the lips of knowledge, in his eye Sate both humility, and Majesty; There was high Honour, yet fidelity, There brightnesse sate in vertues bravery. He sate in Honours Chair untill the last, In spite of Envy, or her nine dayes blast: His house was here on earth, his heart above, He lived in loyalty, and died in love. Oh, had he shined still, his Orient light Might make us blush to see our oversight! But he is gone: Times hour-glass being run, This Star went down to meet the morning Sun. Thus vain is earthly pomp, the flourishing Crown Of earthly royalty, death trampleth down. Thus is our wealth but want, our flower fades, Our light is darkness, and our sun-shine shades. Thus is our Honour lost; thus like a Theam Is earth, and Dignity is but a dream. Thus is our glory grass, our bravery breath, Our light is darkness, and our life is death: And if they promise more, they do but lie, 'Tis but a dream; go earth, lie down and die: Go earth, lie down and die, go see The gallant confines of eternity: Go to Elyzium, go to Paradise, Where all the ancient Heroes live in bliss. Go dwell in endless glory, till thou tire Times swift foot-race, for time cannot expire Thy lasting joy: go live above thy name, That rides on lofty wings of flying fame. Earth is too base to dwell on, go and pass Those streets of Gold, like to transparent glass, And shining glittering pearl, whereon each Gate Is built: go kiss the Lamb emaculate, Go put on robes of glory, go and be Swallowed with endless immortality. There is no Sun, nor Moon, no clouds, nor rain, No frowns, nor fortunes, nor corrupted gain; No curious gardens, nor no costly fare, No stately buildings, nor no worldly care; Nor no ridiculous smiles, no jests, nor play, No recreation, nor no holy-day; No drinking, cursing, swearing, nor abuse, No sin, no shame, no forrow, nor excuse; No slavery, guile, nor slander, nor sedition, No cozening fraud, nor goggle-ey'd suspition; No rape, no theft, no murder, nor no fear, Dwels in high glory, though they wander here: But high unmeasured joy, and amity, And love, and peace, and vertues rarity, And Pearls, and Onix, and the Jasper stones, And Palms, and Crowns, and Kingly royall thrones; And ravisht Allelujahs, which the brest Of Angels warble in eternall rest. Go earth, lie down and die; and to thy trust, Oh earth, we recommend his Honoured dust To lie and slumber, till his agedeyes Shall wake from deaths dark lullabies: Untill the trumpet sounds, and heaven shall say, Rise from the dead all Mortals, come away: And if thy Monument shall leave his trust, And turn to ashes like thy mouldring dust, Thy fame that cannot die, shall be A Monument in the worlds memory. Alas, and is this all that earth can do? A way vain glory, go, be intombed too.

Ieremiah Rich.

Fecit.