Divine glimpses of a maiden muse being various meditations and epigrams on several subjects : with a probable cure of our present epidemical malady if the means be not too long neglected / by Chr. Clobery ...

Death.

GReat King of terrours! Sythe-man of the earth, Whose harvest rounds the year; thou ne'er hadst dearth Since the world first was peopled; nor shalt have, Till it unpeopled be: the silent grave Is thy head-quarters, where all mankind keep Their gen'ral Rendevouz lull'd fast asleep In equal darkness, yet in quiet rest: There's no distinction of the worst from best; Great, small, friends, foes: all undisturbed ly, Of Sympathy void, and Antipathy: Lay Calvin with Calvus, (a popish Priest) Their arguments a child may here untwist: Put Alexander into Codrus toomb, He'll never justle for more elbow-room. Cesar's with Pompey's dust will co-unite, As well as Jonathan's with David's might. Death is the truest Leveller, that smoothes The lofti'st turrets with the lowest boothes. No controversies in her court arise: No titles question'd there in any wise; The plaintiff and defendant there may ly In peace together, with their Lawyers by Each on both sides: as here perhaps they were Much to their prejudice; but not so there. The taxing souldier, and the taxed clown, Shall be joynt-tenants when they here ly down In sweet, ungrumbling silence: land-lords great And tenants poor, shall have a like estate In this demesnes: the Emperour, and groom Partake without precedency this room. No fears, or jealousies disturb their rests: No Herauld needs to place this princes ghests.

'Tis a Decree in this great Court alone, TAKE PLACES AS YOU COME (or else have none.) Yet no distaste is taken, if it hap A beggar placed be in Caesar's lap. Death strikes with equal stroak: lays equal rates: All Adam's progeny with her are mates. More perfect order never yet hath been In any Monarch's Court that Earth hath seen. Say, Princess great, why is thy look so grim To what's meer man, being so fair and trim To gracious souls? it's but the fear of change That makes thee so: And yet (oh wonder strange!) Want of change caus'th that fear; man, hear my breath: Change but thy self, thou'lt ne'er fear change by death. Death's visage is a looking-glass, wherein Thou view'st thy foul deformity by sin: It's guilt of that, breeds fear of death in man, Whilst rinsed souls with joy embrace it can. See, see (besotted earth-worm) who hast run The race of man, and nought but cob-webs spun: Sow'd rotten seed: death thy race terminates, Cuts off thy warp: thy harvest antidates, And makes it dreadful, which might joyful be, If thou thy way of safety couldst but see. Death is a bond-mark-bridge to Heav'n and Hell, On yonder side: On this, to earth as well; Three spatious Kingdoms; (yea the three and all) On this side are two roads which equal fall At the bridge-end, the roads of joy and wo, And every man in one of them doth go: On t'other side, two spatious Inns are built; The one for innocence, t'other for guilt, To entertain the Travellers that pass The former roads: In these, a boundless mass Of joyes and woes, are treasur'd up in store, Where they shall joy, or mourn for evermore:

Both Inns are at Bridge-end on t'other side: One hath a narrow gate, the other wide: Whoe'er in either enters, ne'er returns, But there eternally, or joys, or mourns. Joy's road is narrow, rough, and thorny: woe's Broad, plain and smooth, wherein the whole world goes. Have care to chuse thy path, and rightly judge, For there's no changing paths beyond the bridge, But each of all the num'rous pilgrims throngs Lies in that Inn that to his path belongs, And there remains for ever: Heed thy walk: It's of concernment high whereof we talk: Tread the straight path, then death will be thy friend, And guide thee to joy's Inn at journey's end: For she presents the ghests in both the places, And is chief Umpire in all doubtful cases: For many seem to walk in way of zeal, Whose specious shews do good opinion steal Ev'n of the best; Yet (tri'd by death's true test) Lie down in sorrows Inn among the rest: Others (but few) may seem to walk the ways That lead to wo, whom death at last displays To be the joy-house ghests, who there sit down, And for their crosses here, enjoy a crown. Death is both ferry-man and boat, whereby We launch the Ocean of eternity: The Poets Charon, who doth waft alone Souls to Elysium, or to Acheron: It is the intermitting point whereby We time divide from perpetuity: Our time dies with us, though time's self remain Unto the time when we shall rise again. In brief, it's but a blank at life's line's end: To bad men, mortal foe; to good, a friend: It's amiable in a faithful eye, But horrible to Belial's progeny.

Fond man! cease death to fear: make right thy heart; Faith steeps in Balsamum death's surest dart, Trans-forms its wounds to cures; for thou shalt live Eternally by the wound death doth give.