An Elegy and Epitaph on the deplored death of the much worthy William Barklay Esquire, one of the Aldermen of the City of London; dedicate to Mr. Hen. Barklay.

STay, and release my wonder! you that can
Resolve what may compleat a perfect man
So absolute, that future times may well
Admire at, but shall never parallel;
Let him be wise and learn'd, his better part
Be richly furnish'd with transcendent Art;
Let Nature be his friend, and in his mind
Let vertues choice indowments be refin'd:
He will come short of him, whose body lyes
At this time floating in his Mourners eyes;
For in this Monument is one in whom
Faith, Hope, and Charity ook up their room;
One who hath gather'd vertues (since his birth)
Enough to crown a man in heaven and earth;
When acts of equity were in his trust,
He ever was both merciful and just;
The poor he pitied, but his soul would nere
To vitious greatness turn Idolater:
He had (indeed) a heart which the worst times
Could never tempt to profitable crimes;
His thoughts were pure, his actions free, his store
Was made a good Exchequer for the poor;
Though envy oft on vertue doth attend,
He forced envy's self to be his friend:
By this the knowing Reader well may see
The brittle State of best mortality:
Let man be nere so perfect in his parts,
And have the accomplishments of all the Arts,
Though he live long and well, yet shall he have
No earthly gratulation, but a grave:
Forbear more words (my phantsie) thou'rt too weak,
Great griefs are silent, whil'st small sorrows speak:
Although his body sleep, till the day come
Shall reunite him to his antient home;
His soul is mounted on Seraphick wings,
Unto the Mansion of the King of Kings.