The Absence. 1660

GOod-Fellowship begins to mourn,
And in thine absence, finds its Vrne.
When now we meet, 'tis to condole
Our Bodies rob'd of thee, the Soul.
And since thou art from Newark fled,
Both Sack and Ale for grief are dead.
Thus standing Brooks begin to stink,
When Sol is absent, or does wink.
Excise men much thy fitting curse,
Since lesser Income swells their purse.
For what thou drank'st, by some is said,
To make ten of 'em thrive o'th' Trade.
In vain Town-Musick seeks to cheer
Our griefs, whilst sprightly Ben's not here.
For without thee the Boy that sings
Is hoarse, his Fiddle wanteth strings.
All that to Church on Sundays come
Wish thou wert there, or all else dumb;
Since without thee they howl, not sing:
Like jangling Clowns that cannot ring.
They aim at Psalms, as do the Chymes,
And spoil 'em worse than Hopkin's Rhymes.
When thou wert here all did admire,
To hear, both Organs and the Choire.
Thy Voice form'd theirs: when thou didst sing,
Thou wert both finger and the string.
Thou mad'st the Tune; and all men say
Thy breath did make their Pipes to play.