The Gentleman. 1662

TH' imbalming Art that checks the pow'r of Time,
And curbs Corruption in its very Clime;
That guards our Carcasses against the Foes
Which in the trenches of the Grave repose;
With whose repairs our Cottages are drest,
Till the return of their Coelestial Guest;
Yet yields to Verse: a drop of Ink can guard,
From rav'nous Time, more than a pound of Nard.
When Bodies, by such means, are most kept safe,
Thy lie i'th' Tombe, but live i' th' Epitaph.
Yet Verse (from whence such benefits accrue)
Has a design, and hopes for more from you:
Thus Kings of old, whence streams of Honour come,
Receiv'd their Crowns fro'th' Common-wealth of Rome.
Nor does the Simile unfit appear;
Since a whole Senate's congregated here.
For your great Family did always use
A Caesar, or a Cato to produce.
In this one House a noble croud appears:
The eighth Sphear shines thus with a thousand Stars.
Like Pliny's fruitful Tree, from whose large root
An intire Orchard did together shoot.
One dreamt a Vine sprung from his Daughter's Bed,
Whose lofty branches Asia overspread;
Thus England's grac'd, and shelter'd by the Tree
Of your illustrious-fruitful-Progeny.

The Chanel of your Blood's unmixt, and free
From common Issues; like to that fam'd Sea
Which proudly sucks into its Womb profound,
That Mess of Rivers which did Eden round.
You are a rich compound, and Heralds view
A troop of Nobles, and yet all in you.
Your Person's a whole Presence; in each Eye
Ten Heroes in their mixt Elixirs lie.
You are Mosaick work, ta'n in tight sense,
Where each piece speaks a several excellence.