Francis Quarles

Anonymous, "Upon the Death of Francis Quarles," 1644 ca.; British Bibliographer 1 (1810) 535-37n.

[Joseph Haslewood: The following is from a Manuscript collection of State Poems.]

I must confess that I am one of those,
Admire a fancye more in verse than prose;
Yett thou in both workst on my judgement soe,
I scarce knowe which to chuse, which to lett goe;
As if Platonick transmigrations were,
The harpe of David still me thinkes I heare;
Thy powerful Muse hath soe strong influence
Upon my trobled soule, and every sence:
For when thou Salamon's misticke-straines dost singe,
Thy Muse then speakes the language of that kinge:
And when thou undertak'st the kinges just cause,
Thy strength is such, thy reasons bind like lawes:
This doth thy reason and thy loyaltye praise
That crownes thy statutes with eternall bayes:
Thy Muse hath rais'd a monument for the,
Thy prose a pyramid of loyaltye:
Thy memorye shalbe precious here belowe
Whilst menn the use of sacred learning knowe,
Thy soule is with thy deare beloved king's
And there with him new Haleluiahs sings.