An Elegie on the Death of Dr. Porter

Stay, silver-footed Came, striue not to wedThy maiden streames soe soone to Neptune's bed;Fixe heere thy wat'ry eyes upon these towers,Vnto whose feet in reuerence of the powers,That there inhabite, thou on euery dayWith trembling lippes an humble kisse do'st pay.See all in mourning now; the walles are jett,With pearly papers carelesly besett.Whose snowy cheekes, least joy should be exprest,The weeping pen with sable teares hath drest.Their wronged beauties speake a tragoedy,Somewhat more horrid than an elegy.Pure, & vnmixed cruelty they tell,Wch poseth Mischeife's selfe to parallel.Justice hath lost her hand, the law her head;Peace is an orphan now; her father's dead.Honestie's nurse, Vertue's blest guardian,That heauenly mortall, that seraphick man.Enough is said, now, if thou canst crowd onThy lazy crawling streames, pri'thee be gone,And murmur forth thy woes to euery flower,That on thy bankes sitts in a uerdant bower,And is instructed by thy glassy waueTo paint its perfum'd face wth colours braue.In vailes of dust their silken heads they'le hide,As if the oft-departing sunne had dy'd.Goe learne that fatall quire, soe sprucely dightIn downy surplisses, & vestments white,To sing their saddest dirges, such as mayMake their scar'd soules take wing, & fly away.Lett thy swolne breast discharge thy strugling groanesTo th' churlish rocks; & teach the stubborne stonesTo melt in gentle drops, lett them be heardOf all proud Neptune's siluer-sheilded guard;That greife may crack that string, & now vntieTheir shackled tongues to chant an elegie.Whisper thy plaints to th' Ocean's curteous eares,Then weepe thyselfe into a sea of teares.A thousand Helicons the Muses sendIn a bright christall tide, to thee they send,Leaving those mines of nectar, their sweet fountaines,They force a lilly path through rosy mountaines.Feare not to dy with greife; all bubling eyesAre teeming now with store of fresh supplies.