Classic Poem

Upon Master Alexander Henderson's Death and the Preaching Coachman

Greate Henderson the Scot is gon
Who Knockes downe now Roomes Babilon
If in such Boughs perch jus divine
How ist the Trunck should thus decline
Unlesse prevention heere had end
To save the weight of such a freind
And Nature to deny this Clay
Desert, quits it the Common way
Soe he lies silenced and dead
Who would have Bishops Silenced
Where are wee now who strikes the stroake
To resett Government thats broake
A Clock that is in sunder tain
May goe a game if Pinns remaine
To sett the wheeles together butt
Those lost it cannot move one jot
Forme was before reforming skill
As accon's still succeed the will
But that wee might more Passions Know
Heere wee'd run first then Learne to goe
Lay downe all government before
To take up one on a new scoare
Religion Bankerouted I feare
Ther's few can tell th'account to cleere
But in arithmatick goe on
Noe further can then Fraction
Or if they Multeply at all
Tis mischeife how t'make others fall
Divisions easy and the high-
Way, unto cheife authoritie
Not as our Saviours rules advise
By going Less to seeke to rise
But skiping up at once and there
As greate as John the Presbiter
Why was the buildings corner stone
Joynd with a Rock foundation
Of greatest proofe gainst wind and storme
If vertue was not raisd by Forme
Or did that seamlesse garment once
Christ chose to put on for the nonce
Emblem division I should bee
Convinc't wee ought not to agree
But as the twisted cords define
The truest seale of discepline
Soe let the Gospell changers all
Whose Doves have more then others gall
Expect whilst they exceed their last
Presumpsion chase them out as fast
For I beleeve that many Knocks
May beate a Coach man of His Box