Classic Poem

Press often for , (nor, than at This Time, more)
But never by , a Weight of Cash before:
(A Weight to me , scarce less than That whereby,
Wee read, How One, did once oppressed, die)
Fair Lady, suffer The Oppressed to CRY .

Oppressed , in my Generous Lady's Name ,
By th' Interchanges both of Joy and Shame ;
(For Joy and Sorrow mutually are sped
Of their Extreems; This, by Contraction bred
By Bold Dilation , That: Each Passion fill's
The Sails, And th' Cross , no more than Kindness , kills.)

Oppress'd by Joy , whilst of, at Home , my Stock
The Streights , (which Those might of Gibralther mock)
Some Exit found, by' a Pilot, SILVER nam'd,
For Skill, more than Old Palinurus , fam'd:
No Jacobs-staff , nor all th' Intreagues, with which
The Loadstone doth the Neptunist enrich,
Can show such Art as HIS , which might prevail
About Old Gunter's Head, to Break his Scale .

Oppress'd with Shame , which, since I can requite
Your Kindness no way, somewhat cloud's it's Light;
Whilst to that sorry shift , I must proceed,
By th' Will , which only Complement's the Deed ;
For where th' Receiver nothing can advance,
Though it the Donor's Largess doth enhance,
Yet He, mean while, his Fortune cant but grieve,
Who's Good for Nothing else, but to Receive .

Oppressed thus by What doubly doth express
Your Bounty , and my own Unworthiness ,
I cannot, since Both , in Your Praise , agree,
But Lifting up my CRY, your Herald be;
A CRY of Benediction, still which is,
Or ought to be, in Causa Pauperis .
A CRY which, were my Muse but lung'd, should roul
Through th' Earth's vast Round, and eccho Either Pole ;
But to the Poles this News as soon did dart ,
As purpos'd in Your Ladiships Good Heart:
Than by the Voice of Alms no Greater Rents
Are giv'n to th' Empyrêal Battlements.
Then Those , no Cries of Wrong , the yielding spheeres,
Cut swifter, to The Lord of Sabaoth's Ears ,
Whose Hosts stand rang'd, as well with Grace to 'enlarge
The Bounteous , as the Gripeing Wretch to Charge.

But What then shall I CRY?
Why, could a Claudipede aspire so High
As Gerizim's fair Top, He Thus would Cry .

MAY Those Rich Graces (which by Nature's Toil,
Were never yet the Product of her Soil)
Sprung in your Heart, by HIM, and made to Grow ,
WHOSE Gifts and Callings no Repentance know,
Still Thrive, still Efflorescent , there, persist,
Blown by Those Gales , which Breath where e're They List :
Nor may Ripe -Years, (which may your Life attain)
In Their fresh Verdure , ever sense a Wain ,
Until Transplanted to th' Caelestial-seat,
Those Graces shall in Glory be compleat.

MAY, in Each Good and Charitable Deed ,
Your Native Generosity proceed,
Incited from the Memory and the Thought
Of Your Great Phipps, with greater Care, who sought
(through Numerous Evil Treats, and's Neighbour's strife,
Ev'n at th' Expence of's Time, Estate and Life)
How He, his Countrey might Advantage most,
Than, once, the Treasure , on th' Iberian -Coast.

MAY your Dear Son and Heir, (Your Goodly Choice)
The Heart of Your Good Ladiship rejoice:
May That fair Branch , as well in Deed as Name ,
Confess That Noble Line , whereof he came,
The Spencer's Line , A Name of much Renown,
Though sometimes suffering under Fortune's Frown .
And may , when Years have writ Him Man , The Fame
Of HIM , from whom is his Adopted -Name,
And Acts of That Great Heroe, make his Mind
To Every Great and Virtuous Thing inclin'd,
That (celebrated in our Hearts and Lipps)
He may present, A Redivived PHIPPS .

But let me Reassume, e're I give o're,
The Threed, I'd partly toucht upon before.
MAY Heaven, with Many Daies, our Lady Grace ,
An Honour, to Religion and her Place:
May she be'amongst us Long and Nobly-Liv'd ,
By whose Good Pattern Piety hath Thriv'd:
May she, maintain'd, who, in her station , hath,
Unto The Saints the Once Delivered FAITH,
Receive, when Death her Passage hence shall Tole
The END of her's, The Saving of her Soul .
That when, her Labours , here, being Laid-aside,
She Resteth with That LORD, in Whom she dy'd,
By her Good WORKS, she yet may Speak , whilst Dead ,
And in Each WORLD, by Them be followed,
Both This she 'th Left, and That to which she's fled.

But shall my Muse, e're she her Wishes stay,
No Honours to the Female-Beauty pay?
A Province, which I never did decline,
Wish , Muse, then, to our Lady Thus, in fine:

MAY Her Bright FORM, where yet no Mote appear's
Of Envious Age , but mock's ev'en Blooming Years,
Still hector Time's rough Teeth , which mostly plow
The Earliest Furrows , in the Smoothest- Brow:
May , in her Cheeks, the striving Red and White
Still hold their own, and Neither gain by Fight :
May Those Fresh Roses , ever in their Bloom,
Unto her latest Breath, retain their June ;
And Typify, when Death hath clos'd her Eyes,
What she shall, at the Resurrection , rise.