English Puritan & Reformed

A Rhetorical Rapture

Samuel Slater (d 1704) · 1,299 words · 6 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/B05880.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

A RHETORICAL RAPTURE AS COMPOSED INTO A FUNERAL ORATION At the Mournfull Moving of His HIGHNES Stately EFFIGIES from SOMERSET-HOUSE.

By Mr. Slater.

         Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota Britanni,
        
         Non essem exiguus tanti ploraminis actor,
        
         Tú{que} tuis Armis, nos Te potiremur O
        
        Cromwell.

        HAd not our
        
         Sins
        
        or'e our
        
         Prayers
        
        prevailed,
       
        We might have now for
        
         them,
        
        not
        
         Thee
        
        bewailed:
       
        Thou thine
        
         own Arms
        
        enjoyed, we
        
         joy'd
        
        in
        
         Thee;
        
        Nor had there been this grand Disparitie,
       
        So mean a
        
         Muse
        
        mourn so
        
         Heroic
        
        Worth,
       
        But our kind
        
         Angel
        
        brings
        
         Fame
        
        's Treasures forth.

         Fame
        
        sounds the
        
         Victories
        
        which
        
         Thou
        
        bequeaths
       
         Christendom,
        
        crowning
        
         Thee
        
        with Laurel wreaths:
       
        Seventh
        
         Henry
        
        's Chapel may Thy
        
         Corps
        
        entombe,
       
        But for Thy
        
         Monuments
        
        the
        
         World
        
        's the room:
       
        Seventh
        
         Henry
        
        's or
        
         Cromwell
        
        's Chapel, which you please
       
        Call it; or, to Them Both,
        
         Chapel of Ease;
        
        Or,
        
         Honors Cabinet;
        
        or,
        
         Valours Tent
        
        To repose in, after the Day is spent,
       
        To rise at sound of Trump, clad
        
         cap a pe
        
        In bright Armor of
        
         Immortality.

        But soft, Must CROMWELL to an
        
         Abbey
        
        go?
       
        The name of
        
         Abbeys
        
        is to
        
         Cromwell
        
        's Foe:
       
        'It is true, That
        
         Nobles
        
        zeal was very hot;
       
        According unto Knowledge, Was it not?
       
        Knew
        
         He
        
        not too-too-well the Tromperies,
       
        The fond Fripperies of the
        
         Friaries,
        
        Dull
        
         Abbey-lubbers
        
        glutt'nous Luxury?
       
         Zeal
        
        qualified thus, though hot, is not dry;
       
        Not so dry, to swallow them at a gu'p,
       
        The Crimes of
        
         Abbeys
        
        did themselves eat up.

        Go CROMWELL then, down to the
        
         Abbey
        
        go,
       
        Down to thy
        
         mother
        
        bow: Thy
        
         Daughter
        
        (know)
       
        Toll'd thy Great Bell; the
        
         Prim-rose
        
        fading young,
       
        The old
        
         Stock-Gilly-flower
        
        could not last long.

        Go, Honorably down, to Thy long Home,
       
        Thy Mother
        
         Earth
        
        hath decked Thee up a room:
       
        Ah! Kind
        
         Mother,
        
        that never forsaketh
       
        In life time
        
         Man
        
        of her Fruits partaketh,
       
        And dead, into her Bosom is received;
       
        Such kindness, not known, might not be believed;
       
        Patient
        
         Grizels
        
        Passive Great Grandmother
       
        We dare not in be-dulled silence smother
       
        Top of our Kindreds so stupendous Kindness,
       
        Left Ingratitude blast us to Blindness:
       
        To give thy children Bread, Thou suffering
       
        Long furrows in thy Back, and they whistling
       
        The while; and when that we
        
         (Clods of Clay)
        
        must
       
        At length come to ourselves, Dust unto Dust,
       
        Thy very Bowels be dig'd up for us;
       
        Why doest Thou suffer? Why we serve Thee thus?
       
        Like
        
         Agrippina
        
        art Thou upon it set
       
        To cry
        
         Occidar modo Imperet?
        
        To gain thy
        
         Dirt-Blood
        
        Off-spring Heavenly Crowns
       
        Without a Tear courting their heavy wounds?

        Go CROMWELL peaceably, to thy long Home,
       
        There needs not any bustling to make room:
       
        Divine
        
         Eliza
        
        's, and Sixth
        
         Edward
        
        's Dust
       
        Deposited in rich
        
         Carcanets,
        
        in trust
       
        Till glorious morn of Resurrection,
       
        Will (in a Land-skip of th' Ascension)
       
        To congratulate thy Sereness, rise,
       
        Flying quick into thy Followers eyes:
       
        Whence such an Inundation of Tears,
       
        That out-vied
        
         Thamesis,
        
        shrinking with Fears,
       
        Glides ghastly to the Main-Guard for recruit:
       
        The mobled Ocean (as its Natives, mute
       
        At the Starting news) flows to th' Funeral
       
        Of his Great
        
         Master,
        
        and out-weeps 'um all:
       
        The trickling Brine blazoning, All Strike-fail
       
        To
        
         RICHARD; Oliver
        
        's Blazing Star, the
        
         Whale.
        
        Flaming Comets
        
         Divination
        
        hold,
       
        But
        
         Whales,
        
        extinct,
        
         Divinity
        
        unfold:
       
         Jonah
        
        's Pulpit, (dead) turned Prophet, showed Thee
       
        Thy Death,
        
         swallowed up into victory.
        
         Trees
        
        six-and-sevens tossed: the
        
         Storm
        
        's Deep-witty;
       
        While Sixty-six throws out the Seven-Hill'd City,
       
        Griev'd
        
         Tiber,
        
        crimson'd with Companions gore,
       
        New-sleeks in her own wash
        
         Rome's
        
        rivell'd
        
         Whore:
        
        How's
        
         Babylon Babel'd!
        
        Her Merchants cry;
       
        Ruining
        
         Storm,
        
        ruined, echoes as I.

        Go from this thy brave House of
        
         Somerset
        
        To a braver, trimmed with Thee our
        
         Summer set:
        
        Sun-like, Go down into thy
        
         Western
        
        Vault;
       
         Our Great Generals Bride-chamber
        
        let us called;
       
         CROMWELLS
        
        and
        
         Cromwellines
        
        True-Lovers-Knot,
       
        Till to Glory waked, Their Gloomy Grott
       
        To rest in, or the Suns cool-silent Shade;
       
        Where, Worms do drive a very subtle Trade
       
        I'th Royal '
        
         Change
        
        of (the Moons Hieroglyphic)
       
        The Arched Vault; by the Mysterious trick
       
        Of Bartering growing big as Burgesses,
       
        Trucking their Snips of Prince-worn Taffeties
       
        For whole pure Peeces of God-like durance:
       
        But (see the Wit of Justice!) though t' advance
       
        Themselves a-while by gourmandizing gains,
       
        They neither Day nor Night spare any pains,
       
        But to Corpulentize ravenous Wembs
       
         Anthropophagize
        
        even
        
         Royal Stems;
        
         Vengeance
        
        at last doth
        
         Covetousness
        
        repay,
       
        All
        
         Merchant-worms
        
        quite Breaking on
        
         Doomsday.

        Go to thy Monumental Home: 'tis our part
       
        To attend Thee to thy Tomb; where each Heart
       
        Entombing Thee our entombed Center,
       
        We, New Monuments, 'mongst the Old shall enter
       
        In doleful March, slowly to solemnize
       
        Our bounden Loyaltie in free-flowing eyes.

        Stand there, like Cristal Cloud-pointing Pyramid
       
        Carved by Angels for Great
        
         Britons David,
        
         Providences second Sweetheart:
        
        There, Stand
       
        Dictator (of the first word of Command)
       
        To
        
         England's
        
        Senators; who, to Her true,
       
        Can (best knowing
        
         Caesar's
        
        and
        
         Senates
        
        due)
       
        Dominion-debates make like
        
         That;
        
        unite;
       
        Arm Hands abroad, not Heads at home to fight.

        Stand a
        
         Mirrour
        
        to
        
         Christian
        
        Magistrates,
       
        A
        
         Terror
        
        stand to
        
         Popish
        
        Potentates:
       
        Stand an
        
         Honor
        
        to Seventh
        
         Henry
        
        's Pile,
       
        An
        
         Horrour
        
        to
        
         Enemies
        
        of This
        
         Isle:

        Stand, in thy fair
        
         Effigies,
        
        erect,
       
        Admired
        
         Center
        
        of all Eyes: Reflect
       
        The Royal rays of thy Majestick form
       
        Calmly on thy Spectators; let no storm
       
        Intwist thy Brow at an approaching Foe,
       
        But seeing Thee he will a Convert go.

        Go CROMWELL then, Down to the
        
         Abbey
        
        go,
       
        Down to thy Mother
        
         Earth:
        
        From Heaven know
       
        Honor keeps pace with Thee, unto thy Tomb;
       
        Nor will it there forsake Thee (as with some)
       
        And back go with the Heralds: but fairly
       
        Hovering over Thee, out of thy memory
       
        Brood numberless
        
         Protectors
        
        to this
        
         Isle,
        
        Who shall make
        
         Babylon
        
        frown, and
        
         Zion
        
        smile.

        The
        
         Worlds chief General,
        
        march to thy long Home,
       
        March on thy Brave
        
         Herse
        
        to the
        
         worlds
        
        chief Tomb;
       
        Thy
        
         Elias
        
        -Soul long since marched away,
       
        The Mantle falling on our
        
         Elisha:
        
        Thy
        
         Souls
        
        march upwards was, thy
        
         Corps
        
        march down;
       
        Thy
        
         Soul
        
        hath free Reward,
        
         Corps
        
        due Renown;
       
        The Angels
        
         Treble-Anthem
        
        That singing is,
       
         Adam
        
        's Heavy Slumber debasing This;
       
        But This to That shall rise, That welcome This;
       
        Prerogative and Privilege join in bliss:
       
        March, March away; March down to thy long Home,
       
        Millions of Mourners sigh to see Thee come.

        Ye pretty chirping
        
         Choristers
        
        of th' Air,
       
        Warbling wild
        
         Elegies,
        
        nimbly repair
       
        To His
        
         Chariot:
        
        there, Melody-spent, die,
       
        Out-doing Art in Natures Poetry:
       
        But yet hold out, 'till ye have sung Him home,
       
        To pick Him, out your Feather-beds, one of Down.
       
        Great Grandmother of walking Worms, grave
        
         Earth,
        
        Our Dry Eyes may portend deserved Dearth;
       
        Admit our Plea, Only light Sorrows whine,
       
        The Grandeur of our Groans does surmount thine:
       
        But
        
         Dame,
        
        —lest You gravel'd with groans, falter,
       
        All-a-row, Soldiers, row Him home by Water.

         Phoenix of Princes
        
        Fame doth
        
         OLIVER
        
        own,
       
        And prophecy'ng thus, or'e the World's now flown;
       
        An
        
         Angels
        
        Quill dipt in
        
         Babylon's
        
        Blood
       
        Shall make My
        
         CROMWELL
        
        fully understood:
       
        Till then (
        
         Muses, Rhet'rick,
        
        shortening thy rate)
       
         OLIVER
        
        's own Acts
        
         CROMWELL
        
        best celebrate.

THE EPITAPH.

         STay,
         
          Pilgrim,
         
         Stay; Tread gently; Mourn a while
        
         O're that rests under, Th' Honor of this, Isle:
        
          England's PROTECTOR,
         
         Victorious
         
          OLIVER:
         
          Europe
         
         's Arbitrator: The World's Wonder:
        
         The
         
          Nine Worthies
         
         grace-chymickt Quintessence:
        
         Diamond of Saints: Darling of Providence:
        
          Amboyna
         
         's Blood-shed's Cure: A Pearl in the' Eye
        
         Of
         
          Rome's, Spain's,
         
         Universal Monarchy:
        
         Who broke the
         
          Irish
         
         -Harp: the
         
          Welch
         
         new-strung:
        
         Refin'd Parliaments: did old
         
          Scots
         
         new-dung:
        
         Was wise Servant: a religious Master:
        
         Provident Parent: Bounteous Lord: no Waster:
        
         Captives Ransomer: poor
         
          Pilgrims
         
         Patron:
        
         Champion 'gainst God's Foes, Chaplain to his own,
        
         Hast,
         
          Pilgrim,
         
         Hast; Trip nimbly hence, Be gone:
        
         Lest free in Tears Thou freez into a Stone.

To be sold by Isaac Pridmore at the Golden Falcon near the New-Exchange. 1658.