. The minstrelsy of Isis; an anthology of poems relating to Oxford and all phases of Oxford life; . r and son of Dr. John Prideaux(157S-1650), Rector of Exeter 1612-42, Bishop of Worcester 1641.] 267 TO THE RT. HONOURABLE THE LADYPENELOPE, DOWAGER OF THE LATEVISCOUNT BAYNING OF SUDBURY;DIED JUNE II, 1638 GREAT Lady, humble partners of like griefeIn bringing comfort may deserve beliefe,Because they feele and feyne not. Thus we sayUnto ourselves, Lord Bayning, though away,Is still of Christ Church, somewhat out of sight,As when he travelled, or did bid good-night,And was not seen long after. Now
. The minstrelsy of Isis; an anthology of poems relating to Oxford and all phases of Oxford life; . r and son of Dr. John Prideaux(157S-1650), Rector of Exeter 1612-42, Bishop of Worcester 1641.] 267 TO THE RT. HONOURABLE THE LADYPENELOPE, DOWAGER OF THE LATEVISCOUNT BAYNING OF SUDBURY;DIED JUNE II, 1638 GREAT Lady, humble partners of like griefeIn bringing comfort may deserve beliefe,Because they feele and feyne not. Thus we sayUnto ourselves, Lord Bayning, though away,Is still of Christ Church, somewhat out of sight,As when he travelled, or did bid good-night,And was not seen long after. Now he standsRemoved in worlds, as heretofore in is not lost. The spight of Death can neverDivide the Christian, though the man it like we say to you. Hes still at home,Though out of reach, as in some upper study ; for his place is very high. — His thought is vision ; now most properlyReturned hes yours as sure, as ere hath beenThe jewel in your cask, safe though unseen. You know that friends have ears as well as eyes,We heare hes well and living, that well dies. 268. w o P4 hJ I-* J -1^ 00 u ^ H «3 B ^ O K s o -■ 1^ H ^ /; •* O g> K •^ r^ ^ ^ ?5 ^ W Q t « g < s O s; H W H A COPY OF VERSES SPOKE TO KINGCHARLES BY WAY OF ENTERTAINMENTWHEN HE WAS PLEASED TO GRACE COLLEDGE WITH HIS VISIT. 1636 WERE they not Angells sang, did not mine earesDrink in a Sacred Anthem from yon sphcarcs ?Was I not blest with Charles and Maries name,Names wherein dwells all Musick ? Tis the , I myself now but speak Charles and Mary,And tis a Poem, nay tis a haile to your dread Majesties, whose powerAdds lustre to our feast, and to our bower ;And what place fitter for so Royall guestsThen this, where every book presents a Virgils well-drest Venison, heres the wineMade Horace sing so sweetly ; here you dineWith the rich Cleopatras warlike love;Nay you may feast and frolick here with view that bower, which is as ye
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