From the Chimney Corner upon a low cricket, where I writ this in the noise of some six Women, Aug. 19. Anno
To my Honored Father at his House.
SIR,
BEfore I dare bid Adieu to the old World, or shake hands with my native Soyl for ever, I have a Conscience inwards tells me, that I must offer up the remains of that Obedience of mine, that lyes close centered within the cave of my Soul, at the Alter, of your paternal Love: And though this Sacrifice of mine may shew something low and thread-bare, (at this time) yet know, That in the Zenith of all {87} actions, Obedience is that great wheel that moves the lesser in their circular motion.
I am now entring for some time to dwell under the Government of Neptune, a Monarchy that I was never manured to live under, nor to converse with in his dreadful Aspect, neither do I know how I shall bear with his rough demands; but that God has carried me through those many gusts a shoar, which I have met withall in the several voyages of my life, I hope will Pilot me safely to my desired Port, through the worst of Stormes I shall meet withall at Sea.
We have strange, and yet good news aboard, that he whose vast mind could not be contented with spacious Territories to stretch his insatiate desires on, is (by an Almighty power) banished from his usuped Throne to dwell among the dead. I no sooner heard of it, but my melancholly Muse forced me upon this ensuing Distich.
Poor vaunting Earth, gloss’d with uncertain Pride,
That liv’d in Pomp, yet worse than others dy’d:
Who shall blow forth a Trumpet to thy praise?
Or call thy sable Actions shining Rayes?