AN ELEGY ON THE Right Reverend Father in God HUMPHREY, Lord Bishop of London, Lord Almoner. Who Departed this Life the 7th of October, 1675.  

IS Pious Henchman Dead, then LONDON, thou  
Didst never want more Tears than thou dost now;  
For if thy Grief could but retrieve him, than  
A Sea of Tears should fetch him back again;  
Such the old Patriarches were, with such a hand  
They led their Flocks, and ruled the Holy Land;  
Such gentle Crosiers wielded they, when first  
Their tender Lambs, and Proselytes they Nursed;  
Guarding the Churches Pale by their strict sway  
From sacralegious Thief and Beast of Pray;  
Their Fences and Enclosures kept with Toil  
Secured their Diocese or Fold from spoil;  
Such once were they when in their Graves they slept  
And Company with none but Angels kept;  
By them he drew a Pious Life, which must  
Like theirs, smell sweet, though he be turned to Dust;  
He shared with them, besides their ancient Seat,  
What Primitive is Apostolic or Great;  
Nor was his Life less comely or less clean  
In his recess, than in his public scene;  
Those gay Adornments which Enriched his Mind  
Were not with Robes put off nor yet Confined;  
To the Show-Day, and so no Longer last  
Than the Solemnity or Pomp was passed:  
When all dismissed, he laid aside his State,  
His train of Virtues held their constant weight:  
The truly Gallant keep their Court within,  
And are Attended by a Train unseen;  
Their Masks are secret and their Joys unknown,  
Their greatest Triumphs are when all alone;  
What the best Prelate should be, was his due,  
Their Orders rare, and Orders Glorious too.  
No cruel Rancour harboured in his Breast,  
'Gainst Men of different Principles possessed,  
His Mitre was his Shield, and not his Rod,  
He loved them all that did but serve his God.  
In truth and in sincerity; although  
He could not every Circumstance allow  
As to himself; yet quietly he could  
Dispense with small things, so their Lives were good;  
Thus like our kind Creator he surveyed  
Where we did well, and where from good we Strayed:  
But finding Piety, the thing designed,  
Forgot our little Faults, and grew kind:  
Yet this indulgence neither was not such  
But that he still took care of's Mother Church;  
To keep up all her Splendour, all her Glory,  
And leave her sitting them for future story.  
He Loved her so, as if sh' had been his Spouse,  
And like a Wife he kept her in his House:  
That House of large Dimensions, whose old Fame  
Lays claim to London as her best Surname;  
Maugre all her Honour, heretofore  
Could never boast of Temple to Adore  
Th' Almighty in, till Reverend Henchman came  
Whose Piety has much enhanced her Fame.  
Antiquity nor Custom neither could  
Prevail with him to justle out his God:  
A Stately Chapel up he quickly  
Shall serve him for a Mausolean Tomb:  
But why alas do I thus waste my Breath,  
He wants no Elegy, nor Epitaph;  
But durst commit his Body as it lies,  
To Tongues of living Men, not unborn Eyes.  
What profits thee a sheet of Lead, what good  
If on thy Grave a Marble Quarry stood.  
Let those that fear their Rising purchase Vaults,  
And send their Statues to excuse their faults,  
Whilst thou assured by thy easy Dust  
Shall spring at first—  
They would not, though they must—  
Nor needs the Grecian boast, whose Pyramid  
Above the Sacred Altar reared is;  
For though thy Body fill a narrow Room,  
Thou shalt not change Deeds with him for his Tomb.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for J. Coniers. Anno Domini 1675.