And if they let him live, they think it will Be but a means for to encourage ill, And bring in time some strange _Antipod’ans_, A thousand Leagues beyond _Philippians_, To storm our Wits; therefore he must not rest, But shall be hang’d, for all he has been prest: Thus they conclude.—My Genius comforts give, In Resurrection he will surely live. To my Friend Mr. GEORGE ALSOP, on his Character of MARY-LAND. _Who such odd nookes of Earths great mass describe,_ _Prove their descent from old_ Columbus _tribe:_ _Some Boding augur did his Name devise,_ _Thy Genius too cast in th’ same mould and size;_ _His Name predicted he would be a Rover,_ _And hidden places of this Orb discover;_ _He made relation of that World in gross,_ _Thou the particulars retail’st to us:_ _By this first Peny of thy fancy we_ _Discover what thy greater Coines will be;_ _This Embryo thus well polisht doth presage,_ _The manly Atchievements of its future age._ _Auspicious winds blow gently on this spark,_ _Untill its flames discover what’s yet dark;_ _Mean while this short Abridgement we embrace,_ _Expecting that thy busy soul will trace_ _Some Mines at last which may enrich the World,_ _And all that poverty may be in oblivion hurl’d._ _Zoilus is dumb, for thou the mark hast hit,_ _By interlacing History with Wit:_ _Thou hast described its superficial Treasure,_ _Anatomiz’d its bowels at thy leasure;_ _That_ MARY-LAND _to thee may duty owe,_ _Who to the World dost all her Glory shew;_ _Then thou shalt make the Prophesie fall true,_ _Who fill’st the World (like th’ Sea) with knowledge new._ WILLIAM BOGHERST. (See note No. 9.) To my Friend Mr. GEORGE ALSOP, on his Character of MARY-LAND. _This plain, yet pithy and concise Description_ _Of_ Mary-Lands _plentious and sedate condition,_ _With other things herein by you set forth,_ _To shew its Rareness, and declare its Worth;_ _Compos’d in such a time, when most men were_ _Smitten with Sickness, or surpriz’d with Fear,_ _Argues a Genius good, and Courage stout,_ _In bringing this Design so well about:_ _Such generous Freedom waited on thy brain,_ _The Work was done in midst of greatest pain;_ _And matters flow’d so swiftly from thy source,_ _Nature design’d thee (sure) for such Discourse._ _Go on then with thy Work so well begun,_ _Let it come forth, and boldly see the Sun;_ _Then shall’t be known to all, that from thy Youth_ _Thou heldst it Noble to maintain the Truth,_ _’Gainst all the Rabble-rout, that yelping stand,_ _To cast aspersions on thy_ MARY-LAND: _But this thy Work shall vindicate its Fame,_ _And as a Trophy memorize thy Name,_ _So if without a Tomb thou buried be,_ _This Book’s a lasting Monument for thee._ H. W., Master of Arts. (See note No. 10).