N01142:119
Corderius americanus. An essay upon the good education of children. And what may hopefully…
Corderius americanus. An essay upon the good education of children. And what may hopefully be attempted, for the hope of the flock. In a funeral sermon upon Mr. Ezekiel Cheever. The ancient and Honourable master of the Free-School in Boston. Who left off, but when mortality took him off, in August, 1708. the ninety fourth year of his age. : With an elegy and an epitaph upon him. / By one that was once a scholar to him. ; [One line epigram in Latin]
Boston: printed by John Allen for Nicholas Boone, 1708
Title page typeset from the transcription.
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
Augusto perstringere Carmine Lauds. Quas nulla Eloquij vis Celebrare queat.
Augusto perstringere Carmine Laudes. Quas nulla Eloquij vis Celebrare queat.
YOU that are Men, & Thoughts of Manhood know, Be Just now to the Man that made you so. Martyred by Scholars the stabbed Cassian dies, And falls to cursed Lads a Sacrifice.
YOU that are Men, & Thoughts of Manhood know, Be Just now to the Man that made you so. Martyr'd by Scholars the stabb'd Cassian dies, And falls to cursed Lads a Sacrifice.
Not so my CHEEVER, Not by Scholars slain, But Praised, and Loved, and wished to Life again. A mighty Tribe of Well-instructed Youth Tell what they owe to him, and Tell with Truth. All the Eight parts of Speech he taught to them They now Employ to Trumpet his Esteem. They fill Fames Trumpet, and they spread a Fame To last till the Last Trumpet drown the same. ⟨p. 27⟩Magister pleased them well, because 'twas he; They saw that Bonus did with it agree. While they said, A•o, they the Hint improve Him for to make the Object of their Love. No Concord so Inviolate they knew As to pay Honours to their Master due. With Interjections they break off at last, But, Ah, is all they use, Woe, and, Alas! We Learnt Prosodia, but with that Design Our Masters Name should in our Verses shine. Our Weeping Ovid but instructed us To write upon his Death, De Tristibus. Tully we read, but still with this Intent, That in his praise we might be Eloquent. Our Stately Virgil made us but Contrive As our Anchises to keep him Alive, When Phoenix to Achilles was assigned A Master, then we thought not Homer blind: A Phoenix, which Oh! might his Ashes show! So rare a Thing we thought our Master too. And if we made a Theme, 'twas with Regret We might not on his Worth show all our Wi,