Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets With variety of other drolling Verses upon several Subjects. Composed by no body must know whom, and are to be had every body knows where, and for somebody knows what [by John Eliot] |
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An Elogie on the Death of Love.
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 | Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets |  |
An Elogie on the Death of Love.
I never yet wrote Love-lines: Now a fewUpon the Death of Love, me thinks, are due
From every Pen. And most unskilfull I
That would be doing want Ability.
No Muse can I invoke unto my aid,
They are all dumb, or suddenly afraid
To touch this Subject. They'll not have it read
In Crimson Characters that Love is dead.
No Muse? What then? Turne over Historie,
Or search the Poets; Try if they can be
Assistant by example: Learn to move
In their high strains. Ovid wrote much of Love,
But not his Death. His Art of Love was light,
And in the Elogies that he did write
He could not frame perfection of that Ruth,
Which here is laid before us in a Truth.
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A Theam so Tragick, or a Scean so black
As is the Death of Love. Stay. Speak no more,
Nor study for expressions to deplore
The losse of him. The sense of these two words
Love's dead enough of Argument affords
To melt dry eyes to Tears; and hearts of stones
To moulder into Sand by ceaseless grones.
While I was writing this (to Earths great wonder)
The Heavens thick showres did weep, and rore in thunder.
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