Poems on Several Occasions Written by Charles Cotton |
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On the Lamented Death Of my Dear Uncle, Mr. Radcliff Stanhope.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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On the Lamented Death Of my Dear Uncle, Mr. Radcliff Stanhope.
Such is th' unsteddy state of humane things,
And Death so certain, that their period brings,
So frail is Youth, and strength, so sure this sleep,
That much we cannot wonder, though we weep.
Yet, since 'tis so, it will not misbecom,
Either perhaps our Sorrows, or his Tomb
To breath a Sigh, and drop a mourning Tear
Upon the cold face of his Sepulcher,
And Death so certain, that their period brings,
So frail is Youth, and strength, so sure this sleep,
That much we cannot wonder, though we weep.
Yet, since 'tis so, it will not misbecom,
Either perhaps our Sorrows, or his Tomb
To breath a Sigh, and drop a mourning Tear
Upon the cold face of his Sepulcher,
Well did his life deserve it, if to be
A great Example of Integrity,
Honour, and Truth, Fidelity, and Love,
In such perfection, as if each had strove
T'out-do Posterity, may deserve our care,
A great Example of Integrity,
Honour, and Truth, Fidelity, and Love,
In such perfection, as if each had strove
T'out-do Posterity, may deserve our care,
Or to his Funeral command a Tear,
Faithful he was, and just, and sweetly good
To whom ally'd in Virtue, or in Blood:
His Breast (from other conversation chast)
Above the reach of giddy Vice was plac't:
Then, had not Death (that crops in's Savage speed
The fairest flower with the rankest weed)
Thus made a beastly Conquest of his Prime,
And cut him off before grown ripe for Time,
How bright an Evening must this Morn pursue,
Is to his Life a Contemplation due.
Faithful he was, and just, and sweetly good
To whom ally'd in Virtue, or in Blood:
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Above the reach of giddy Vice was plac't:
Then, had not Death (that crops in's Savage speed
The fairest flower with the rankest weed)
Thus made a beastly Conquest of his Prime,
And cut him off before grown ripe for Time,
How bright an Evening must this Morn pursue,
Is to his Life a Contemplation due.
Proud Death, t'arrest his thriving Virtue thus!
Unhappy Fate! not to himself, but us,
That so have lost him; for, no doubt, but he
Was fit for Heav'n, as years could make him be:
Age does but muster Sin, and heap up woes
Against the last, and general Rendezvous;
Whereas he dy'd full of obedient Truth,
Wrap't in his spotless Innocence of Youth.
Unhappy Fate! not to himself, but us,
That so have lost him; for, no doubt, but he
Was fit for Heav'n, as years could make him be:
Age does but muster Sin, and heap up woes
Against the last, and general Rendezvous;
Whereas he dy'd full of obedient Truth,
Wrap't in his spotless Innocence of Youth.
Farewell, Dear Uncle, may thy hop'd for Bliss
To thee be real, as my Sorrow is;
May they be nam'd together, since I do
Nothing more perfect than my sorrow know;
And, if thy Soul into mens minds have Eyes,
It knows I truly weep these Obsequies.
To thee be real, as my Sorrow is;
May they be nam'd together, since I do
Nothing more perfect than my sorrow know;
And, if thy Soul into mens minds have Eyes,
It knows I truly weep these Obsequies.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |