 | Reliquiae Wottonianae |  |
503
Tears at the Grave of Sr Albertus Morton (who was buried at Southampton) wept by Sir H. Wotton.
Silence
(in truth) would speak my sorrow best,
For's deepest wounds can east their feelings tel:
Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest,
But time to bid Him, whom I lov'd, Farewel.
For's deepest wounds can east their feelings tel:
Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest,
But time to bid Him, whom I lov'd, Farewel.
O my unhappy Lines! you that before
Have serv'd my youth to vent som wanton cries,
And now congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore
Strength to accent! Here my Albertus lies.
Have serv'd my youth to vent som wanton cries,
And now congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore
Strength to accent! Here my Albertus lies.
This is the sable Stone, this is the Cave
And womb of earth that doth his corps imbrace,
While others sing his praise, let me engrave
These bleeding Numbers, to adorn the place.
And womb of earth that doth his corps imbrace,
While others sing his praise, let me engrave
These bleeding Numbers, to adorn the place.
Here will I paint the Characters of woe,
Here will I pay my tribute to the Dead,
And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow
To humanize the Flints whereon I tread.
Here will I pay my tribute to the Dead,
And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow
To humanize the Flints whereon I tread.
Where though I mourn my matchless loss alone,
And none between my weakness judge and me,
Yet even these gentle walls allow my mone,
Whose doleful Echoes to my Plaints agree.
And none between my weakness judge and me,
Yet even these gentle walls allow my mone,
Whose doleful Echoes to my Plaints agree.
But, is He gone? and live I Ryming here,
As if some Muse would listen to my Lay?
When all distun'd sit waiting for their Dear,
And bathe the Banks where he was wont to play?
As if some Muse would listen to my Lay?
When all distun'd sit waiting for their Dear,
And bathe the Banks where he was wont to play?
Dwell thou in endless Light, discharged soul:
Freed now from natures & from Fortunes trust:
VVhile on this fluent Globe, my glass shall role,
And run the rest of my remaining dust.
Freed now from natures & from Fortunes trust:
504
And run the rest of my remaining dust.
H. Wotton.
| Reliquiae Wottonianae | |