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The poems of George Daniel

... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes

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To the Memorie of the most worthy and excellently vertuous Ladie The Ladie Alford.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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56

To the Memorie of the most worthy and excellently vertuous Ladie The Ladie Alford.

Obijt: 1.6.3.6.

An Elegie.

Say not the Marble's hard, nor those Seas cold
Where Winter, vndisturbed, his Court doth hold.
Noe more the Steele needs Hammers; harder farre
Then Stone or Steele; colder then North Seas are,
Or Scythian Snow; some say, a heart is found.
Let that heart hear this verse & it will wound
Him to the Qvicke; for marble drops to Dust,
Christall resolves, Steele softens in his Rust,
To hear't; or let me speake; for (She commands
Who ballanceth the world with vnbribed hands).
Iustice commands my Qvill, & bids me tell
The Erring world, it never knew her well.
I might Speake Miracles: should those who stray
In Libian wasts and sad Hircania
Repeat her Storie, Tigers would be mild,
Lions forget their hunger; the still wild
Indomitable Ounce, instead of blood,
Would licke their Tears, & weepe another flood.
Should men (then Beasts more Savage) such as are

57

Arabian Theeves, or Cham's curst ofspring, heare
Such a Divinitie, in Nature taught;
Thei'd leave their Barbarisme, & be brought
Glad Penitents to vertue: Her Name might
Informe a Scythian; the dull Muscovite,
Bound in the Ice of Servile Thoughts, might take
A fflame from Honour, and all Rapture speake.
How then may I (who gather not from ffame,
Vertues, which give the Lustre to her Name,
But one who knew her Such) while I should here
Give her vp to the World, but turne all Feare?
Ah! might some better Qvill, with better Art,
Sing her a patterne; whilst my opprest Heart
Might rue the Losse in Silence, and shee Bee
Safer Committed to Posteritie.
Ah, might it be! but since it must not be,
I tender here, my Zealous Elegie;
To say She was, (what everie Pen can Say)
Vertuous in Particulars; wee may
Dilate 'em Severallie; but if I shall
Expresse her trulie, Shee indeed was All.
But looke not here to finde her. See her name
And read her Storie in the Booke of Fame;
There hap'lie you may find it. Oh! recant;
Draw backe that word. How narrow, and how scant
Fame gives a vertue? Ah, her lavish Breath
Is but to let the world know of some Death
Or novel ffarley. Presentlie Shee Dyes;

58

A false and weake record of Memories;
ffor Envie lackies Fame, &, as she will,
Takes from the good, and gives it to the Ill.
Oh looke not there to find her; she was farre
Too good for Fame to tell, or Men to heare.
Noe, cast thy Eyes vp yonder; put away
Thy foule Corruptions and thy Weights of Clay.
Strip, Strip thy Soule, light as the Aire, and pure
As Innocence, to quitt the Earth, and veiw her,
Seated in Glorie. Oh, there looke and read
Her Name and vertues, fairlie Charactred.
Melt, Stonie Hearts and Eyes; come weep with Mee;
Ne're had wee cause, till now, of Elegie.
Now, if your Passions will give leave, weele ioyne
Our Stupid Brains, and Drop, perhaps, a Line
To her, or Word; or if not soe, our Tears
Shall speake a Sorrow, though wee want a verse.
Nor that while Thames has water, or can vant
One Swan or Cignet, can She ever want,
Though mine should faile; (but ffate forbids to dye
The verse which stands to keepe her Memorie).
ffor there, first Ayre She breathed; hither Sent
To the Dull North, to be our ornament;
And give a Splendor, which wee may admire,
And blesse, now Dead; whilest at the Hallowed fire,
I light my Taper, and am told to bee
(Soe farre as now my greife gives Libertie,)
Her Poet in my best. But ah! my Teares
Qvench my Dimme Taper, and conclude my verse.