An alphabet of Elegiack Groans upon The truly lamented Death of that Rare Exemplar of Youthful Piety, John Fortescue ... By E. E. [i.e. Edmund Elys] |
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ELEG. XXII.
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 | An alphabet of Elegiack Groans |  |
ELEG. XXII.
Young Saint Farewel! My work is done,Although it want perfection:
But, when we speak unfaigned grief
The largest Rhet'rick's to be brief.
14
Can't make an artificial Groan.
His shatter'd words he will so state
As shaken by the hand of Fate.
Whoever has a soul like me,
Disturbed with an Extasie,
Thrown on me by Deaths forked Dart
Shot through the White of my sad heart,
Wherein was seated He, in whom
Now dead I see alive my doom.
I'le Groan no more by book, the Smart
Of whipping Fate makes me by heart
To learn such groans as do rebound
Upon our Breasts with Silent Sound;
These chiefly mount to Heavens Ears
Accompany'd with unwept Tears,
Which a soul-seeing Eye may finde
Congeal'd within our stupid Minde.
Farewel, Blest Saint! a Farewel's onely true
To them (like thee) that bid the World adieu.
| An alphabet of Elegiack Groans | |