University of Virginia Library

'Twere time that I ty'd too, now shee is dead,
Who was my Muse, and life of all I dy'd.
The Spirit that I wrote with, and conceiv'd,
All that was good, or great in me she weav'd,
And set it forth; the rest were Cobwebs fine,
Spun out in name of some of the old Nine!
To hang a window, or make darke the roome,
Till swept away, th'were cancell'd with a broome!
Nothing, that could remaine, or yet can stirre
A sorrow in me, fit to wait to her!
O! had I seene her laid out a faite Corse,
By Death, on Earth, I should have had remorse
On Nature, for her: who did let her lie,
And saw that portion of her selfe to die.
Sleepie, or stupid Nature, couldst thou part
With such a Raritie, and not rowse Art
With all her aydes, to save her from the seize
Of Vulture death, and those relentlesse cleies?
Thou wouldst have lost the Phœnix, had the kind
Beene trusted to thee: not to't selfe assign'd.
Looke on thy sloth, and give thy selfe undone,
(For so thou art with me) now shee is gone.
My wounded mind cannot sustaine this stroke,
It rages, runs, flies, stands, and would provoke
The world to ruine with it; in her Fall,
I summe up mine owne breaking, and wish all.
Thou hast no more blowes, Fate, to drive at one,
What's left a Poët, when his Muse is gone?
Sure, I am dead, and know it not! I feele
Nothing I doe; but, like a heavie wheele,
Am turned with an others powers. My Passion
Whoorles me about, and to blaspheme in fashion!
I murmure against God, for having ta'en
Her blessed Soule, hence, forth this valley vane
Of teares, and dungeon of calamitie!
I envie it the Angels amitie!
The joy of Saints! the Crowne for which it lives,
The glorie, and gaine of rest, which the place gives!
Dare I prophane, so irreligious bee
To 'greet, or grieve her soft Euthanasee!
So sweetly taken to the Court of blisse,
As spirits had stolne her Spirit, in a kisse,
From off her pillow, and deluded bed;
And left her lovely body unthought dead!
Indeed, she is not dead! but laid to sleepe
In earth, till the last Trumpe awake the Sheepe
And Goates together, whither they must come
To heare their Judge, and his eternall doome.
To have that finall retribution,
Expected with the fleshes restitution.
For, as there are three Natures, Schoolemen call
One corporall, only; th'other spirituall,
Like single; so, there is a third, commixt,
Of Body and Spirit together, plac'd betwixt
Those other two; which must be judg'd, or crown'd:
This as it guilty is, or guiltlesse found,
Must come to take a sentence, by the sense
Of that great Evidence, the Conscience!
Who will be there, against that day prepar'd,
T'accuse, or quit all Parties to be heard!
O Day of joy, and suretie to the just!
Who in that feast of Resurrection trust!
That great eternall Holy-day of rest,
To Body, and Soule! where Love is all the guest!
And the whole Banquet is full sight of God!
Of joy the Circle, and sole Period!
All other gladnesse, with the thought is barr'd;
Hope, hath her end! and Faith hath her reward!
This being thus: why should my tongue, or pen
Presume to interpell that fulnesse, when
Nothing can more adorne it, then the seat
That she is in, or, make it more compleat?
Better be dumbe, then superstitious!
Who violates the God-head, is most vitious
Against the Nature he would worship. Hee
Will honour'd be in all simplicitie!
Have all his actions, wondred at, and view'd
With silence, and amazement! not with rude,
Dull, and prophane, weake, and imperfect eyes,
Have busie search made in his mysteries!
Hee knowes, what worke h'hath done, to call this Guest,
Out of her noble body, to this Feast:
And give her place, according to her blood
Amongst her Peeres, those Princes of all good!
Saints, Martyrs, Prophets, with those Hierarchies,
Angels, Arch-angels, Principalities,
The Dominations, Vertues, and the Powers,
The Thrones, the Cherube, and Seraphick bowers,
That, planted round, there sing before the Lamb,
A new Song to his praise, and great I AM:
And she doth know, out of the shade of Death,
What 'tis t'enjoy, an everlasting breath!
To have her captiv'd spirit freed from flesh,
And on her Innocence, a garment fresh
And white, as that, put on: and in her hand
With boughs of Palme, a crowned Victrice stand!
And will you, worthy Sonne, Sir, knowing this,
Put black, and mourning on? and say you misse
A Wife, a Friend, a Lady, or a Love;
Whom her Redeemer, honour'd hath above
Her fellowes, with the oyle of gladnesse, bright
In heaven Empyre, and with a robe of light?
Thither, you hope to come; and there to find
That pure, that pretious, and exalted mind
You once enjoy'd: A short space severs yee,
Compar'd unto that long eternitie,
That shall re-joyne yee. Was she, then, so deare,
When shee departed? you will meet her there,
Much more desir'd, and dearer then before,
By all the wealth of blessings, and the store
Accumulated on her, by the Lord
Of life, and light, the Sonne of God, the Word!
There, all the happy soules, that ever were,
Shall meet with gladnesse in one Theatre;
And each shall know, there, one anothers face:
By beatifick vertue of the Place.
There shall the Brother, with the Sister walke,
And Sons, and Daughters, with their Parents talke;
But all of God; They still shall have to say,
But make him All in All, their Theme, that Day:
That happy Day, that never shall see night!
Where Hee will be, all Beautie to the Sight;
Wine, or delicious fruits, unto tee Taste;
A Musique in the Eares, will ever last;
Unto the Sent, a Spicerie, or Balme;
And to the Touch, a Flower, like soft as Palme.
Hee will all Glory, all Perfection be,
God, in the Union, and the Trinitie!
That holy, great, and glorious Mysterie,
Will there revealed be in Majestie!
By light, and comfort of spirituall Grace;
The vision of our Saviour, face, to face
In his humanitie! To heare him preach
The price of our Redemption, and to teach
Through his inherent righteousnesse, in death,
The safetie of our soules, and forfeit breath!
What fulnesse of beatitude is here?
What love with mercy mixed doth appeare?
To style us Friends, who were, by Nature, Foes?
Adopt us Heires, by grace, who were of those
Had lost our selves? and prodigally spent
Our native portions, and possessed rent;
Yet have all debts forgiven us, and advance
B' imputed right to an inheritance
In his eternall Kingdome, where we sit
Equall with Angels, and Co-heires of it.
Nor dare we under blasphemy conceive
He that shall be our supreme Judge, should leave
Himselfe so un-inform'd of his elect
Who knowes the hearts of all, and can dissect
The smallest Fibre of our flesh; he can
Find all our Atomes from a point t'a span!
Our closest Creekes, and Corners, and can trace
Each line, as it were graphick, in the face.
And best he knew her noble Character,
For 'twas himselfe who form'd, and gave it her.
And to that forme, lent two such veines of blood
As nature could not more increase the flood
Of title in her! All nobilitie
(But pride, that schisme of incivilitie)
She had, and it became her! she was fit
T'have knowne no envy, but by suffring it!
She had a mind as calme, as she was faire;
Not tost or troubled with light Lady-aire;
But, kept an even gate, as some streight tree
Mov'd by the wind, so comely moved she.
And by the awfull manage of her Eye
She swaid all bus'nesse in the Familie!
To one she said, Doe this, he did it; So
To another, Move; he went; To a third, Go,
He run; and all did strive with diligence
T'obey, and serve her sweet Commandements.
She was in one, a many parts of life;
A tender Mother, a discreeter Wife,
A solemne Mistresse, and so good a Friend,
So charitable, to religious end
In all her petite actions, so devote,
As her whole life was now become one note
Of Pietie, and private holinesse.
She spent more time in teares her selfe to dresse
For her devotions, and those sad essayes
Of sorrow, then all pompe of gaudy daies:
And came forth ever cheered, with the rod
Of divine Comfort, when sh'had talk'd with God.
Her broken sighes did never misse whole sense:
Nor can the bruised heart want eloquence:
For, Prayer is the Incense most perfumes
The holy Altars, when it least presumes.
And hers were all Humilitie! they beat
The doore of Grace, and found the Mercy-Seat.
In frequent speaking by the pious Psalmes
Her solemne houres she spent, or giving Almes,
Or doing other deeds of Charitie,
To cloath the naked, feed the hungry. Shee
Would sit in an Infirmer, whole dayes
Poring, as on a Map, to find the wayes
To that eternall Rest, where now sh'hath place
By sure Election, and predestin'd grace!
Shee saw her Saviour, by an early light,
Incarnate in the Manger, shining bright
On all the world! Shee saw him on the Crosse
Suffring, and dying to redeeme our losse!
Shee saw him rise, triumphing over Death
To justifie, and quicken us in breath!
Shee saw him too, in glory to ascend
For his designed worke the perfect end
Of raising, judging, and rewarding all
The kind of Man, on whom his doome should fall!
All this by Faith she saw, and fram'd a Plea,
In manner of a daily Apostrophe,
To him should be her Judge, true God, true Man,
Jesus, the onely gotten Christ! who can
As being Redeemer, and Repairer too
(Of lapsed Nature) best know what to doe,
In that great Act of judgement: which the Father
Hath given wholly to the Sonne (the rather
As being the Sonne of Man) to shew his Power,
His Wisdome, and his Justice, in that houre,
The last of houres, and shutter up of all;
Where first his Power will appeare, by call
Of all are dead to life! His Wisdome show
In the discerning of each conscience, so!
And most his Justice, in the fitting parts,
And giving dues to all Mankinds deserts!
In this sweet Extasie, she was rapt hence.
Who reades, will pardon my Intelligence,
That thus have ventur'd these true straines upon;
To publish her a Saint. My Muse is gone.

In pietatis memoriam
quam præstas
Venetiæ tuæ illustrissim:
Marit: dign: Digbeie
Hanc αποθεωσιν, tibi, tuisque sacro.