Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Those Flowers of Beautie, Lilly, Violet,
And blushing Rose, which were by Nature set
In faire Caernarvons cheek, and seem'd to grow,
(Strange wonder!) there amidst a bed of Snow,
By deaths rude hand now from their stalk are rent,
And throwne (alas) into a Monument,

Where they will wither into dust, and be
The types of humane mutabilitie.
If then these short-liv'd flowers could not give
But so much verdure, as would make her live,
Even in her worser part, her earth, what spice,
Or Balmie druggs, shall we then sacrifice,
T'embalme her name, since there can nothing be
That will do this, but flowers of Poesie,
Which I have strew'd upon't; and, though they faile,
Such Aromatick odours to exhale,
As may this memorie of hers perfume:
They'l so preserve it, it shall nere consume.

The Elegie.

For all those various streames which do entombe
Themselves within the Oceans liquid wombe,
The Sea payes Impost, and an interest brings
Back to the Earth, when it refines to Springs
The brackish billowes, and those waters straines
To Brooks, and weaves them into all her veines.
If the kind waves refund their tribute thus,
What fine, or use, wilt thou pay back to us,
Vnhappie Earth, for these deplor'd Remaines
Which now manure thy shrunk and wither'd veines?
Canst thou unsluce thy thriftie pores, and powre
From those Alembicks such a swelling shower
Of unctious deaw? it may her dust o're-run,
And rescue it from putrefaction:
So that no Colonie of wormes shall dare
To plant themselves within her Sepulcher:
And, canst thou then, from thy cold wombe dispense
Such vapours, and chill damps, they may condense
That heap of deaw to sheets of ice, that She
Enshrin'd within a Christall cloud may be:
So that the sacred ruines of her dust
May not disband to Atomes, by the gust

Of any sawcy wind, or be exempt
From their cold Vrne, and scatter'd to contempt:
Canst thou for that rich blood thy lavish Brest
Hath swallowed up, repay thy Interest
In purple Flowers? which being thaw'd with heat,
May from their pores such fragrant Odors sweat,
They may perfume those Vapours, which her tomb
Throwes out in mists from its corrupted womb;
And more refine the aire, then if the spring
Did to her Vrne, its verdant treasures bring;
But if the needy barren earth repine
To pay backe any Interest, or Fine,
Vnto her Grave; my sighs shall be perfume,
To aire her Dust, and such a flood of Rheume
Shall from mine eyes break loose, that in few years,
Her tomb it selfe shall be embalm'd with tears;
Which being thus manur'd and softned, shall
Teem with the Rose, and Violet, and all
The fragrant Issue of the Spring, whose Flowers
Shall alwaies be distilling pious Showers
Of Balmy dew, as if they meant to shew,
That since their first Originall they drew
From out her Vrne, they gratefully let fall
Those tears as Rights due to her Funerall;
But why do I appeale to stones and flowers,
And from their melting pores expect new showers,
To stock my tears, since Nature too should bee
Her selfe (in griefe) Competitrix with me?
For sure her casquets broak, and falne to dust.
To which (as her Exchequer) she did trust:
The Balmy Perfumes of the Phœnix nest,
And all the treasurers of the rifled East;
Wherein she circumscrib'd the wealthy toiles,
The drudging silkeworme spins, and all the spoiles
Of ransack'd Elements, for in this Faire
Both Indies with their wealth contracted were:

This piece of winnow'd earth, which she did strew
With Roses, and pale Lillies, where they grew
In kind, and reconciled mixtures, is
Now crumbled to a heap of Atomis.
This Star which shone with such refulgent light,
Our Orb of State was by its Rayes made bright,
Is stolne (alas) out of our Horizon,
And drop'd to slime and putrefaction;
But stay bold Pen, bespatter not her dust,
Can her remaines shrink into slime or rust,
When everie weed that growes about her Vrne
Shall by my tears to Nard and Balsome turne?
But where does Zeale transport me? 'tis a fault,
(Sure) to disturb the silence of her vault,
And breake that slumber, which like Opium
Resolv'd to vapour, hangs about her Tomb:
What though deaths impious hand move a disguise
Of putrid scales, and threw it o're her eyes,
Lest being blinded by their Light, his Dart
Might have groap'd out its way, t'have found her heart.
The last dayes flame shall burn these Scales away,
And in her eyes kindle a second day;
What though amidst our Orb, a star she shone,
In Heaven she shines a Constellation:
What though those liquid Saphires which each veine
Of hers, within her Azure Channells did containe,
And those two blushing Rubies Nature thrust
Into her lips, be sullied with the dust
Of her owne Ruines, when the generall Fire
Againe refines them, they shall sparkle higher
Then al the Easterne Jemmes: for sure the Tomb
Is of a neer Alliance, to the womb,
For as before the Infant can put on
Symptomes of figure or proportion,
It must first lye a shuffeld Embrio
Pack'd up within the Cell o'th womb; even so

When she has tayne a Masse of Ruines, till
The Trump at Gods great Audit, with its shrill
And awfull voice shall summon, and injoyne
Each Tomb its drousie Reliques to resigne,
Who sleep in dust, that so the Grave may be
Both Womb, and Mid-wife to Eternitie:
Those Rubies, Saphirs, Diamonds, which are
Now lost i'th Rubbish of her Sepulchre,
Shall be redeem'd, and purg'd from every staine
That does benight their lustre, and again
Be knit into one Frame, within which Cell
Eternitie shall as an Inmate dwell.
Then leave we thee unto thy selfe, faire soule,
Exalted farre above the rude controule
Of Fate, or the assault of Time, and see
From thy bright Orb how everie Entitie
The Womb of Nature seems with, comes forth lame,
And full of dis-proportion in the Frame,
And Structure of its parts, since thou art one,
Who wert the Patterne for Prefection;
The world lies gasping too: for, 'tis no doubt,
But at that wound its life-blood bubbled out,
VVhich death defac'd thee with, and if there be
Things yet whose parts display some harmonie,
'Tis but thy dole of beautie they ingrosse,
Those that want that, are crippled in thy losse.

Her Epitaph.

Reader, this Tomb preserves in trust
Beautie it selfe resolv'd to dust,
For this Marble does inclose
The Lilly, Violet and Rose,
Beauties Ingredients; which within
This shell do lie to be agin
Hatch'd into flowers, and adorn
That naked earth which clothes her urn,

When thou knowest this, unsluce thy eyes,
To mourn at Beauties Obsequies,
And weep so long, till there appeares
About her tomb a Sea of Tears;
That she may, when the world expires,
Gasping in its Funerall Fires,
And to purge those sinnes away,
Which it contracted every day,
Does to it selfe a sacrifice become,
Rise, like a second Venus, from her Tombe.