The Works of Michael Drayton :: :: University of Virginia Library

Accursed Death, what neede was there at all
Of thee, or who to councell did thee call;
The subject whereupon these lines I spend
For thee was most unfit, her timelesse end
Too soone thou wroughtst, too neere her thou didst stand;
Thou shouldst have lent thy leane and meager hand
To those who oft the help thereof beseech,
And can be cured by no other Leech.

In this wide world how many thousands be,
That having past fourescore, doe call for thee.
The wretched debtor in the Jayle that lies,
Yet cannot this his Creditor suffice,
Doth woe thee oft with many a sigh and teare,
Yet thou art coy, and him thou wilt not heare.
The Captive slave that tuggeth at the Oares,
And underneath the Bulls tough sinewes rores,
Begs at thy hand, in lieu of all his paines,
That thou wouldst but release him of his chaines;
Yet thou a niggard listenest not thereto,
With one short gaspe which thou mightst easily do,
But thou couldst come to her ere there was neede,
And even at once destroy both flowre and seede.

But cruell Death if thou so barbarous be,
To those so goodly, and so young as shee;
That in their teeming thou wilt shew thy spight;
Either from marriage thou wilt Maides affright,
Or in their wedlock, Widowes lives to chuse,
Their Husbands bed, and utterly refuse,
Fearing conception; so shalt thou thereby
Extirpate mankinde by thy cruelty.

If after direfull Tragedy thou thirst,
Extinguish Himens Torches at the first;
Build Funerall pyles, and the sad pavement strewe,
With mournfull Cypresse, & the pale-leav'd Yewe.

243

Away with Roses, Myrtle, and with Bayes;
Ensignes of mirth, and jollity, as these,
Never at Nuptials used be againe,
But from the Church the new Bride entertaine
With weeping Nenias, ever and among,
As at departings be sad Requiems song.

Lucina by th'olde Poets that wert sayd,
Women in Childe-birth evermore to ayde,
Because thine Altars, long have layne neglected:
Nor as they should, thy holy fiers reflected
Upon thy Temples, therefore thou doest flye,
And wilt not helpe them in necessitie.

Thinking upon thee, I doe often muse,
Whether for thy deare sake I should accuse
Nature or Fortune, Fortune then I blame,
And doe impute it as her greatest shame,
To hast thy timelesse end, and soone agen
I vexe at Nature, nay I curse her then,
That at the time of need she was no stronger,
That we by her might have enjoy'd thee longer.

But whilst of these I with my selfe debate,
I call to minde how flinty-hearted Fate
Seaseth the olde, the young, the faire, the foule,
No thing of earth can Destinie controule:
But yet that Fate which hath of life bereft thee,
Still to eternall memory hath left thee,
Which thou enjoy'st by the deserved breath,
That many a great one hath not after death.