University of Virginia Library

An Elegie on the Death of his very good Friend Mr. Edward Lynch, Buried in Salisbury Cathedral.

Asist my Muse, thou gravest of the Nine,
Melpomine, assist, and let Line
Proceed from thy more solemn state, which shall
Attend the Rites of this sad Funeral.
Shall then Eternal sleep rich minds repress,
And leave them only to enjoy their bliss?
And must their Names no more be thought upon,
Buried in silent Oblivion?
And with their Bodies must their Names be thrust
Into the Earth, and Buried in the Dust?
No, no, their Fame swift Time shall ne're devast,
But flourish still, so long as Time shall last.
Why then doth Death involve my Friend, who sleeps,
And in the Dust a silent Requiem keeps?
But that thy Name henceforth may never die,
I'l write in Verse thy mournful Elegie.
Yet Ink's too black a Colour to infold
Thy vertuous Name, that shou'd be writ in Gold.
That honor'd Marble that does bear thy Name,
Henceforth shall be Immortal by the same.
Nor Time nor eating Age shall e're devour
What bears th' Impression of so fair a Flower.
When first my steps unto thy Grave drew nigh,
To pay my duty to thy memory,
The pious Marble thaw'd into a Tear,
As silently expressing thou wert there.
The Marble Statues, Bishops, Prebends, Lords,
And many other that the place affords,
Through stony Mantles wept their sufferings,
And seem'd to me like Arethusa's Springs.
And may they ever weep, for Piety
Is seldom found among them till they dye.
Who e're shall hear thy Name, and shall not spend
One Tear for thee, unpitty'd be his end,
And may his Ghost do pennance at thy Grave,
Honor'd (though restless) such a Doom to have.
Methinks I cou'd grow ang'ry with my Muse,
That shou'd at such a time her aid refuse;
But that she told me that her Lungs were weak,
And far unfit thy Praises for to speak;
And that whilst she thy Fame did strive t'express,
Her halting Numbers only made it less.
We knew thy worth e're we discern'd thy Age,
And budding Glory gave a true presage
Of what thou did'st, and what thou would'st have done,
Had not thy rising prov'd thy setting Sun.
O cou'd I speak thy praise, I would disperse
Thy living Fame throughout the Universe:
To tell thy worth, how vert'ous and how wise,
In this I know none can Hyperbolise.
Each of thy actions strove for to excell,
As rolling Waves which in the Ocean swell.
My Muse, in contemplation now of thee,
Has struck the Poet in an Ecstasie.