University of Virginia Library

SOME TEARS Dropt o're the Herse OF THE INCOMPARABLE Prince HENRY DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.

Fatal September to the Royal Line,
Has snatch'd one Herôe of our hopefull Trine
From Earth; 'tis strange Heaven should not præ-declare
A loss so grievous by some Blazing Star,
Which might our Senses overjoy'd, alar'm,
And time give to prepare for so great Harm.
The Spring-tide of our Joy was newly Flood,
Paying our Thankful Vows for so much good
VVe gather now, under a gracious KING;
Inspired Bards began strong Lays to Sing,
VVhen (ôh sad Fate!) Ebb'd are our Flowing Seas,
And Epiques chang'd to Doleful Elegies.
Cruel Extremes! thus robb'd of Joyes the chief,
Thrown down like Light'ning into Seas of Grief.
'Tis past the reach of Mortals to divine,
VVhy Heav'n so soon has broke our Threefold Line;
VVe may not pry without a black offence
Into th' Arcana's of his Providence,
But may believe, since with a Bounteous Hand
God has restor'd the Blessings of this Land,
That he has flung us into Griefs extreme,
Not out of VVrath to Us, but Love to Him.
He was Fair Fruit sprung from a Royal Bud,
And grown as great by fair Renown as Blood;
Ripe too too soon; for in a Youth so green
An Harvest was of gray-hair'd VVisdome seen.
Minerva's Darling, Patron of the Gown,
Lover of Learning, and Apollo's Crown
He was; the Muses he began to nourish,
Learn'd Men and Arts under his wings did flourish;
But lest we should commit Idolatry,
Heav'n took him from our Sight, not Memory;
For though he's carried to th Immortal Sphere,
Our Loves will make his Fame Immortal here.
'Tis Autumn now: and Ceres to our hands
Has pour'd the Annual Blessings of our Lands;
VVe'ave robb'd the teeming Trees of all their fruit,
And left them naked till the Spring recruit
Their store again; till then they hang their head,
And stand like Mourners, leaves for tears they shed;
So the high powers cropt from the Royal Stem,
VVhat was too good for us, and fit for them,
VVh'lest we lament, till a new Spring arise,
And CHARLES his First-born clear our weeping eyes.
A general Sadness locks up every Tongue,
Amazedness hast struck the Laureats dumb:
And who would weep, through too much Grief forbears,
Excess of Grief gives yet no vent for Tears,
But when the coming Springs begin to rise,
Grief then will draw a deluge from our Eyes;
Till then these Loyal Drops fall'n into Verse,
Shall wash the Cypress on his Royal Herse.