The works of Sr William Davenant ... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies |
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To the Countess of Carlile, on the death of the Earle her Husband.
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
To the Countess of Carlile, on the death of the Earle her Husband.
This Cypress folded here; in stead of Lawne,
These Tapers winking, and these Curtaines drawne;
What may they meane? unless to qualifie
And check the lustre of your Eye, you'll trie
To honour darkness, and adorne the Night,
So strive, thus with your Lord, to bury Light.
Call back, your absent Beauties to your care;
Though clouded, and conceal'd, we know you are
The Morning's early'st Beame, life of the Day,
The Even's last comfort, and her parting Ray!
These Tapers winking, and these Curtaines drawne;
What may they meane? unless to qualifie
And check the lustre of your Eye, you'll trie
To honour darkness, and adorne the Night,
So strive, thus with your Lord, to bury Light.
Call back, your absent Beauties to your care;
Though clouded, and conceal'd, we know you are
The Morning's early'st Beame, life of the Day,
The Even's last comfort, and her parting Ray!
But why these Teares, that give him no reliefe,
For whom you waste the virtue of your griefe?
Such, as might be prescrib'd the Earth, to drink
For cure of her old Curse; Teares you would think
Too rich to water (if ye knew their price)
The chiefest Plant deriv'd from Paradise.
But O! Where is a Poets faith? how farre
We are miss-led? how false we Lords of Numbers are.
Our Love, is passion, our Religion, rage!
Since, to secure that mighty heritage
Entail'd upon the Bay, see how I strive
To keep the glory of your looks alive;
And to perswade your gloomy Sorrows thence,
As subt'ly knowing, your kind influence
Is all the pretious stock, left us t'inspire,
And feed the flame, of our eternall fire.
For whom you waste the virtue of your griefe?
Such, as might be prescrib'd the Earth, to drink
For cure of her old Curse; Teares you would think
Too rich to water (if ye knew their price)
The chiefest Plant deriv'd from Paradise.
But O! Where is a Poets faith? how farre
We are miss-led? how false we Lords of Numbers are.
Our Love, is passion, our Religion, rage!
Since, to secure that mighty heritage
Entail'd upon the Bay, see how I strive
To keep the glory of your looks alive;
And to perswade your gloomy Sorrows thence,
As subt'ly knowing, your kind influence
Is all the pretious stock, left us t'inspire,
And feed the flame, of our eternall fire.
But I recant: 'Tis fit you mourne a while,
And winke, untill you darken all this Isle;
More fit, the Bay should wither too, and be
Quite lost, than he should lose your obsequie:
He that was once your Lord; who strove to get
That Title, cause nought else could make him great,
A Title, by which his name he did preferre
To have a day, i'th' Poets Kalender.
And winke, untill you darken all this Isle;
More fit, the Bay should wither too, and be
Quite lost, than he should lose your obsequie:
He that was once your Lord; who strove to get
That Title, cause nought else could make him great,
A Title, by which his name he did preferre
To have a day, i'th' Poets Kalender.
His youth was gentle, and dispos'd to win,
Had so much courtship in't, 'twas his chiefe sin;
Yet sure, although his courtship knew the way
To conquer Beauty; it did ne're betray.
When wise with years, these soft affairs did cease,
He whisper'd VVar abroad, then brought home Peace;
He was supreme Ambassador, and went
To be that Prince, whom Leigers but present;
And soon with easie ceremonies got,
VVhat they did lose with care, and a deep plot:
Chearfull his age, not tedious or severe;
Like those, who being dull, would grave appeare;
VVhose guilt, made them the soule of Mirth despise,
And being sullen, hope men think them wise.
Had so much courtship in't, 'twas his chiefe sin;
Yet sure, although his courtship knew the way
To conquer Beauty; it did ne're betray.
245
He whisper'd VVar abroad, then brought home Peace;
He was supreme Ambassador, and went
To be that Prince, whom Leigers but present;
And soon with easie ceremonies got,
VVhat they did lose with care, and a deep plot:
Chearfull his age, not tedious or severe;
Like those, who being dull, would grave appeare;
VVhose guilt, made them the soule of Mirth despise,
And being sullen, hope men think them wise.
Yet he that kept his Virtues from decay,
Had that about him needs must were away:
The daily less'ning of our life, shewes by
A little dying, how out-right to die:
Observe the Morning, Noon, and Evening Sun,
Then (Madam) you that saw his Hour-glass run,
In wiser faith, will not be more opprest
To see the last Sand fall, than all the rest.
Had that about him needs must were away:
The daily less'ning of our life, shewes by
A little dying, how out-right to die:
Observe the Morning, Noon, and Evening Sun,
Then (Madam) you that saw his Hour-glass run,
In wiser faith, will not be more opprest
To see the last Sand fall, than all the rest.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |