University of Virginia Library


121

2. TO THE MOST SACRED Queene Anne.

Tis now dead night, and not a light on earth
Or starre in heaven doth shine:
Let now a mother mourne the noblest birth
That ever was both mortall and divine.
O sweetnesse peerelesse! more then humane grace!
O flowry beauty! O untimely death!
Now, Musicke, fill this place
With thy most dolefull breath:
O singing wayle a fate more truely funerall
Then when with all his sonnes the sire of Troy did fall.
Sleepe Joy, dye Mirth, and not a smile be seene,
Or shew of harts content:
For never sorrow neerer touch't a QUEENE,
Nor were there ever teares more duely spent.
O deare remembrance, full of ruefull woe!
O ceacelesse passion! O unhumane hower!
No pleasure now can grow,
For wither'd is her flower.
O anguish doe thy worst, and fury Tragicall,
Since fate in taking one hath thus disorder'd all.