 | Poems &c. By James Shirley |  |
[VVhen th'Age groan'd out Thou and thy Muse were gone]
VVhen th'Age groan'd out Thou and thy Muse were gone,And Epitaphs each Wit was thinking on;
When to bestrew thy grave, and stick thy Herse
With herbs, or the more fragrant flowers of Verse;
When to thy worth rich Trophies how to raise,
Our fancies strove; The Cypresse then turn'd Bayes,
Which on thy brow grac'd with Poetick Rage,
Secur'd Thee from the thunder of the Age.
Thus the Springs warmth brings back by mild degrees,
Rayment and food to th'leafelesse, saplesse Trees:
Thus the wingd quire their vocall Lutes do string,
And Turtles having found their mates, do sing:
Thus like the quickning sun, thy flames do spread,
And add new life to us, that fear'd thee dead.
Geo. Hill.
| Poems &c. By James Shirley | |