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Vertues due

or, A true modell of the life of the right Honourable Katharine Howard, late Countesse of Nottingham, deceased. By T. P. [i.e. Thomas Powell]
 
 

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The Offering.



The Offering.

Thou that ow'st this breathles beauty,
Mistris of the dayes deuotion,
And her blackest rites of duty,
Guyd'st her timeles, tuneles motiō:
O! I would not leaue thee yet,
Till I see thy Searements fit.
Thou, that art complexion carelesse,
Let affections armes vnfold,
After last imbracings durelesse,
And vpon the hallowedst mold,
Left for monumentall vse,
By thy iust extensure chuse.


If the earth deny thee rest,
Like the soule that lyes so soft
In her groning, grieued brest,
Shalt thou there be buried oft.
Earth affords no freer Toombe;
None so wide as sorrowes wombe.
There in stead of balmde confection,
Righteous teares, and season'd sighing
Sprinkle o're thy ceast complexion,
Till they seale thy searements plighting.
Gratefull odours be about thee:
Truce within, and teares without thee.


Next, for Scuchions o're thy herse.
I that truly would display thee,
Offer vp this sacred verse,
VVith the greatest zeale that may be:
Though thy Herald, length they lacke,
Yet our Scuchion staues are blacke.
Leafe by leafe, be open wide;
Speake to all that passe this way,
That they part not from thy side,
Till they read, and reading pray.
May this story neuer fade,
Till thy soule be quicke conuayd.


Angels with their musike charmes
All vnknowne malignity;
Drowne the midnights hye allarme,
When the sacring summons be:
Let not her vnhallowed breath
Enter in thy house of death.
Spirits sanctifide secure thee:
All corruption quite be spent.
Let thy natures workes assure thee
Consummation imminent.
Though thou left'st them all behind thee,
Yet their merits there refine thee.


Workes and fayth thy soule conuay,
On a heauen-deuiding wing.
Let deuotion reade and pray.
Saints and ministring Angels sing.
All, with natures latest debt,
Wype away thy Marbles sweat.