The poetical works of William Strode ... Now first collected from manuscript and printed sources: to which is added: The floating island a tragi-comedy: Now first reprinted from the original edition of 1655: Edited by Bertram Dobell with a memoir of the author |
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ON THE SAME M. M. P. |
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 | The poetical works of William Strode |  |
ON THE SAME M. M. P.
Sleepe pretty one: oh sleepe while ISing thee thy latest Lullaby:
And may my song be but as shee,
Nere was sweeter Harmonie:
Thou werte all musicke: all thy limbes
Were but so many well sett hymnes
To prayse thy Maker. In thy browe
I read thy soule, and and know not how
To tell which whiter was or smoother,
Or more spotlesse, one or th' other.
Noe jarre, no harshnesse in thee: all
Thy passions were at peace: noe gall,
No rough behaviour; but even such
In disposition as in touch.
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Death usde thee not halfe orderly:
If thou must needs goe, must thy way
Needs be by torture? must thy Day
Ende in the Morning? and thy Night
Come with such horrour and affright?
Death might have ceizd thee gentlyer, and
Embrac'te thee with a softer hand.
Thou werte not sure so loath to goe
That thou needst be dragged so,
For thou wert all obedience, and hadst witt
To doe Heaven's will and not dispute with it.
Yet twere a heard heart, a dead eye
That sighlesse, tearlesse, could stand by,
While thy poore Mother felt each groane
As much as ere shee did her owne
When shee groan'd for thee: and thy cries
Marrde not our eares more than her Eyes.
Yet if thou tookst some truce with payne,
Then was shee melted more againe
To heare thy sweete words, whilst thy breath
Faintly did strive to sweeten Death,
Calldst for the Musicke of thy knell,
And crydst, 'twas It must make thee well:
Thus whilst your prayers were at strife,
Thine for thy death, Hers for thy life,
Thine did prevayle, and on theyr wings
Mounted thy soul; where now it sings,
And never shall complayne no more,
But for not being there before.
| The poetical works of William Strode | |