An alphabet of Elegiack Groans :: :: University of Virginia Library

Alas! why sigh I thus? why do mine eyes
Bubble up sorrow at these obsequies?
Such outward symptomes of my grief are smal,
My soul weeps inward at his Funeral.
That Anguish lurks in secret, whose dread smart
Wrought into th'Bottom, undermines the Heart.
Tears then adieu: only heart-blood can be
Convenient drops for such an Elegie.
I've lost Half of my Soul! Strange Fates that give
To one thus spirit-wounded power to live!
My OTHER I is dead! Could Atrop sever
Two thus made one, so jointly knit together,
Unless by cutting both? Oh no! his Death
Hath wrastled out my Life, though not my Breath.
But what, shall I confine to mine own Brest
This common grief, of which the World's possest?

A springing Cedar's faln, so fair, so tall,
That all our Hearts are earthquak'd at his Fall:
Which was so strangely sudden, as his Rise
To such Perfections was; it doth surprise
Us with Amazement, that our Faces be
Badg'd with that Mark of Grief, Stupiditie.
'Twould seem to ease our sorrows, could we raise
Our words so high as to compleat his Praise.
But this we cannot do, unless we could
Form our rough Brains in so exact a mould,
As that from them might flow in Teary shoures
So many Volumes as He lived houres.
Yet this we must confess; his Parts so rife
Made him far fitter for his death, than life.
Earth scarcely knew them; for, like Stars, they were
Less in her eye, 'cause unto Heav'n more neere.
He was God's Hidden Treasure; no Mans eye
View'd all those Riches which in's soul did lie.
God now has tane him to his proper place;
But wresting out the Gem, He th broke the Case:
Yet 'twill be made agen by sacred Art
The fit Enclosure of his better Part.
Why then lament we at his Funerall?
Ah! though he fell not, yet he seems to fall:
Just like a Star that's darted through the sky,
Which seems to fall, be cause it shuns our eye.
But, that our Eyes have lost their dearest sight,
May Tears conveigh them to the shades of Night.
My soul oreflows with grief; so full's my Thought,
That, like a Bubble, it is swolne to nought:
I'm grown so stupid, that by silence I
Can only speak so vast Calamity.