Clarastella Together with Poems occasional, Elegies, Epigrams, Satyrs. By Robert Heath |
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Nænia Upon the death of my dear friend T.S.
Esquire, slain at the first fight at Newbery, 1645.
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Nænia Upon the death of my dear friend T.S. Esquire, slain at the first fight at Newbery, 1645.
Pale Ghost! I weep, not 'cause thy precious bloodHonour'd when spilt, a cause so just, so good;
Nor grieve I 'cause so much that suffer'd too,
I'th' losse of such a Champion as you:
This makes my heart afresh with thy wounds bleed,
A Loyal Subject, and my friend, is dead.
One, whose unborrow'd native Wit proclaim'd
Him sole Apollo's heire; whose Vertues fam'd
Him with Pandora's gifts endow'd; whose parts
Did stile him Master of all noble Arts.
One whose Youths sprightful valour did encline
To acts Heroick without help of wine,
One who prefer'd the cause he had in hand
Above his life, before his fathers land:
One that was forward, yet not desp'rate bold,
A coward in ill acts, yet durst behold
Death in his uglyest vizar. This was Hee
Who lov'd his friend, and feard no Enemie.
Who nobly thus did seek an early grave,
Because he scorn'd to live a subjects slave.
Wide was the Orifice sure of thy large wound,
Els had thy great and gallant soul ne'r found
So easie passage thence to sallie out,
And leave her so lov'd seat to range about
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I'l bathe thy wound in tears, though wounded too.
Drie eies forbear this urn! oh come not neer
To read this Epitaph without a tear.
Spirit of Wit and Valour here doth lie
Doubly entomb'd i'th' Readers heart and eie.
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