Clarastella Together with Poems occasional, Elegies, Epigrams, Satyrs. By Robert Heath |
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Upon the unfortunate death of the truly
gallant and noble Gent. Ed. Sackvil, Esquire.
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Upon the unfortunate death of the truly gallant and noble Gent. Ed. Sackvil, Esquire.
Thy pow'r pale envious death I now defie,Thy rage is spent in this one Tragedie.
Thou'ast purloin'd our chief wealth, and in one hour
Rob'd Honours Garland of its choisest flow'r.
Now do thy worst! thy life-depriving dart,
Can no more Conquest bring, nor deeper smart.
Oft his tri'd. Valour in the open field
Dar'd thee, where since thou couldst not make him yield,
Now by a weak and clandestine surprize
Thou smit'st him unawares by cowardize.
Yet went he arm'd against that fatal blow,
Which sin did print upon his flesh, not you.
Then be not proud of this thy spoil, since he
Did wish to, more then you could make him, die.
For now he lives fam'd to posteritie,
Both for his Virtues and his Loyaltie.
The gallant spirit of whose youthful heat
Doth with his urnes clear oyle perpetuate.
VVe weep not then, because he dy'd; but thus;
The strange chance, doth strange wonder claim in us.
Hee that but newly chang'd his mortal life
In sacred wedlock, with a happy VVife,
Is forc'd by th'ignorant malice of worse men
To change it for a happ'er once agen:
Hee whose rich Virtues gain'd each man his friend
That knew them both, to his untimely end
Thus brought by foes (if any he could have)
Hath with his precious corps enricht the grave.
Hee, Hee, is gone; and nought but sorrow left
To mind us of the good we are bereft.
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As when the Sun sets flow'rs seem withered:
Nor doth his Fam'ly onely lose a stem,
The Kingdome suffers in the losse of him.
More I should say; but sullen griefe denies,
I'l sigh, and vent the rest with weeping eies.
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