Sighes At the contemporary deaths of Those incomparable Sisters, The Countesse of Cleaveland, and Mistrisse Cicily Killegrve Daughters of Sir Iohn Crofts: Knight of Saxom Hall, in the Countie of Suffolke: Deceased, And his Noble Lady now Living. Breathed forth by F. Q. [i.e. Francis Quarles] |
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 | Sighes At the contemporary deaths of Those incomparable Sisters, The Countesse of Cleaveland, and Mistrisse Cicily Killegrve |  |
Sighes.
1
If ourSad eyes could rayne
For every drop, a Shower,
Our needlesse Quill might then refraine
This heavy taske: But since our teares are pent
Within our straitned eyes, our Pen must give them vent.
2
Blunt Quill,And do'st thou think
To glorifie thy Skill
In Sooty Characters of Inke?
Or that thy easie Language can proclaime
An Accent halfe so shrill, as the loud Trumpe of Fame?
3
But tell,O tell me why
Should our sad lines compell
A teare, or force a trickling eye?
We begge it not: What gentle eye embalmes.
The precious dust of Saints, brings Offrings, and not Almes.
4
You whomVictorious Passion
Hath foyl'd and over come
With sighes and teares, not wept for fashion,
Come beare a part: These Obsequies doe sue
To entertaine such Guests, such Guests alone as you.
5
Rash Fates!Were you adviz'd
At how extreame great Rates
True Honor and Perfection's priz'd,
When you in twice two dayes, surprized more,
Then Ages can prescribe, then Ages can restore.
6
Repose,O gentle earth,
This sacred Dust, kept close,
As Reliques of our buried Mirth:
Let Time preserve your holy Turfts unstirr'd:
This Age will scarce unlocke your Gates for such a third.
7
In thisCold bed of Clay,
Vnstain'd perfection is
Laid downe to sleepe, till breake a day;
Which, when the early morning Trumpe shall sound,
With Ioy, with Robes, with Crownes shall wake, be cloath'd, be crown'd.
8
Sad Tombe!Hadst thou the might
To understand for whom
Thy marble Curtaines make this night,
Thou'ldst vie with Mahomets (if such there be)
Two stones support but his; two Saints are propts to thee.
9
We shouldInvoke to ayde,
And challenge (if we would)
Assistance from the heavenly Mayde;
But we forbeare: The Spirit of griefe infuses
More salt into our Quill, than all the sacred Muses.
10
ProvokeLoud stormes to blow;
Or smothring Flaxe to smoake;
Full seas to swell; Spring-tides to flow;
For us; we need no ay'd, nor will suborne
The helpe of forreigne Art. True griefe knowes how to mourne.
11
Hard stones,If hearts should not,
Would cleave and split with grones,
Ere so much worth should lie forgot:
At such a losse, should stones forbeare to breake
Their flinty Silence, stones, the very stones would speake.
12
To speakeBare truth, would try
A Faith that were not weake;
Twould seeme a ranke Hyperboly,
To make but halfe their excellence appeare,
For whom wee mourne, for whom we justifie this teare.
13
If notThe height of Blood,
Vertue without a spot,
And all those gifts that earth calls good,
May lend some Priviledge to life, nor adde
Some sand to Natures Glasse, what matter good or bad!
14
Perswade,Perswade not me,
False earth, to trust thy aide,
Or build my hopes on it, or Thee:
Give all thou hast, alas, thou canst not make
Estates for more than life: Thou dost but give, and take.
15
Stone heartsLet mee bespeake
You all to play your parts:
If you be too too hard to breake,
Too stout for drops to pierce, yet come;
You'l serve for stuffe, to build their honourable Tombe
16
To breakeThe Peace of Saints,
In taking leave to speake
Our reall griefes in vaine complaints,
Is but a tricke of earth: Why should, we thus
Afflict our soules for them, that finde no griefe, but us?
17
Attend,You gentle eares
A while, and wee will end
Our sighes, and wipe away your teares:
We'l change our Scene, & we'l unsad our Stile;
We'l teach your sighes to sing; we'l teach your teares to smile.
18
Report.You blessed Peeres
Of the eternall Court,
Your Hallalujahs mixt with theirs:
Welcome these Saints to that Celestiall Quire,
Where griefes doe not explore; where joyes doe not expire.
19
And you,O blessed Payre,
That now have enterview
With Thrones and Syraphims; that share
With Powers and Angels: O what Oratory
Can colour out your joyes? What Pen can chant your Glory:
20
Shall thenThe puddle teares
Of earth-begotten Men
Wash your white Names, or cloy your eares?
No, no, 'tis pitty teares should intercept
The peace of your sweet Rest, where teares are never wept?
21
Shed teares?Had they beene tied
To serve their wearie yeares
At earths hard Trade, and then denied
A common Rest, this had beene apt to breede,
A thousand, thousand teares: This had beene griefe indeed!
22
Enough:Let this suffice
To shew how poore a Puffe
Is earth, and all that earth can prize:
Wealth, honor, beauty, in whose flames we burne,
Give warning in the bed, and leave us at the Vrn.
23
WithoutThe least surmise
Of unbeliefe, or doubt,
Our mountaine faith doth canonize
These Saints; whose dying Ashes did conferr
To their Redeemers Birth, gifts passing gold and Myrrh.
24
My Pen,Thou hast transgrest;
Archangels, and not Men
Should sing the story of their Rest:
But we have done, we leave them to the trust
Of heavens eternall Towre, and kisse their sacred Dust.
Epitaph.
If our blunt Quill but tell you whom,Rash Fates repose in this sad Tombe;
We should provoke hard stones to speake,
If not perswade stones hearts to breake:
Attend report, and you shall, then,
Shed teares enough without my Pen.
The End.
| Sighes At the contemporary deaths of Those incomparable Sisters, The Countesse of Cleaveland, and Mistrisse Cicily Killegrve | |