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The Lady-Errant

A Tragi-Comedy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
On Mr William Cartvvright's excellent Poems, collected and published since his Death.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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On Mr William Cartvvright's excellent Poems, collected and published since his Death.

As that stout Bird proclames the early Day,
While some sad Persians (afraid
Their Shining God is dead, or lost his way)
Darken the Night with their own Shade;
But when they see Him rise, and spread, and stir,
Their Clouds as well as His are gone,
And without thanks to any Harbinger,
They leap into Devotion:
So (Cartvvright) while we speak thy blest Return,
Apparell'd in thy Native Light,
Those sadder Souls that wait upon thy Urn
(Lamenting Wit's eternall Night)
Beleeve it not, till thy own Beams break forth,
And then transported (who can choose?)
With the just admiration of thy Worth,
Forget the Man that brought the news.
Therefore, if Custome had not conquer'd Sense,
Thy Glories should shine forth alone,
For thy Attendants do but borrow hence,
Thy Lustre being all thine own.


Yet, as when Captives who were spar'd unslain,
In numerous Swarms and Heaps are shown,
Increase the Conquerours new spreading Train,
And speak His Worth though they have none:
So live; let the unblasted Laurell-Crown
On thy bright Temples ever sit,
For till thy lofty Soul be voted down,
There's no Mortality of Wit.
Io. Ieffryes Esq;