Nor in ought more this world's decay appears
Than that her influence the heav'n forbears,
Or that the elements do not feel this,
The father or the mother barren is:

The clouds conceive not rain. or do not pour,
In the due birth-time, down the balmy shower;
Th' air doth not motherly fit on the earth,
To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth:
Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombs,
And falfe conceptions fill the general wombs;
Th' air fhews fuch meteors, as none can fee
Not only what they mean, but what they be.
Earth fuch new worms as would have troubled
much

Th' Egyptian Magi to have made more fuch.
What artist now dares boast that he can bring
Heav'n hither, or conftellate any thing,
So as the influence of thofe ftars may be
Imprifon'd in a herb, or charm, or tree,
And do by touch all which those stars could do?
The art is left, and correfpondence too;
For heav'n gives little, and the earth takes lefs,
And man least knows their trade and purposes.
If this commerce 'twixt heav'n and earth were not
Embarr'd, and all this traffic quite forgot,
She, for whofe lofs we have lamented thus,
Would work more fully and pow'rfully on us;
Since herbs and roots by dying lofe not all,
But they, yea afhes too, are med'cinal,
Death could not quench her virtue fo, but that
It would be (if not follow'd) wonder'd at,
And all the world would be one dying fwan,
To sing her Funeral praise, and vanish then.
But as fome ferpent's poifon hurteth not,
Except it be from the live ferpent shot,
So doth her virtue need her here, to fit
That unto us, fhe working more than it.
But fhe, in whom to fuch maturity
Virtue was grown paft growth, that it must die;
She, from whofe influence all impreffion came,
But by receiver's impotencies lame;
Who, though fhe could not transubstantiate
All ftates to gold, yet gilded every state;
So that fome princes have fome temperance,
Some counsellors fome purpofe to advance
The common profit, and fome people have

Some stay, no more than kings fhould give to

crave;

Some women have fome taciturnity,
Some nunneries fome grains of chastity:

She that did thus much, and much more could do,
But that our age was Iron, and rusly too;

She, fhe is dead; fhe's dead! When thou know'ft this,

Thou know'ft how dry a cinder this world is,
And learn't thus much by our Anatomy,
"I hat 'tis in vain to dew or molify

It with thy tears, or fweat, or blood: nothing
Is worth our travail, grief, or perishing,
But those rich joys which did poflets her heart,
Of which the's now partaker and a part.
But as in cutting up a man that's dead,
The body will not laft out, to have read
On every part, and therefore men direct
Their fpeech to parts that are of most effect;

So the world's carcafe would not last, if I
Were punctual in this Anatomy;

Nor fmells it well to hearers, if one tell
Them their disease, who fain would think they're
well.

Here, therefore, be the end; and, bleffed Maid!
Of whom is meant whatever hath been said,
Or fhall be spoken well by any tongue, [fong,
Whofe name refines coarfe lines, and makes profe
Accept this tribute, and his first year's rent,
Who, till his dark fhort taper's end be spent,
As oft as thy feaft fees this widow'd earth,
Will yearly celebrate thy fecond birth,
That is, thy death: for though the foul of man
Be got when man is made, 'tis born but then
When man doth die; our body's as the womb,
And as a midwife death directs it home;
And you her creatures, whom she works upon,
And have your last and best concoction
From her example and her virtue, if you
In reverence to her do think it due,
That no one should her praifes thus rehearse,
As matter fit for chronicle, not verse.
Vouchsafe to call to mind that God did make
A lal and lafting'ft piete, a fong. He fpake
To Mofes to deliver unto all

That fong, because he knew they would let fall-
I he law, the prophets, and the history,
But keep the fong ftill in their memory:
Such an opinion, in due measure, made
Me this great office boldly to invade ;
Nor could incomprehenfibleness deter
Me from this trying to imprifon her,
Which when I faw that a ftrict grave could do,
I faw not why verse might not do fo too.
Verfe hath a middle nature; heav'n keeps fouls
The grave keeps bodies, verfe the fame enrolls.

A FUNERAL ELEGY.

'Tis lofs to truft a tomb with fuch a gueft,
Or to confine her in a marble chest.
Alas! what's marble, jet, or porphyry,
Priz'd with the chryfolite of either eye,

Or with those pearls and rubies, which the was?
Join the two Indies in one tomb, 't is glafs;
And fo is all to her material,

I hough every inch were ten Efcurials;
Yet fhe's demolish'd; can we keep her then
In works of hands, or of the wits of men?
Can thefe memorials, rags of paper, give
Life to that name by which name they muft live?
Sickly, alas! fhort-liv'd, abort ve be

I hofe carcafe verfes whofe foul is not fhe;
And can fhe, who no longer would be she,
(Being fuch a tabernacle) stoop to be
In paper wrapt? or, when she would not lie
In fuch an houfe, dwell in an elegy?
But 't is no matter; we may well allow
Verfe to live fo long as the world will now,
For her death wounded it. The world contains
Princes for armis, and counfellors for brains;

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Lawyers for tongues, divines for hearts, and more;
The rich for ftoniachs, and for backs the poor;
The officers for hands; merchants for feet,
By which remote and distant countries meet:
But thofe fiae fpirits which do tune and fet
This organ, are thofe pieces which beget
Wonder and love, and these were the; and she
Being spent, the world must needs decrepit be:
For fince Death will proceed to triumph still,
He can find nothing after her to kill,
Except the world itself; fo great was she.
Thus brave and confident may Nature be;
Death cannot give her fuch another blow,
Because the cannot fuch another shew.

But must we fay fhe's dead? May 't not be faid,
That as a funder'd clock is piecemeal laid,
Not to be loft, but by the maker's hand
Repolish'd, without error then to stand?
Or as the Afric Niger ftream enwombs
Itself into the earth, and after comes
(Having first made a natural bridge, to pafs
For many leagues) far greater than it was,
May 't not be faid that her grave shall restore
Her greater, purer, firmer, than before?
Heav'n may fay this, and joy in 't; but can we,
Who live and lack her here, this 'vantage fee?
What is't to us, alas! if there have been
An angel made a throne or cherubim ?
We lose by 't; and as aged men are glad,
Being taftelefs grown, to joy in joys they had,
So now the fick-starv'd world must seed upon
This joy, that we had her who now is gone.
Rejoice then, Nature, and this world, that you,
Fearing the laft fire's haft'ning to fubdue
Your force and vigour e'er it were near gone,
Wifely beftow'd and laid it all on one;
One whose clear body was fo pure and thin,
Because it need difguife no thought within.
'Twas but a through-light scarf her mind t'inrol,
Or exhalation breath'd out from her foul;
One whom all men, who durst no more, admir'd,
And whom whoe'er had worth enough defir'd.
As when a temple's built faints emulate
To which of them it shall be confecrate :
But as when heav'n looks on us with new eyes,
Those new ftars every artist exercise;

What place they should affign to them they doubt,
Argue, and agree not, till those stars go out;
So the world study'd whose this piece should be,
Till the can by no body's elfe, nor the;
But like a lamp of balfamum, defir'd
Rather t' adorn than laft, fhe foon expir'd,
Cloth'd in her virgin-white integrity:

For marriage, though it doth not itain, dotk die.
To 'fcape the infirmities which wait upon
Woman, he went away before she was one;
And the world's busy noise to overcome,
Took fo much death as ferv'd for opium;

Paces of admiration and of love.
Thy Soul (dear Virgin!) whose this tribute is,.
Mov'd from this mortal fphere to lively blifs,,
And yet moves ftill, and still afpires to fee
The world's last day, thy glory's full degree,
Like as thofe ftars, which thou o'erlookest far,
Are in their place, and yet ftill moved are.
No Soul (whilft with the luggage of this clay
It clogg'd is) can follow thee half way,
Or fee thy flight, which doth our thoughts outgo
So fast, as now the lightning moves but flow.
But now thou art as high in heav'n flown

As heav'n's from us; what Soul, besides thine own
Can tell thy joys, or fay he can relate
Thy glorious journals in that blessed state?
I envy thee, (rich Soul !) I envy thee,
Although I cannot yet thy glory fee:

And thou, (great Spirit!) which her's follow'd, haf
So faft, as none can follow thine so fast,
So far, as none can follow thine fo far,
(And if this flesh did not the paffage bar
Which long agone hadft loft the vulgar fight,

She hath yielded to too long on extasy.
He which, not knowing her fad history,
Should come to read the book of Destiny,

How fair and challe, humble and high, she had been,

Much promis'd, much perform'd, at not fifteen;

And now mak'ft proud the better eyes, that they
Can fee thee leffen'd in thine airy way;
So while thou mak'ft her Soul by progrefs known,
Thou mak'st a noble progress of thine own.
From this world's carcafe having mounted high
To that pure life of immortality;

They re-inveft thee in white innocence:
Think that thy body rots and if fo low,
Thy foul exalted fo, thy thoughts can go)
Think thee a prince, who of themselves create
Worms, which infenfibly devour their state:
Think that they bury thee, and think that rite
Lays thee to fleep but a Saint Lucy's night:
Think these things cheerfully, and if thou be
Drowty or flack, remember then that the,
She whofe complexion was fo even made,
That which of her ingredients fhould invade
The other three no fear, no art, could guefs,
So far were all remov'd from more or lefs:
But as in Mithridate or just perfumes,

Where all good things being met, no one prefumes
To govern or to triumph on the rest,

Only because all were, no part was bet:
And as, though all do know that quantities
Are made of lines, and lines from points arife,
None can thefe lines or quantities unjoint,
And fay this is a line or this a point;
So though the elements and humours were
In her, one could not fay this governs there,
Whofe even conflitution might have won
Any difcafe to venture on the fun
Rather than her, and make a fpirit fear,
That he too difuniting fubject were,
To whole proportions if we would compare
Cabes. they're unftable, circles angular:
She who was fuch a chain as Fate employs
To bring mankind all fortunes it enjoys,
So fast, so even wrought, as one would think
No accident could threaten any link;
She, the embrac'd a fickness, gave it meat,
The purest blood and breath that e'er it ate,
And hath taught us, that though a good man hath
Title to heav'n, and plead it by his faith,
And though he may pretend a conqueft, fince
Heav'n was content to fuffer violence;
Yea though he plead a long poffeffion too,
(For they're in heav'n on earth who heav'n's
works doj,

Though he had right, and pow'r, and place, before,
Yet death must usher and unlock the door :
Think further on thyfelf, my Soul! and think
How thou at firft waft made but in a fink :
Think that it argued fome infirmity.
Thatthole two Souls which then thou foundft in me,
Thou fed ft upon, and drew'ft into thee, both
My fecond Soul of fenfe and first of growth:
Think but how poor thou waft, how obnoxious,
Whom a small lump of flesh could poifon thus:
This curdled milk, this poor unlitter'd whelp,
My body could, beyond efcape or help,
Intect thee ith orig'ual fin, and thou
Couldft neither then refufe nor leave it now;

[inn,

now;

And think this flow-pac'd Soul, which late did

cleave

T'a body, and went but by the body's leave,
Twenty perchance or hirty mile a-day,
Difpatches in a minute all the way

Twixt heav'n and earth; fhe stays not in the air,
To look what meteors there themfelves prepare;
She carries no defire to know, nor fenfe,
Whether th' air's middle region be intense;
For th' element of fire, the doth not know
Whether the pafs'd by fuch a place or no;
She baits not at the moon, nor cares to try
Whether in that new world men live and die :
Venus retards her not, t' inquire how the
Can (being one ftar) Hefper and Vefper be:
He that charm'd Argus' eyes, fweet Mercury,
Works now on her, who now is grown all eye;
Who, if the meet the body of the fun,
Goes through, not ftaying till her course be run;
Who finds in Mars his camp no corps of guard,
Nor is by Jove nor by his father barr'd;
But ere the can confider how fhe went.
At once is at and through the firmament:
And as these stars were but fo many beads
Strung on one ftring, fpeed undiftinguifh'd leads
Her through thofe fpheres, as through those beads
a ftring,

Whofe quick fucceffion makes it ftill one thing;
As doth the pith which, left our bodies flack,
Strings faft the little bones of neck and back;
So by the Soul doth death ftring heav'n and earth;
For when our Soul enjoys this her third birth,
(Creation gave her one, a fecond grace)
Heaven is near, and prefent to her face,
As colours are and objects in a room,
Where darknefs was before, when tapers come.
This muft, my Soul! thy long short progrefs be
T'advance the ethoughts; remember then that the,
She whofe fair body no fuch prifon was,
But that a Soul might well be pleas'd to pafs
An age in her; the whofe rich beauty lent
Mintage to other beauties, for they went
But for fo much as they were like to her;
She in whofe body (if we dare prefer
This low world to to high a mark as the)
The western treafure, caftern fpicery,
Europe and Afric, and the unknown reft,
Were easily found, or what in them was beft:

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