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And the full wrath befide
Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,
And feals obedience firft with wounding smart
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more near his heart.
At a SOLEMN MUSIC.
LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
With faintly fhout and folemn jubilee,
That we on earth with undifcording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noife;
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
To their great Lord, whofe love their motion sway'd
In perfect diapafon, whilft they flood
In first obedience and their state of good.
O may we foon again renew that fong,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long 25 To his celeftial confort us unite.
To live with him and fing in endless morn of light.
An EPITAPH on the MARCHIONESS of WINCHESTER *.
HIS rich marble doth enter
The honor'd Wife of Winchester,
A Vicount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
More than fhe could own from earth,
After fo fhort time of breath,
To houfe with darkness, and with death.
Been as complete, as was her praise,
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth, and her graces fweet
*This Lady was Jane, daughter of Thomas Lord Vifc. Savage of Rock-Savage, Chefhire, who by marriage became the heir of Lord Darcy Earl of Rivers; and was the wife of John Marquis of Winchester, and the mother of Charles first Duke of Bolton. She died in childbed of a fecond fon in the 23d year of her age; and Milton made thefe verfes at Cambridge.
The virgin quire for her request
The God, that fits at marriage feaft;
But with a scarce well-lighted flame
And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And with remorseless cruelty
On her haft'ning funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
After this thy travel fore
Sweet reft feife thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
And some flowers, and fome bays,
For thy herfe, to ftrow the
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fitft in glory,
Next her much like to thee in ftory,
That fair Syrian shepherdess,
Who after years of barrenness.
The highly-favor'd Joseph bore
To him,that ferv'd for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee
SONG. On MAY MORNING.
WOW the bright morning-ftar, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the eaft, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowflip and the pale primrose.
Hail bounteous May, that doft infpire Mirth and youth and warm defire; Woods and groves are of thy dreffing, Hill and dale doth boaft thy bleffing. Thus we falute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
On SHAKESPEAR. 1630.
HAT needs my Shakespear for his honor'd bones
Or that his hallow'd reliques fhould be hid
Under a ftar-ypointing pyramid?
Dear fon of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou fuch weak witness of thy name?
Haft built thyself a live-long monument.
For, whilft to th' fhame of flow-endevoring art
Thy eafy numbers flow, and that each heart