MEMENTO MORI
AN ELEGIE On that great Example of Charity and Vertue, The Right Honourable The Countess Dowager of Thanet: Who died on Monday the 14th of August Instant, At the House belonging to that Noble Family in Aldersgate-street.
AS t'other night perplex'd with Cares I lay
Wishing th'arrival of expected day,
I saw the Stars grown on a sudden pale,
Heaven doubly shrouded with a Mourning-vail;
A doleful Shreek invaded streight mine ear,
And fill'd my mind with horrour and with fear.
Frighted I rise, and trembling reach the street,
Where Throngs of Poor and Needy Souls I meet,
Whose deep-fetch'd Sighs and Joynt-united Cries
Pierced at once my Heart, and rent the Skies.
In every Look Symptoms of Grief I spy,
Too great at first to speak the reason why.
But when an Ebb of Sighs allow'd them breath,
They sadly told me this Good Lady's Death,
Thanet! whose liberal Hand and open Door
Has long time been th' Exchequer of the Poor,
The Publick Ord'nary of helpless Guests,
For whom her Bounty every day made Feasts:
She! She! is snatch'd away, and we have none
To keep us now, our great Reliever's gone,
Gone as a-Pearl drop in the Main, to get
Which, we may sink, but not recover it.
I griev'd to hear the News, and their Complaint,
And sat me down in Tears my Grief to vent.
For such a worthy Gause there's no excuse,
Sorrow can make a Verse without a Muse.
What she did here, by great Example, well
T'inlive Posterity, her Fame may tell.
Her sweet obliging Charms, her Courtesie,
Her wary Guards, her wise Simplicity,
Were like a Ring of Vertues 'bout her set,
And Piety the Centre where all met.
Though Streams of Grandeur flow'd in her high blood,
She before Great, preferr'd the name of Good;
Her Life so Regular, her Vertue such,
Some commenc'd Saints of old with half so much.
She had a mind as calm as she was fair,
Not tost or troubled with fantastick Air.
A Curl disorder'd, or a Pin misplac'd,
Could not disturb the serene Peace that grac'd
Her Soul; nor would she suffer thoughts to fly
Out after gawdy Toys of Vanity;
But by a solid course, this Conquest got,
To use the world as though she us'd it not.
To say she's now an Augel, is scarce more
Praise than she had, for she seem'd such before.
Whilst Pilgrimaging here, she stood possest
Of Heaven in part; for her rich furnisht breast
Was a fair Temple, and her Heart a shrine,
So purg'd, that she appeared All-Divine.
You that the World with Panacaea's vex,
Knew you no succour 'gainst an Apoplex?
How happens it, that every day we meet
The looser sort of people in the street
From desperate Diseases freed? And why
Can you help them, and suffer her to dy?
Who was all Vertues in Epitomy.
She in whose Fate the fainting World sustain'd
A general Loss, too great to be regain'd
In after-times: For her Example wrought
Through each Degree, and glorious Actions taught
To all mankinde, whilst they by Copying her
In each Relation, learn'd their own [...].
Beauty and Modesty mix'd in her Youth,
And in her Age D [...]scretion, Grace, and Truth.
Her H [...] dictated Humility,
And Riches did but feed her Charity.
How nobly she dispatch'd each Scene of Life!
A tender Mother! a most loving Wife!
A gracious Mistriss, an unwearied Friend!
Whose Love on Fortune's Smiles did ne're depend.
Truly Religious, and in every thing
Fast to the Church, and Loyal to her King.
She having thus tutor'd the Standers by
So well to live, now teaches them to dye.
Nor need we bid her sleep secure, who know
That God himself rock'd her to sleep below.
Her Soul being sweetly snatch'd away to Bliss,
As if some Angel stole it in a Kiss,
There mounted high, beyond the shades of Death,
She draws pure Joys and Everlasting Breath,
Whilst here a generous Odor shall be fann'd
By soft perfumed Winds throughout the Land;
Which like Rich Essence in the locks of Fame,
Shall stick, and there Embalm her Deathless Name.
FINIS.
With Allowance,
Aug. 17. 1666. Ro. L'Estrange.
LONDON: Printed for D. M. 1676. 91.