MEMENTO MORI
Great-Britain's Lamentation for her Deceased Princess: OR, AN ELEGY upon the Death of that Most Illustrious MARY, Queen of England, Scotland, France and Ireland; who Exchang'd this Life for a Better, Decemb. 28.1694.
‘Maeror obest Elegos Scribere cogit amor.’
AH Sin! thou grand Infringer of the Laws
Of Sacred Justice, how art thou the Cause
Of World's of Mischiefs? bringing up the Rear,
Since thou to lead the Van didst first appear:
'Twas long of thee, the Angels fell so low,
From heighth of Glory to the depth of Woe.
'Twas long of thee, the Just Offended God
Plagu'd all Mankind with his Revenging Rod:
'Twas long of thee, that a late dismal stroke
From Heaven hath England's Joys in sunder broke:
'Tis thou, vile Sin! 'tis thou that art the Womb
Of all our Sorrows; thou that art the Tomb
Of all our Comforts, but for thee, vile Sin,
We longer might have kept our Gracious Queen.
Religious Princes God doth sometimes take
From Kingdoms, for their Sinning Peoples sake.
Death is the Track that every one must tread;
Not One now living but shall once be dead.
Death killeth some, wills others to survive;
Not one deceased, but was once alive.
Death with a steady Hand his Dart lets fly,
At all; all Men are Mortal; All must dye.
Death is a Leveller, when he doth strike,
The Highest and the Lowest fall alike.
Death will not be by Force of Arms controul'd,
It spares not any, neither Young nor Old.
Death knocks as boldly at the Princely Door,
As at the humble Cabbins of the Poor.
The stately'st Cedars, and the sturdiest Oaks,
Are over-power'd by Death's All-conqu'ring Stroaks.
Caesar must be Supreme, and Rule alone,
And Rival with him, Pompey will have none.
Yet, those two direful Thunderbolts of War,
Nay, Alexander's self, that Rid as far
As Phoebus Beams are spread, and terrify'd
Th' whole World, Conquer'd by Death, these Conquerers
The Greatest Soveraigns on Earth must bow
(dy'd.
To Fates resistless Force.—And now, ah! now
At Royal MARY Death his Arrow darts,
And kills as great a Conqueress of Hearts
In these Dominions, as was ever found
Within the spacious Earth's Sea-circled round.
Our Warlike Pallas, and our mild Astraea,
Of Sacred Vertue the Divine Idea,
By equal sharing in the Government,
To King ang Kingdoms gave no mean Content:
VVhilst far-fam'd William manag'd Martial Work
'Gainst Lewis th' Antichristian Christian Turk
In foreign Countries, she did overcome
Her Foes by Prudence, and kept Peace at home.
Her Crowned Presence, and Renowned Acts,
Made her the Glory of the Female Sex.
This Great Exemplar of a Pious Life
To Kingly Caesar an Obedient Wife;
Co-partner with him in th' Imperial Power,
To Foes a Terror; to her Friends a Tower:
A Sword to Wrong; a Shield to Innocence;
The Rod of Vice, and Vertue's Recompence:
A Peerless Lady, in her florid Age,
Brim-fill'd with Honour, Courteous, Modest, Sage,
Witty and Wise, one of a resolute Mind,
Yet to Compassion mightily inclin'd
Ev'n sometimes to a Fault, in saving those
False Wretches that were her Life-seeking Foes:
Factors for Rome, whom nothing will content
Less than the Ruine of the Government.
(Know Rebels, tho' a while you spared be,
Time may advance you on your Mourning Tree.)
Death thrills his Killing Dart; Great MARY dies,
VVhen on the sudden, Tydes of Sorrow rise,
And overflow the Land: All Eyes are drown'd
VVith Tears: All Places with a mourning sound
Are fill'd; and Oh! with what lamenting Tones
Heart-renting Sighs, and never stinting Groans
The Vaulted Regions ring: The Heavens are clad
In Mourning, and the Earth's exceeding sad;
Britain Laments, and if the Seas we cross,
VVhat Country grieves not for this General Loss.
Confed'rate Princes all agreed, express
Great Grief for their great General's Heaviness.
O what hard-hearted Niobe can forbear
For his great Loss to spend a Sigh, or Tear!
Ah cruel Death! to Church and State a Foe,
To turn a Commonwealth t' a Common Woe!
Ah cruel Death! that dost at once destroy
The Fair Maria's Life, and Britain's Joy!
Ah! cruel Death! that sadly dost divide
The Royal Consort and his Loyal Bride,
Th'one Moity of the Forsaken Throne,
Leaving but half himself to sit thereon!
How could he chuse but Sigh, and Grieve, and Weep
In thy rude Arms to see his dearest Sleep!
Be chear'd my Liege, thy Soul, when Prison-free,
Shall go to her, who may not come to thee.
Thy Loss is Great, far greater is her Gains,
In Splenderous Bliss thy Sainted Mary Reigns:
Be cheer'd my Liege, and follow her apace,
Who ran to Glory in the Way of Grace:
Run well thy Race, and so shalt thou obtain
An Heavenly Crown, and shalt thy Lose regain
Once more, and evermore with thy Saint Mary Reign.
An Acrostick EPITAPH.
Mary, the WO rld's Or I ent Jewel;
Albion'sGem: AF fection S Fewel;
Rome's Rod; Britain's choice D elight;
Y oung, yet stor R 'd withVertu E s bright:
Q ueen El I za's Se C ond; Lowly,
V aliant, Fai T hful, Prud E nt, Holy:
England's D A rling; Fr A nce's Terrour;
Europe's Glor Ie; Female S Mirrour;
N ature's Var N ish; what E 're is found
E xcellent, h E re lies un D er Ground.
N.B.
London, Printed for John Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall, 1695.