AN ELEGY: ON THE Death of Her late SACRED MAJESTY MARY THE Second, Queen of England, &c. Who Dyed December, 28th. 1694.
By J. L. R. of S.
YORK, Printed by John White, for Francis Hildyard, Book-Seller, at the Bible in Stone-Gate, 1695.
Imprimatur.
Edm. Wickins Rmo. in Christo Patriac Dno. Dno. Johanni. Archiepisc. Ebor. à Sacris. Dom.
Apr. 19, 1695.
AN ELEGY, on Queen MARY THE Second, Queen of England, &c.
HERE, Muse, thy selfe into a Vestal turn,
Such Fires alone shine in this Sacred urn,
Restrain thy lighter Fancy, as 'tis meet,
The ground's too sacred for unhallow'd Feet.
But here an Isle heav'd from the deep we see,
That it might sacred to its Patron bee,
Another Delos.
Hence 'th muses humbly beg, they ma'owne the hand
By which th'ave power to weep, by which they stand
The House of Commons and the house of Peeres.
Contend no Priv'ledge now but that of teares.
To weep is now become the Subiects Right,
'Twere Arbitrary Power for to deny't,
The Rev'rend Snows from Miter'd heads distill
In teares, Like dews from of Mount Sions hill,
Which make the inferiour valleys fruitfull still.
Nor is this greife within our Seas confin'd,
Spaine, Germany and Holland too are joyn'd.
Confederates in woe.
When Alexander saw Darius dead,
Not one insulting or proud word he said,
But with a gen'rous hand did nobly throw
His Royal mantle o're his Vanquish'd foe.
More Royall still, because employed Soe.
She fell not, France, by any power of Thine,
Our Royall Oake yeeldes only to the stroke divine.
Insult not then: but let Thy Lillys come,
Joyn'd with our Roses, to spread o're her tomb.
Shame! That the Most Christian King should bafled be
By Pagans thus in generosity.
Th' old Chaos now returns, a delug'd world,
All things int' a common confusion hurl'd,
Promiscuous greife; No firmament appears
Dividing th' Ʋpper from the Lower teares.
Her funerall Pomp thro 'th liquid Streets did passe,
(All Eyes seem'd such) as if thro' Seas of Glasse,
Thus, th' Israelitish Host, at Gods command,
Thro the Red sea did goe, on either hand
Whilst th' briney Floods, like Chrystal walls, did stand
Oh! That the nation could be rated soe,
That each might bear 'is proportion of the woe,
Stupendious greife! How like our Souls, thou art
Whole in the whole, and whole in every part.
Aristotles opinion of the Soul.
Our Ramah now doth Solemne mourning keep.
For us not Rachel, we for Rachel weep,
England is now a Bacah, Land of woe
A land of fountaines, tears doe make it soe.
But oh the horrour of that Royall floud,
Of greife! Next that which once wept drops of blood:
Here draw the Curtaines! Mortalls, distance keep,
Approach not near, where Majesty doth weep,
Tears are most strong and awfull, when close kept,
Peter went out, when bitterly he wept.
Luc. 22.26.
Such mutuall loue did th' one to'th other tye,
In him she liues, in her he Seem'd to dye.
What Divine Mysterys of State we See,
One Single Soveraigne in Dualitye.
Some Kings doe make it their ambition.
Ours counts it th' greatest Crosse, to rule alone.
Thus God at first created two great Lights,
The one to rule the day, th' other the nights:
But these of ours shone with an equall ray,
The night, if any, well might passe for day:
Or if the Shechinah did sometimes shine.
And sometimes dark appear, t'was still divine.
In her a perfect Scheme of heav'n we see,
Beauty without, within all pietye.
Whilst York and Lancaster in Beautys feild.
Contend, they both to 'th Purple Rose must yeeld
Small Pox.
But with such sweetness she resign'd her breath
T'would make us almost fall in love with death.
Strangers would not beleeue it, so to be,
Seeing all about her look more dead, than she,
She did not Seeme to dye, but gently passe.
From hence, like Enoch, who translated was,
Only her body she did leave behind,
(All that was Mortall, to the Earth consign'd)
This to the care of her Dear Lord she left,
Of all, but th' Royall Mantle, now bereaft,
Thus by Survivourship he doth inherit,
A double portion of her heav'n-borne spirit.
Divinely thus she ends the former yeare,
Enters those scenes, where all things new appeare,
But heav'n perhaps not new to her did seem,
Where always had her Conversation beene.
Strange Paradox this! Vertuous hypocrisy;
She was more pious, then she seem'd to be.
Devotion was most practis'd, when by none
T' was Seene, but only by th' All. Seeing one:
Like to that fire, which in some sacred vrnes
Expires, when open'd; Closd, more strongly burnes.
What mutual gifts 'twixt heav'n and earth now tend?
The heav'ns a God, a Goddesse th' Earth doth send.
When equall Sins for equall doome did call,
(And fire may justly on our Citys fall)
She not. like Lot, to little Zoar flyes,
But Scales the highest Mountaines of the Skyes.
Such sacred Violence heav'n it selfe approves,
Triumphs when vanquish'd, and its Conquerour loves:
And if that heav'n our Citys please to spare.
We must impute it rather to her prayer.
Than to the number of the Pious there.
When Moses on that great design was sent,
Joyn'd in Commission, Aaron also went,
Thus when our Queen her heav'nly Progresse goes,
Our* Aaron too his due attendance showes.
John, late Lord Arch B. of Cant.
Like John the Baptist, he prepares the way,
Thus angells did attend the Shechinah.
What fates must we expect, when th' Lord of Hosts
Calls in these Flaggs of Peace, those whiter Ghosts,
And in that face, where Sweetness only lay,
Doth his Red Flag of angry war display?
To'th Kingdome she did still her aid afford,
Or in her Closet, or at'th Councill Board.
Only we knew not, whether to her cares.
We ow'd out safe'ty more, or to her prayers:
Thus Israel good or bad successe did share,
As Moses's hands were lifted up in prayer.
Pious and prudent; wife, but from above,
The Serpent never Eating up the dove.
Reasons of state she knew, yet practis'd none.
But what were founded in religion.
Her Councill, tho' in things of great'st concern,
Came not t' advise her, but of her to learne.
Kings from her Actions now their Rules will draw,
As from their great Justiniana's law.
Perhaps the only she, whom men confesse
That Presence did make great, and absence lesse.
If Queens of this our age as wise had beene,
As that of Sheba, we such Guests had seene,
Paying such frequent Visits to our Northerne Queene.
Perfection only from your sex must grow,
Th' world was not perfect, till that made it soe.
A Princely Meen ioyn'd with an humble dresse.
A strange Majestick Greatnesse did expresse.
Not Solomon more glorys did dispense
Than she, cladin her native Country's Innocence.
Hence will our Sages still more learn'd appeare,
The more they understand their losses here.
God in Six days from the first Chaos brought
This glorious fabrick, by his wisdome wrought,
Thus she six Yeares in the like cares has spent,
In regulateing th' English goverment.
Such wonders once by Moses's Rod were wrought
When he the Israelites out of Egypt brought.
The State reform'd, all greiveances redress'd,
This is her Sabbath, and her yeare of rest.
She was the Doue, sent to a Forraigne land.
Brought back an Orange-Branch, at Gods command,
A signe of Peace or victory to our Brittish strand.
Like Joseph, when in power abroad, she well
Consults the safety of our Israel,
Belov'd abroad, and honoured at home,
Blessings, which rarely ev'n to Prophts come,
The Belgick Provinces in nothing were
Vnited more, than in their loue to her.
They there own Heptarchy did disapproue,
Seven united. Provinces,
Dissolv'd into a Monarchy of Love,
In her we'th vertues, without th' vices, see
Both of a Common-wealth and Monarchy.
William, that Easterne Sage came from afar,
Lead by the guidance of an English star,
Where haveing made his Presents,
Gold and Arabian Myrh are meaner things,
These to each other are 'th fit'st Offerings,
Thus worshipping, he did succesfull prove,
Carrys away the obiect of his loue.
But England could not long her absence beare,
Starrs shine most glorious in their native Sphere;
Thus Providence by these removealls meant,
By Sev'rall Schooles as't were of goverment,
To fit her for a Throne of higher fame,
Next to the Blessed Lady of that name,
She was the First, the Second ours became.
T'was her peculiar glory, hers alone,
At once to merit, and refuse a throne,
Vntill she thought it duty to receiue.
VVith reverence, what heav'n thus Seem'd to give.
With th' same reluctance still she enter'd on.
The Goverment, when her Dear Lord was gone:
But nothing with more joy she did restore,
Vnlesse perhaps she left this life with more.
Now the poore widdows, only rich in teares,
(And he most Pompous is, who thus appeares.)
Cast their two mites, two weeping eyes they have,
To'th common Treasury of greife, her grave.
Poor Orphans thus to greater straits are put,
For heaven now has their Exchequer shut.
In other things the law did bound her will,
Only her Charity was boundlesse still;
From 'th King, her Second selfe, t'was sometimes hid,
Her left hand knew not what the right hand did,
Lazarus at Dives gate in vaine implores,
Only the kinder dogs did lick his sores:
But t'was her great Prerogatiue to saue.
The lost, and cure the wounds, which fortune gave.
Bethesda only cur'd the first that came:
Her healing charity was still the same
To all; thus to the last the Lord gave pay
Mat. 20.8.
Equall to him, who bore the heat o'th day.
The Church and state her only Children were.
Our Nursing. Mother plac'd her thoughts only here.
Nor are they now, like Orphans, left at large,
Great William still doth undertake the Charge,
Albion regaines its lustre, and doth stand
Great Arbiter of Europe, Aarons wand
Blossomes; Religion and the Laws we see
Once more supporters of our Monarchy,
Her greatest task of vertue seem'd to be,
'Mongst all those glorys
Still to preserue that great humility.
Where ere she was, she still was on a throne,
Her presence either found, or made it one.
Yet still she humble was; none ere did know
At once a soule so high, a soul so low.
When liueing, none durst her just prayses Spread,
But truth will grant Reprisealls on the dead.
She came A Prophetesse, not to unfold
New Truths, but teach us to obserue the old,
T' her owne she came, there for to carry on
That greater work of Court-Conversion,
A land, they say, was almost Pagan grown
No Holy-water now at Court appeares
(Strange Reformation!) but what flows in teares.
Truth and Smcerity, things long unknown,
Were to the Queen cheife Maids of Honour grown
The Sacred Font doth sons o'th Church create,
But teares baptize us now true sons o'th state.
This haeving done, Ali's finish'd now, she said,
Now I depart in peace, and bow'd her head.
What Mary's box of precious ointment did
T' our Saviour's body never can be hid;
Its owne perfumes did so Embalme the thing.
Thus shall your name in future ages Spring,
Where ere our English Annalls shall be read,
There shall your vertues their Sweet odours spread,
Here fix th' Herculean Pillars! since in you
We see what nature joyn'd with Grace can doe.
To the King,
What miracles in England still appeares.
Th' one Pole, on which did move our English Sphere,
Is quite remou'd: and yet no shocks of state,
The English Atlas still beares up the weight.
What ever prosperous to our realme has beene
In seuerall Reignes, in you alone is seen.
An Eighty Eight you cause us to remember,
Another happy fifth day of November.
Goe on, Great Prince, to fill our Calendar.
With such auspicious days of peace, or of succesfull war.
You, Like that Cloud, which interposd, a skreen
The Egyptians and the Israe'lites betweene,
Tho' you Serene and calme appeare at home,
Yet when to a forraigne feild of war you come,
Then the black side o'th Cloud
Teemes nought, but thunder, from its pregnant womb
Suns setting in a watry Cloud, they say
Portends a storme impending; and may they
Who here refuse to joyne their pious raine,
Feele the feirce fury of that Hurricane.
Beware, proud France, how thou dost meet a foe
Doubly enragd
With thy unjust rejoycing, his just woe.
[...]east he thy Citys into Ashes turne,
As a burnt Offering at her injur'd vrne.
Ephestion dead, thus Alexanders host,
Did Sacrifice whole lands to Deare Ephestion's Ghost.
Least thy proud fleet, with all its prouder names,
We offer up once more in funerall flames;
When Caesar dy'd, thus did a Comet rise,
A direfull omen to his Enemyes.
Tremble, Proud France. th' heavens will not deny't,
Our Queene did pray, for what our King doth fight.
FINIS.