URANIA.
A Funeral Elegy▪ ON THE DEATH OF OUR Gracious QUEEN of ever Blessed Memory.
Give Sorrow Words, the Grief that does not speak
Whispers the o're-charg'd Heart, and bids it break.
Shakespear.
LONDON, Printed for John Graves, over against Will's Coffee-house in Covent-Garden: And Sold by John Whitllck near Stationers-Hall. 1695.
[...]
A Funeral Elegy.
DEath knows no Forms, Distinction or Degree,
But claims an Universal Manarchy:
And when He Strickes, as surely falls to ground
The Hand that's Scepter'd and the Head that's Crown'd;
As the poor VVretch whose life is doom'd to know
No State, but that of Slavery and VVoe,
But wonder not, Ye Princes, at your Fate,
VVho for a time so Powrful are, and Great;
VVhen the most Glorious Prince, cou'd no where have▪
A Place to lay his Head, but in the Grave,
[...] yet [...]ow the [...]
R [...]ew her Sorrows for the Dead in Dust:
Fr [...]m the cold Tomb new Tribute does arise
Of Groans, of bleeding Breasts and streaming Eyes.
Is She not worthy, A [...]ion, of thy Tears?
Of all the needfull Pomp thy Sorrow wears?
Was She not all thy Joy, thy Happiness,
And darling Hope of a new Age of Bliss?
Did not her wonted Health, and Vigour promise This?
O yes! She was—It Did—
Mourn then her Unexpected, Sad Decease
VVhich rob'd Thee of such Joys, such hopes as These▪
VVhile I Present Her [Injur'd] to thy View.
Yet shew enough to make thee Bleed anew.
Nature and Grace here exquisitely joyn'd
To Finish, without Art, a Form and Mind,
The best created Loveliness, a Charm
All Hearts to Conquer, and all Hands disarm;
While innate Sweetness did her Soul refine,
And Vertue stamp'd on it a lasting Shine.
The Grand Exempler to our Sex, Alone
Th' imitable Standard of her own:
As far excelling All in every Grace,
As she in Dignity excell'd the Race.
But She's no more, the Heav'n-born Soul is fled
To bliss, and left the beautious Body dead.
Plac'd High as the bright Ruler of our Days
Yet kind and Condescending as his Rays.
Gentle to All, who new Obedience took
That kindled from the Kindness of her Look.
Easie and Affable to that Degree,
As some thought unbecoming Majesty;
But sure those Criticks ne're deserv'd the grace,
VVho cou'd to see Her Smile, Uprai'd the Face.
They who Humility in Princes blame,
Forget the Vertue there may change his name,
VVhere Generosity and That's the same.
For what in Others does a Debt remain,
Becomes a Favour, when beyond our Claim.
But She's no more; Rais'd by Humility
Above the prospect of the proudest Eye.
Her Piety—but O my feeble Pen
Starts back, and fears to touch the Awful Theam.
VVhat must I do?—O now that I cou'd VVrite,
To rouse the British Eagle to a Flight,
With her Unerring VVing,
And strike the Heavenly String!
But on my Muse, and to the VVorld impart
How Good She was, or how Unskill'd thou art.
Devotion was her Constant True Delight,
The Lamp was ever burning, ever bright.
Kept up a daily Intercourse with Heav'n,
VVhich smooth'd the way of Life, and held her Even.
No fond Enthusiastick Transports joyn'd
To mix with the chast Ardours of her Mind
And taint the Sweet ascending Sacrifice,
The Heart did burn, but flam'd not in her Eyes.
Sure if in Mortal ever did appear,
The very Beauty of true Holiness, 'twas Here.
VVhich thus reflected on the outward Shrine,
Declar'd the Treasure, it contain'd, Divine.
Rome's Temples then wou'd have Embal'd thy Fame,
The Prayers to their Virgin had come lame,
VVith Thought of Thee, when they Invok'd her name.
But She's no more, Rewarded Piety
Confirms Her now the Saint Sh' appear'd to be.
VVho can her wondrows Charity express?
VVhich yet the warmth of Thousands must Confess?
Blest Queen! 'twas thy Contrivance how to spare,
That Others might the well-plac'd bounty share,
And the Delight it gave Thee, Crowns thy Character.
But She's no more, and sure had little need
Of Charity, who had no sins to hide.
How in our Monarch's Absence did She Reign!
How well the VVeight of Government sustain!
Of so Correct a Judgment in that Art;
Her Constancy became a necessary part.
Thy Salick Law no longer, Gallia, boast,
Howeret he Sexe's Charter there be lost,
A VVoman here cou'd Govern to thy Cost.
The Lillies trembled at the Lyons Roar,
VVhile flaming Forts justly confest the Pow'r
Of that most Lib'ral Art They taught the VVorld before
The Dear Palladium of her Country's Peace,
VVhose Heav'nly meekness conquer'd the Excess
Of warring Minds, and forc'd 'em to relent;
At least in loving Her all Parties did Consent.
So mild, so sweet a Temper cou'd not fail
O're the most stubborn Natures to prevail:
(How cou'd the Softer Sex then ever Rail?)
Great is thy Victory, O Grave, wherein
Lie the dear, blest Remains of such a Queen;
VVho as She Liv'd, calmly resign'd her breath,
Appearing pleas'd even in the Arms of Death;
Smil'd at the Stroke, which had for her no Sting,
Felt by All else, but chiefly by the King;
The Pious King, for whom Alone we live,
The King who only can our Loss Retreive.
Here Rest in Peace, and sweetest Slumbers take,
Till the last Joyful Sound thy Dust awake,
And raise it to a Crown Hands cannot make;
While we are Orphans doubly Thus become.
And envy the Embraces of thy Tomb.
FINIS: