ON THE DEATH OF HER ILLUSTRIOUS GRACE ANNE Dutchess-Dowager of Albemarle, Who Sickned with, and Dyed twenty dayes after the Duke Her Husband; He the Third of January, and She the Twenty third of the same Moneth, 1669.
SCarce had I breath'd the DUKES Elogium
In panting Prose, before a Second Doom
Invok'd my Genius to appear in Verse,
And offer Incense to His DUTCHESS Herse;
Though Her Embalming needeth here no more
Then Gold in Peru, or a Map on Shore.
A Dame of deep Endowments, and more true
Intrinsique value than the Dull Age knew.
Whose Zeal and Loyalty through the Realm did ring,
Fervent to GOD, and Cordial to the King.
Whose Oeconomique and Domestique Cares
Proclaim'd her Prudence in her own Affairs,
Which with Her Frugal-Conduct, might ingage
Th' Examples of most Madams of our Age,
Who wrack their wealth on Riots, and consume
Whole Seigniories in [...]inting and Perfume.
But I'le not Satyrize, nor blast my Bayes
With their Reproches, which must Crown Her Praise;
Whose Ʋnstain'd Name, Clear Innocence, and Truth
(The Green Ingredients of her Vernal youth)
Increasing with her, did corroborate
The Growing Graces of her Greatned State,
Which, like tall Trees did from low Roots produce
Fruits of more Substance, and of sweeter Juice:
Witness Her Secret Alms well seen and known
In our Horizon, though no Trump were blown,
Which sham'd their Charity, and such Zealots chid,
Whose left-hand reckons what their right-hand did.
Nor did that Grandeur on Her Husbands side,
Or Her own Fullness swell her into Pride,
Who both the difference, and Decorum knew
'Twixt a great Dutchess and good Christian too.
Compassionate she was, and humbly prone
To Condescention in her highest Zone:
Thus the Sun shines alike, and sheds his showrs
On Barren Heaths, as well as Beds of Flowrs.
Friendly to all, and affable to those,
If not the Churches, and great CHARLES his Foes:
Her Constant Soul disdeining to comply
When Hope lay low, and Anarchy pearch'd high,
And most Mens Bowls ran biass'd to the Times,
Crowns with their Scepters being counted Crimes;
Of such Transcendency as never wou'd
Admit of expiation but by Blood.
Then like some Star in this Cymmerian night
Of Error, did Her Loyalty shine bright,
And with unwearied Industry, and pain,
Strive to bring home three Realms on Charles his Wain.
Scotland invelopt in a Mist, felt then
The Influence of Her Tongue, and Brothers Pen,
Which steel'd the Sword, new-formed in the Forge
Of England's Champion truer than ST. GEORGE.
And as some weightier Horologe impow'rs
The Exterior Gnomen to direct his howrs,
Though that Automaton too, both heard and seen,
Is actuated by occult Pow'rs within:
So in that Grand Affair, each Spring and Lock
Lent life and vigour to this Vocal Clock,
Which striking in such season, did confound
Our BABEL-STATE allarum'd at the Sound,
Whence waking Royalists rose to pay their due:
Thanks joyntly (Madam) to blest GEORGE and YOƲ.
And must You Two so tamely now retire
From the Worlds Theater, whose Souls gave Fire
Prometheus-like, to three inanimate
Cadaverous KINGDOMS, buried in a State?
Must You Both mixed, co-interred lie
In the same Monument, who Both did die
In the same Month? Thus Heav'n and Earth thought just
You should not be divided in your Dust,
Whom neither Sickness, Life, nor Death could part,
Both Individual in each others Heart.
And though Illustrious Madam YOU can't Rest
In a more glorious Shrine than in His Breast;
Yet 'twere great pity that a single Grave
Should Confine HIM, who well deserv'd to have
Three Kingdoms for his CLOYSTER, and have been
Pourtray'd in, CHURCHES, as was that good Queen;
Were but brave Londons Patriots put in trust
To pay this Duty to their Champions Dust,
The voice of whose Loud Actions shall strike dumb
The Present, and amuse the Age to come.
Imprinted at LONDON, Anno Dom. 1669.