Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A51503
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Maria a poem occasioned by the death of Her Majesty, addrest to three persons of honour / by Mr. Mottevx.
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Motteux, Peter Anthony, 1660-1718.
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1695
(1695)
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Wing M2956; ESTC R11187
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5,299
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13
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MARIA A POEM Occasioned by the DEATH OF Her MAJESTY Addrest to Three Persons of Honour By Mr. MOTTEVX LONDON Printed for Peter Buck at the Sign of the Temple near the Inner Temple Gate in Fleetstreet 1695. A POEM Occasioned by the Death of Her Majesty WEep Britons ease your Pangs of Grief Your Breasts o'reswoln with unborn sighs Now heave and labour for Relief The melting Vapors claim a Passage thro your Eyes While Majesty falls from the Throne By Sorrow's greatness only known While all the universal Loss condole While Cruelty it self can boast a pitying Soul Let not due Pomp to Sadness be deny'd We can no more our Sighs and Tears controul Than hush the Wind or stop the Tyde This may for ever cease to flow And That forget to blow E're the sad Tributes fail to be Divine MARIA paid to thee See! how affrighted Nature's Face With ghastly Paleness her Despair betrays Alas she finds the toylsom Cost Of num'rous Ages in a Moment lost So long design'd so soon destroy'd She scarce the Master-piece enjoy'd Which she so labour'd to create But ne're can hope to imitate She sees what scarce can gain belief Myriads of her surviving Children moan Whole Nations joyn in one incessant Groan And Mortal Foes confed'rates now in Grief With Looks black as our Weeds and drooping Head Each seems to mourn a Parent dead These these become thee wretched orphan Isle For what can now thy Cares beguile MARIA lives to thee no more Heav'n now is rich and Earth is poor Nor can she want or we bestow More than a Monument below A Monument exalted as her Birth And if Art this allows expressive of her Worth But what rich Mines will not the Charge exhaust Worlds will be bankrupt by the Cost In vain the New wou'd load the Old With Mountain-heaps of tributary Gold In vain his Queen to honour more The subject Ocean yield his richer store Cou'd this suffice to speak her Praise What more than Man what God the mighty Pile cou'd raise O Noble Montague whose Muse Second in Zeal and Force to none Words equal to your Theme can chuse Words which the God of Verse might own Sedate yet sprightly young yet wise At once you act and can advise Your towring Genius still appears Superior to whate're it dares Oh wo'ud you now but for a while The Poet and the Statesman reconcile The World might in your speaking Pictures find The Charms of MARY's Face the Graces of her Mind And you who teach us how to write Much by your Rules by your Examples more Great Normanby in whom unite The noblest Gifts of Nature's store Still like those great Intelligences prove Who Man inform and cheer while mighty Orbs they move You did to Death a Temple raise Which shall be lasting as its Reign Now its best Victim claims your Lays Erect a Monument to blest MARIA's Praise And spight of Death she 'll live again A fairer Picture now begin Than e're in Greece or Rome was seen And while MARIA's Face and Mind Most lively in your Thoughts you find Draw ev'ry Vertue ev'ry Grace A Soul divine an Angel's Face And from the bright Ideas paint A Queen a Beauty and a Saint Let Dorset or Apollo 't is the same For who but Dorset does inspire And doubly warm the whole harmonious Quire In equal Numbers celebrate her Fame If Verse divine can reach her Praise Immortal Dorset she commands your Lays Your Lays soft moving strong refin'd And above Man in ev'ry kind More good than great tho high as Soveraigns plac'd You too were from a Beauty torn Fit for some God but more in Dorset blest And best can right a Queen whom others can but mourn Then while those Children of your Mind Which Wit produc'd and Modesty does hide Are to a longing World deny'd Wou'd you describe that Wonder of her kind How wou'd that Best-good-man whose Wit so true Exposes Follies her Perfections shew Who but such Noble Bards with Sacred Rage Can such a Sacred Theme engage Arise then great Triumvirate arise Warmth Softness Wit together blend To Urge to Mourn and to Commend Raise raise her Fame high as her Seat the Skies While I who only dare excite Amidst the Throng am ravish'd with your Flight I drivn and shipwrack'd on the Muse's Rock Your Smiles my only hopes your Bounty all my stock To rove like other Wretches forc'd From our delicious Plains divorc'd Till William of good Kings the best Force an ungrateful Nation to be blest But if the whole Poetic Throng Must with her Praises make Parnassus ring Ah! let me late begin the Song For who so deeply griev'd can sing Yet once I 'll try if nothing can compose Our too tempestuous Woes Come Horace thou who best canst heal Substantial Pains which Spirits feel While thy close sense I boldly paraphrase And strive my Thoughts by thine to raise Teach me the Grief of others to asswage And if thou canst make mine less fiercely rage Vain is our hope and vain our strife To stem the rapid stream of Life None can that Flux of Moments Time controul Driv'n down the boist'rous Torrent all Impetuously we roul Into that boundless Ocean sure to fall Where as Time ends Eternity begins And Man is ever lost or endless Pleasure wins In vain when Age the Forehead rudely ploughs Self-Love is frighted into Pray'rs and Vows And Man to change Heav'ns stedfast Will wou'd try Unfit to live Yet more unfit to dye Spight of the holy Charm the feeble Wretch must move Not e'vn true Piety could save Or but reprieve him from the Grave While hoary Vertue does the Soul improve The frailer Body does decay And wither while we pray Almighty Pow'r could long Converse with thee From Death thy truest Vot'ries free Vot'ries who wing'd with Zeal can rise And ev'n below familiar in the Skies Thou know'st that thy MARIA's Frame Had been immortal as her Fame Say Guides of Souls who best her Zeal have known And by its Flames reviv'd your own Was not what is your Business her Delight While better than your words her actions led us right Ev'n Sports Pomps Cares and Toyls of State By which religious Fires abate But made her pious Flames aspire As Rains that quench a weak increase a vig'rous Fire Yet soon she dy'd but dy'd to live in Bliss Too good for such a World in vain it pray'd A better Life the loss of This repay'd The Saint was call'd to raise the Joys of Paradice What then shall angry Fate appease Nor Pray'rs nor Gifts can make it kind It changes all but its Decrees And still is deaf as well as blind What by three Bodies could Geryon gain But thrice to feel a mortal Pain Death from its triple Hold can force reluctant Life The struggling Spirits with unequal Strife Member by Member quit and Post by Post Scar'd trembling pale unwilling to depart Life leaves its inmost Fort the Heart Unknowing where to