Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A97063
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On the sad losse of the truly honourable Robert Lord Brook an elegie, to his vertuous and noble lady.
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Wallis, John, 1616-1703.
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1643
(1643)
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Wing W595A; Thomason E93_22; ESTC R11854
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3,362
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8
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On the sad Losse of the truly Honourable ROBERT Lord BROOK An Elegie To his Vertuous and Noble Lady SWEET LADY Can your weeping Eye behold A paper sadly offer'd where 't is told Your Lord is Dead And so Vntimely too Treble to You to Vs a double Woe 'T is Sad to Say Sadder to you to Heare Vnhappy he must be the Messenger Yet since you Know so True so Sad a Woe Give leave to let you know We know it too we first your Losse and then your Griefe bemone Some Ease in Sadnesse not to weep Alone Our Tears ambitious make their sad addresse we 'd bear a part that You might weep the lesse Give leave we pray to joyne in Tears with You Yet weep we shall whether with leave or no And make this paper blest to kisse your hand From him who 's prest MADAME At Your Command JOHN WALLIS AN ELEGIE On the much Lamented Death of the Right Honorable ROBERT Lord BROOK MIght I have seen what was desir'd by all How glad would I or not compose at all Or in another stile and not reherse Heroïck Worth in Elegeïck Verse Or else might I and they to whom as dear Weep him Alive that 's Dead though every teare Were teares of Bloud how willing would we poure A farre more precious then love's Golden Shower On this Sad Object on this Bloudy sight And with our teares or Guild or wash him White But Now unhappy cannot but complain With sad bemoaning tears though tears in vain What 's past recall and we though no redresse Can be expected must not hold our peace But how alas should I begin to speak Where all Hyperbole's will seem too weak To equalize in Measures to expresse What knows no other measure but Excesse Or who can bound over-abounding Tears Within the streightnesse of an even Verse If then perhaps I hardly weep in Rhime If not in Consort Tears can keep no Time If no melodious Harmony be shewn Think but 'T is Hard to put a Teare in Tune Yet harder not to Weep Imperfect Tones Serve well enough to signifie our Grones A Long a Large are all the Notes we know Minim and Sembrief Rests are long enow Our Accents tuned to the Highest Key And yet our Sighs deeper then Gam-ut be Nor curious are to make the Consort sweet That all keep equall Time that Closes meet None tunes his Voyce unto anothers String This Verse was made to Weep and not to Sing All weep a Part but no Accord can keep Save onely thus That all agree to weep Oft weep a Sharp when our sad Thoughts be Flat If Discords oft appear yet wonder not Some Harmony may Disproportion give Discordant Accents shew Concent in Grief Then weep we must That Heart is too too hard That in a publike Sadnesse would be spar'd Publike I say yet more then Common Grief Else might a Common Cordiall yeeld relief 'T is not a Lady mourns not I alone I am but Speaker of a Kingdoms mone A Kingdomes publike losse it is all those Have lost in Him that had but ought to loose Yea those as yet that count his Losse a Gain Will after say 'T was pitty Brook was slain Such Meeknesse lodg'd in a so Noble Breast Such Candour mixt with such Heroicknesse His Thoughts so Low joyn'd with Deserts so High Practise of Truth as well as Theory Not quick as some to Bid and slow to Act Praising to others what themselves detrect His thoughts the same with what he did pretend A Course direct as well as upright End An Active Vigour with Integrity Strait Aims pursu'd not with an Oblique Eye Should I or this or more dilate yet lesse Is said in Words then what our Tears expresse How gladly would my pen persist to tell How willing would my pleased Fancie dwell On this so sweet a subject as to say How Good he was how well deserving He His Learning Wisdome Worth and Piety Worthy how long to live how late to dye To speak his Praise of his Deserts to boast But that 't is sad to think All this is lost Counting His Worth we count our Losses too That we Admire This doth encrease our Woe All this and more then this is lost in One All this is lost when Noble Brook is gone Might sad intreating Tears at any hand Availe with Death or who doth Death command To spare his Life what flouds of these had been To purchase it long since bestow'd on him For those which now lament him caught away With more advantage might obtaine his stay Or might some Others death have Him excus'd There were no doubt who would not have refus'd To rescue him and purchase by their Death That He more worthy might have longer breath But no entreaties can though ne're so just Either Reprieve or Ransome him But must Himselfe arrested None by Proxy Dies Appeare in Person Death accepts no price If naked Death alone who can withstand Much more appearing with an Armed hand But is there left us no return from death Doth not each breath we breathe breathe out our breath Which yet the next recalls Not so in all This last exspiring breath is past recall Which if a Single Losse the losse were lesse Though Great but when it forwards the successe Of our contrived woe What shall we say May He be more bewail'd that 's caught away Or we that stay behinde reserv'd to see The sadder sequel of that Tragedy He shall not see whatever we may doe A Glorious Kingdomes sad approaching Woe He shall not see not seeing shall bemone An once renowned Land soone overthrown This shall not now perplex his resting Eye Blest with a better sight than Misery But what remaineth Us we cannot see The safer he the neerer danger wee And what approaching danger might descry In losing his the Kingdome lost an Eye An Eye so deare had we but known its price It had beene ransom'd though with both our Eyes How glad might we a happy change 't had beene Weep out our owne could we but weep his in But weep we may yet Teares will nought availe Who grants no Quarter will accept no Baile Nor can distinguish by our different teares 'Twixt Poore and Noble all in death are peeres Then why complaine could we or lesse expect Or think for Him Death would decline his tract Is' t not determin'd all must here agree Then sure He must as well as others die 'T is true he must But must he die so soone Before his Strength before his Work be done If so must one so meane effect his end Shall Hector die not by Achilles hand If die he must if so untimely too Is Noble Bloud spilt by we know not who Then weep we may not that we think 't unfit Not envy Heaven to Him or Him to it That he of whom the Earth unworthy was Should be advanc't to a more Happy place But that we want his help or to compose Our sad distracted times or quell our foes When those pull down that ought to underprop When Forraign starvelings come to eat Us. up When Popish Armies more then one in sight Do for the Protestant Religion fight To take it from us when a viperous brood Who sometimes suckt our Breasts now suck our Bloud Be it a poison'd draught and thus requite For what they have and what expect they might Like her that once be their successe as bad A precious Hen though undeserved had That laid a Golden Egge each day but once Willing so greedy to have all at once By a compendious way she kild her Hen Thinking to finde those precious Eggs within As was her Gain let their Successe be such So disappointed not prevaile so much The readiest way they thought by which they might Effect their Plot was to put out our Sight A tender Eye must be the mark design'd 'T was sure they meant to make Religion Blind No marvell then They thought as well they might The way to Darknesse was to quench the Light A Moat perhaps they might pretend to see Which only to remove their care should be And first concluding he might see amisse They only meant to work a cure by this But if a Beam they could as soone descry They might have seen theirs was the Evill Eye Which if 't offend they may pluck out not His Which saw aright though saw what was amisse Truth is indeed they thought it saw too much And therefore pluckt it out their rage was such Loth to be seen they were and could not brook Their deeds of darknesse he should over-look But take his Eye from Him and Him from Us Their ends the better to accomplish thus But must we Die And Unrevenged too By Such a Hand Such miscreants work our Woe Let me die first and not survive to see Before I die sad Englands obsequy 'T is Death to Think 't is Worse then death to See To bear a Part is the least death of Three This to prevent who saw too much before He clos'd his Eyes willing to see no more Yet first bewail'd our woe with Tears of Bloud A sad prefage 't was the last thing he did Anagram GREVILIUS VERGILIUS And if * Sic scribendum contâ—ndit Politianus cum aliis VERGILIUS why not MARO too Our AMOR sure he was we Lov'd him so FINIS