Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A35201
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An elegie upon the death of the Right Honourable Anne, Countesse of Shrewsbury by J.C., Gentleman.
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Crouch, John, fl. 1660-1681.
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1657
(1657)
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Wing C7295; ESTC R21037
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4,341
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11
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AN ELEGIE Upon the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE ANNE COUNTESSE OF SHREWSBURY By J. C. Gentleman LONDON Printed 1657. To the Right Honourable THE EARL OF SHREWSBURY IF your Lordship can descend so low as to own those Relations which some of my friends now have or lately have had to your Lordship this Dedication will be so much the less your wonder and indeed in my own present capacity I take my self to be within the circle of duty though more remote from the center of your Immediate Commands My Lord This Elegie is guilty in two particulars first that it raises the dead uncivil almost to a miracle after the expence of so much sorrow to live shall I say or rather to bleed afresh to your awakned memory putting you in mind of a sad sequestration never to be compounded for Next that it rudely paints out in dead colours those lineaments of virtue which in her were so lively exprest that I may religiously affirm she was a True Copy drawn from the Divine Original And let it be the mark of my weakness so long as it is likewise the merit of her Glory to be above both my conception and expression I confess the contemplation of her Excellencies might creat a Poet but such a Poet must needs act beneath his Creation his form being too Noble for the matter it is to actuate My Lord Your deceased Lady whom we commemorate was full of sweetness and benignity and your Lordship is as much Executor of her perfections as you are Master of your own you will therefore be pleased in the name of both to pardon this presumption of Your Lordships most humble Servant JO CROUCH TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY MOUNT GARRET MADAM THough by the power of Law and Religion my Lord of Shrewsbury was sole proprietor of your Daughter and her Inheritance both which he purchas'd by the instrate of his merits yet by the Law of Nature your Honour had the first and most intimate propriety She being your real flesh and his Metaphorical yet that more real then usually Metaphors intend the former tye ingageth conscience but the latter more nearly obligeth affection Madam I thought it my duty to divide this service between my Lord and You being both joynt Purchasers in her life and Sympathizers in her death if there be any thing in this Elegie which may pretend to Life and Spirit doubtless it was inspir'd by the Genius of your deceased Daughter if any thing of sadness and mourning your Ladyship may suppose it dropt from my Sisters eyes 'T is smooth and easie like her temper and disposition it commemorates and your Ladyship as your goodness must prompt you will I hope be the same to it And upon that account onely I expect your Ladyship will pardon this service and the weakness of it to MADAM Your Honours most humble Servant JO CROUCH THE ELEGIE FArewel Great Conyers Heir thou brightest Pearl Nature ' ere polisht to enrich an Earl An Earl of the first Magnitude yet He So high concludes he was too low for Thee His goodness greater then his Name before Render'd his Titles too inferiour He kindly fell degraded by his Love That humbled this great Turtle to his Dove But what his goodness wrought before his Fate Sad Earl submits him still beneath thy State Death that grand Tyrant over Mortal things Who disthrones Emperors Protectors Kings Has inthron'd Thee now rais'd as far above Thy Earl as he transcends all Earles in Love Hard lot He loves still rather more then less Must keep his Love and loose his happiness Whose sorrow knows no ground of joy but this No power below Heaven could divide your blisse He 's not alone their death when great Stars fall Though not disease proves Epidemical Fair Saint how many lives lament thy death Whose blood was warm'd by thine not their own breath Forgive astonishment if it cannot mourn Our Hearts are dead and buried in thy urn Pardon our eyes if dry thei 're sunk and weep Back to our hearts our sorrows are so deep But let 's with leave of Providence inquire Why this Fair Rose must in its June expire Was it because she took no pleasure here In Husband Mother Babes Three things so dear I 'me sure they all lov'd her and now improve Their grief by the dimensions of their Love Shee dy'd but once O that vast once but they Each hour sad tributes to her Mem'ry pay Sometimes our vigorous phansies though in vain Possest act high and fetch her back again With an Herculean Love Now Hopes and Fears Struggle and Joy smiles in a Bath of Tears But O the emptiness of that Creation Takes Birth and form from fond imagination One minute makes her live another dye Thus we her death our own griefs multiply O then 't was not for want of Love she dy'd That might have been sooner then life supply'd Her death knew no such disharmonious strife But answer'd the sweet Musick of her life Her last sigh loves last Eccho though but faint Breathd out her kind soul in an amorous pant Her Lord and Shee never was kinder Pair One Soul mov'd both which fed on Love not Air How often did this sweet expression start From the full satisfaction of her Heart I would not change quoth she good Shrewsbury's Wife For Empress better pleas'd with him then life Nor was her venture small when providence led This best of Ladies to her Nuptial Bed She was her Fathers Heir and must disclaim Not onely his Estate but House and Name That Dower must vast and comprehensive be Whose Total is the whole Posterity When Conyers must be lost except the Font Christen the Name and stamp new life upon 't Here exspir'd not the breath of one but all A Families life dead in one funeral Were I to write her Epitaph it should be Here lyes interr'd a Genealogie Posterity Ancestors all dead but Name And that to live upon the breath of Fame Live pretty Lady Conyers live to save Talbot from guilt and Conyers from the grave And yet good soul this universal sale Still seem'd to her too cheap to countervail His merit and her Love t' improve her land Gives him her life her lif 's at his command Good Saint she might have sav'd this liberal cost Had she but reckon'd what he reckon'd most Had she cast in the treasure of her mind Sh' had rais'd her sum had been both rich and kind That was the first unkindness she ere gave Her dearest Lord to lead him to her Grave This Loyalty to her Lord could not impair Her duty equal to her Mothers care In all just things obedient to her will As if the Countess had been Conyers still And might have well appear'd to vulgar sence Virgin for aspect duty Innocence No Child to Parent more just homage paid Onely she dyed and there first disobey'd That was against her Mothers will you 'l say But 't was Heav'ns Mandate and she
must obey Thus Heaven at once infrings and forgives All Obligations made to Relatives Madam you 're Wise then make no vain complaints Can you act higher then furnish Heaven with Saints When you observ'd Heaven shining in her face Did you not then assign her to that place So good what then O let her live you cry So good she 's ripe for Heaven O let her dye Where is our intellect our sense our eyes When we think vertue fit to mortalize But must the Genial Bed O Juno be Not her Babes but her Souls delivery Ingratitude of Nature Must a Tomb Prove the sad Merit of a Fruitful Womb What wilt thou do sweet Babe to purge thy Fate Who bought'st this cheap World at so dear a rate Poor harmless Viper thou mad'st I dare say Prophetick lamentations the first day Those very bowels which thy Birth had rent Still pitty'd thee thou was 't so innocent Be sure to pay thy Father when thou know'st How much thy Mother for thy Birth thou ow'st Thou ow'st as much duty as life for she Lost her own life to give a life to thee Yet with Heav'ns leave discreet at last she stays In labour now with death not thee some dayes 'T was for thy sake that not till then she dy'd To save thee from the guilt of Matricide Sweet Babe may Heaven prolong thy precious life Thou pledge of the best Mother and best Wife France that spruce Nation of the Purest Aire Admir'd this Lady both for Wise and Fair She spoke their Language with its natural tone They thought but much deceiv'd she was their own Theirs all except their vice for when she came Back to her Native Soyl she was the same The same White Conyers still The change of place Alters no Soul without a change of grace Shee brought their decent modes and us'd them here Only she left the Nations vanity there Her voice was sweet without affected Art Fit for the Quire where now she bears a part As for her Charity consult the Poor They say she kept a Table at her door Their thronging to her grave kind witness bears Strowing the sad way not with flowers but tears The Poor lament and tell you how they far'd Heav'n speaks her Charity best by her reward This Diamond in her Crown is not the least To meet Rich Saints whom Poor she us'd to feast Is this that Charity which in stead of Poor Sits now her self without an Alms at door That Charity which with so much noise and din The Faith o' th age hath almost made a sin This was that Charity shee did so prise Her Grace within without her Exercise You Ladies that exhaust your wealth and time In dear bought toyes to make a costly crime Lay up some gold for Heaven what you spend here If ill dispenc'd will not be reckon'd there But I digress who now no Satyre write But Elegie Dead Folks use not to bite Witness good Heav'n I would not wish to find Great Shrewsbury's wealth without his Ladies mind So pious so devout me thinks I see The posture of her bended Heart and Knee Both alike flexible believe me when She dealt with Heaven she was no Countess then Allowing Natural Acts and sober care Of decencies her whole life was one prayer See see her moyst Eyes whilst with Heav'n she pleads Drop Tears Religious Pearls in stead of beads Her pious life was her deaths best presage Whose whole tract was a Christian Pilgrimage A Pilgrimage to that Jerusalem where Dwell onely Saints no Turk inhabits there Death had not much to do in th' extream hour So weakned were the sinews of his power Her cheerfulness at last all fear beguiles Taking her leave like a kind friend with smiles But what Crowns all in other great ones rare Shee knew no pride either of good or fair Her goodness 't is a sweet absurdity Rais'd her to Heav'n by its humility That Ladder on which good Father Jacob went To Heav'n humility the souls ascent When Eyes fall Hearts may rise Humility thus Like showers the clouds draws down our Heaven to us Great Souls may act high when their bodies faint And Heaven stoops down to meet an humble Saint Her very Maids proud of their Mistris name Learnt to be humble at the price of shame Were forc't to blush and guilty skarlet be By meer reflexions of her modesty I 'me sure she made them humble when she dyed Her death was the grand Penance of their pride This rich Pearl lost makes the sad owners poor All turns to grief now what was joy before Her Beauty Wisedom Grace serve all t' express Her great bliss and our great unhappiness Could not all this our Countess keep alive No she must dye and all this must survive When such ripe fruit in gracious Souls you see It springs from seeds of Immortality Farewel blest Saint none ever riper dy'd Thou liv'dst till thou wa'st almost glorifi'd So Angelical was thy Soul If Providence Had pleas'd thou might'st have been translated hence Without th' exspiring of thy perfum'd breath Grace call'd for Heaven humility for Death Thy Name though Glorious here was at a loss The Christians Crown is brighter then his Cross He that would write thy praises first should go To Heaven and there their just dimensions know FINIS A Daughteâ—â—…