Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A62509
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Instructions to a painter upon the death and funeral of Her Late Majesty, Q. Mary, of blessed memory by J. Talbot.
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Talbot, James, d. 1708.
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1695
(1695)
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Wing T113; ESTC R22066
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5,485
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18
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INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER UPON THE Death and Funeral Of Her Late MAJESTY Q. MARY OF Blessed Memory By J. TALBOT LONDON Printed for Jacob Tonson at the Judge's Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleet-Street 1695. To His GRACE CHARLES Duke of SOMERSET Earl of HERTFORD Viscount BEAVCHAMP of HATCH Baron SEYMOVR of TROWBRIDGE Chancellor of the University of CAMBRIDGE Lord High Steward of CHICHESTER AND Knight of the Most Noble Order of the GARTER THE Ambition I had to testifie to the World both the Veneration I owe to the Memory of so Excellent a Princess and the Honour I have for the Worth of so Noble a Patron has prompted me after a long Distrust of my Abilities and a just Apprehension of the Disadvantage I have in coming after so many abler Pens who have left me this Way only unattempted by Themselves to lay my self and these my Endeavours at Your Grace's Feet Your Grace has every Way the best Title to this Performance both as the Head of that Learned Body whereof I am an unworthy Member and of that Noble Family which by Your Grace's Favour I have the Honour to depend on and particularly as One who with Your Illustrious Lady had so Eminent a Share in the Mournful Solemnity that occasion'd the following Lines which together with all the Labours of my Life are humbly recommended to Your Grace's Patronage by Your GRACE'S Most Humble and Most Obedient Servant J. TALBOT INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER c. 'T IS past The dismal Pomp of Grief is done Sorrow and Art their utmost force have shown And every Muse with tributary Verse Has well adorn'd the Great Maria's Herse Now let the Painter with the Poet joyn With skilful Grief to frame some sad Design All Arts must mourn the Great Maria's Fall For she encourag'd lov'd and cherish'd All. Thou whose wise Art and whose unerring Hand In speaking Forms all Passions can command And by each arbitrary Touch can move Our Grief or Joy our Hatred or our Love Thou whose just Pencil often has express'd Of all her Sex the Greatest and the Best Whilst ev'ry charming Feature did impart New Wonders to our Eyes new Beauties to thy Art Change now thy Style and let thy Pencil shew This last sad Office to Maria due Let no gay Object through this Piece be seen For Death and Sorrow is the gloomy Scene Mournful Attire pale Looks and weeping Eyes And could thy Art express them Groans and Sighs First Painter draw the beauteous Sov'reign laid In restless Anguish on the Fatal Bed Shew how the rude Distemper wildly preys On all the hallow'd Beauties of her Face Paint the fam'd Sons of Art with watchful Eyes Waiting each Symptom of the fierce Disease In all their Looks describe their pious Strife Their Zeal to rescue this important Life But Oh! in vain their fruitless Skill they try In vain their well-weigh'd Med'cines they apply Too weak to quell the potent Enemy The fair Out-works already he has gain'd Nor can the Royal Fort be long maintain'd Proud of his Force he storms her lab'ring Heart Thence spreads Infection round to ev'ry Part And mocks the feeble Succours of their baffled Art Then all amaz'd the Sons of Art prepare In softest Terms to utter their Despair William who in their Looks perceives his Fate Unable to sustain the mighty Weight Of his vast Grief nor bearing to survive So dear a Loss sinks and denies to live In just bold Strokes let thy nice Pencil show The mournful Majesty of Royal Woe Paint in his Face the Horrour that possess'd His Soul and all the Tumult of his Breast Death in all other Shapes he could despise Secure of Harms and fearless of Surprize But Oh! He could not see it in Maria's Eyes Again restor'd again the Hero falls And blames the Skill which his lost Sense recalls Bids his sad Friends forbear th' unkind Relief Which rashly with his Life renews his Greif Alone Maria bears the dreadful Shock Alone prepares to meet the coming Stroke Wond'ring she views the sad Distraction round And chides the Grief which in each Face she found Then calls the Holy Men who near her wait Slow to pronounce the last Resolves of Fate And for she read their Message in their Eyes Bids them impart the Heav'enly Mysteries Void of all Female Fears all Mortal Cares Wants not their Counsels but requests their Prayers For she in Death no Terrour could descry Who all her Life had studied how to die Then with her latest Breath She calls the King desirous to impart The last kind Wishes of her faithful Heart The mournful King with tender Haste repairs His Breast still big with Grief his Eyes with Tears She sees the Briny Tide profusely roll She sees and shares the Tempest of his Soul Th' infectious Sorrow teaches her to grieve She now begins to wish a short Reprieve And for his Sake could be content to live Fain would she speak But Oh! her Voice affords No easie Vent to Thoughts too big for Words She try'd But still th' imperfect Accents hung On the disorder'd Organ of her Tongue Here Painter thy bold Art may well supply The Utt'rance which hard Nature did deny And freely speak their mutual Agonies In the sad silent Language of their Eyes And now the Tyrant Death must exercise His last wild Ravage on his Beauteous Prize Till now the subtile Foe by slow Degrees Though with sure Force her Vital Pow'rs did seize Till now his Rage by some just Awe confin'd Had spar'd the sacred Temple of her Mind But Oh! at last impatient of Delay And eager to possess the Royal Prey He snatches Speech and Sense and Breath away Maria saw and met the lifted Dart Well might it pierce but could not shock her Heart At last unequal in the mighty Strife In a soft Sigh She yields her spotless Life See how defac'd the goodly Fabrick lies Never had Death so fair a Sacrifice So the proud Tyrant who like Death does try To rage in Universal Monarchy By boundless Lust of Empire prompted on Prepares to conquer some important Town His fierce Machines with dreadful Force does raise First storms and then demolishes the Place Cruel Disease Had not thy Fury sown Its wide Infection round the slaughter'd Town But must thy impious Malice climb the Throne Could not so large so populous a Stage Furnish both Room and Fuel to thy Rage Must thy bold Sacrilege aspire so high As to prophane Anointed Majesty Had not Plebeian Deaths thy Thirst appeas'd But must a Royal Victim crown thy Feast In various Shapes the wild Disorder trace Which ev'ry Heart declar'd in ev'ry Face Paint the just Grief which in each Eye was seen Whilst Some the Mistress mourn'd but All the Queen But Painter like thy wise Apelles spread A thick wrought Veil round the sad Sovereign's Head For Oh! What Pen what Pencil can express The Transports which his tortur'd Soul oppress No Tongue no Art can speak the boundless Grief
Above Description and beyond Belief And now the fatal News abroad is spread And weeping Crowds lament Maria Dead Crouds which had throng'd before her Palace-Gate To wait the dark Decrees of doubtful Fate Fame takes their ecchoing Griefs at first Rebound Whilst sighing Winds proclaim the mournful Sound And Universal Sorrow reigns around Here Painter let thy skilful Pencil draw The Venerable Founders of our Law Shew with what deep Concern the Patriots meet Forgetful now of Peace or War to treat A silent Horrour all the Place does fill And the great Bus'ness of the World stands still The wise Resolves which list'ning Nations wait Are all adjourn'd whilst Great Maria's Fate Becomes the only Theme of this sad Day 's Debate In mournful Eloquence both Orders show What to the Queen what to the King they owe And in their wise Addresses both prepare T' express their Grief for Her for Him their Care By these great Patterns of just Sorrow shown The Loyal City and the Rev'rend Gown Condole their Sov'reign's Loss and speak their own Isis and Cham offer their pious Tears And pay the mournful Honours of their Verse Their Learned Sons with humble Grief attend These Noble Somerset does recommend The Muses Glory and the Muses Friend Those Valiant Ormond leads in Arms renown'd By Arts and Arms with Deathless Lawrels crown'd Each Province now deputes its Loyal Chief To claim a Subject's Share in William's Grief Each Loyal Chief with Trouble and Surprize Renews his Sorrows from sad William's Eyes Next Painter to Whitehall the Scene translate And in dark Colours paint the mournful State Shew the sad Ensigns of Dead Majesty Which all around in dismal Glory lie At once to trouble and to please the Eye Here sighing Crouds with curious Grief resort Who ne'er till now went Sad from Mary's Court. But shorten here this melancholy Scene Our Griefs already have too tedious been And more of this black Pomp must yet be seen For now the sad Solemnity proceeds Which to the Western Temple slowly leads Paint an unusual Blackness in the Air Where hov'ring Clouds in gloomy Throngs prepare The Glorious Grief below to view and share See how the Royal Vertues all attend Each Royal Vertue was Maria's Friend Each Royal Vertue hangs her drooping Head Their deepest Sorrows All profusely shed And all lament their lov'd Maria Dead Kind Charity moves sadly on before Follow'd by weeping Multitudes of Poor These were the Fav'rites of the Royal Fair The daily Object of her Pious Care As She alas the Fate of their Despair With Zeal their low Necessities she sought With tender Speed her early Succours brought Thus with a large and yet a prudent Hand She scatter'd her wide Bounties round the Land And like the Sun munificently bright Where-e'er she look'd brought Plenty Warmth and Light Mourn Albion mourn thy deepest Sorrow 's shed Kind Charity laments her lov'd Maria Dead Next of the Train Fair Piety appears Her lovely Face disguis'd with comely Tears Behind her weep the Sacred Ministers Who to high Heav'n convey'd Maria's Prayers Oft have they knelt before Maria's Throne And from her Saint-like Zeal improv'd their own Maria oft their holy Labours prais'd And oft unask'd their modest Merits rais'd The happy Church her first Regards did share Whilst her respectful Love did well declare The Daughter's Reverence and the Mother's Care But Oh! what Tongue what Angel can rehearse Maria oft with Angels did converse The wondrous Raptures hid from Mortal View Which only Heav'n and Heav'n's bless'd Darling knew When the fair Saint in Transports unconfin'd Display'd the boundless Force of her enlarged Mind When like Elijah's her wing'd Soul did move In the bright Vehicle of Flaming Love Her Fellow-Saints with wondrous Joy look'd down And with some high Reward prepar'd to crown An Ardour scarcely Second to their own 'T was all Heav'ns Voice Maria should be gone T' adorn their Choir and their Creator's Throne They came and call'd her to the Glorious Flight Towards their fair Seats of unexhausted Light Mourn Albion mourn thy deepest Sorrows shed Fair Piety laments her lov'd Maria Dead Next Painter of the Venerable Band Draw Wisdom joyn'd with Justice Hand in Hand Justice and Wisdom constantly were known The fair Supporters of Maria's Throne The two bright Jewels that adorn'd her Crown These follow'd by Augusta's worthy Chief No common Sharer in the common Grief He by the two Wise Orders of our State In awful Pomp of Sorrow sadly Great Augusta oft with Pleasure has obey'd With Pride submitted whilst Maria sway'd Oft has she view'd with Joy her rising Pile The Glory of her Walls and of our Isle Ambitiously she urg'd the Builder's Haste And hop'd e'er few Revolving Moons were past Maria's Presence would her Altars grace Maria's Pray'rs would consecrate the Place Oft has our Senate thank'd the Royal Fair And own'd the Publick Safety to her Care Oft have they bless'd the Strong but Gentle Hand Which could their Duty and their Love command As oft admir'd the God-like Majesty That govern'd with a sweet and watchful Eye And could so well Great William's Throne supply Fearless they rested and secure of Fate Whilst He abroad defends and She at home supports the State Mourn Albion mourn thy deepest Sorrows shed Justice and Wisdom mourn their lov'd Maria Dead Strew all your Flow'rs and moisten them with Tears For see the Royal Pomp of Death appears Insulting proudly o'er Maria's Herse See where the Gloomy Conqu'ror sits on high With sullen Smiles and horrid Majesty Views his Fair Captive and surveys his State Whilst weeping Princes on his Triumph wait The Purple Steeds their crested Pride forget Forget the wonted Swiftness of their Feet Slowly they move with an unwilling Pace And in their Looks a Humane Grief confess With Tears the sad Spectators all behold Nor can the swelling Tide be now controll'd Their deepest Sorrows lavishly they shed All see and seeing mourn their lov'd Maria Dead But stay What Virtue 's that Divinely Great Supported next in melancholy State Oh! 't is Elisa gracefully Severe Lovely and Sad as any Virtue there Elisa Great in Sorrow as in Blood Laments the Fair the Royal and the Good Maria oft her Vertues would commend Oft own her by the happy Name of Friend Pleas'd in each shining Excellence to find The just Resemblance of her Spotless Mind Well worthy She of all to mourn in Chief Both from her Birth her Honours and her Grief A deep loose Veil o'er her fair Visage flows Which hides her Sorrows but her Graces shows So the bright Sun breaks through some sullen Cloud Whose envious Frowns his watry Glories shrowd Nor can that Shade his Boundless Beams confine At once he seems to Weep at once does Shine Mourn Albion mourn thy deepest Sorrows shed The Great Elisa mourns her lov'd Maria Dead A Beauteous Train attends the mournful Fair Grief in their Steps and in their Eyes Despair These oft Maria's vacant Hours enjoy'd Wisely her vacant Hours she still employ'd Oft have they prais'd the Beauties of her Mind Where Mildness with high Majesty was joyn'd Where State with easie Freedom did preside Without the base Extreams of Meanness or of Pride Mourn Albion mourn thy deepest Sorrows shed Ye Fair Assistants mourn your lov'd Maria Dead The Western Dome salutes its Royal Guest The fairest Saint which yet its Shrines has bless'd Whilst mournful Musick in melodious Sounds The ravish'd Sense at once delights and wounds Here Artist wish thy Skill could paint each Strain Which in sad Notes so sweetly did complain So Orpheus mourn'd when his lov'd Fair was slain Wish thou couldst shew the Heav'nly Words that hung Upon the holy Preacher's charming Tongue Words sweet as David wrote and Asaph sung Words whose sad Eloquence does well relate With pleasing Grief the Fair Maria's Fate And with such Life her Dying Vertues paint We mourn the Sov'reign but admire the Saint So Ancient Rome with false but pious Pride Her less deserving Caesar Deify'd She hears his Death with Sorrow and Surprize Till from the flaming Pile th' unfetter'd Eagle flies Then when th' Imperial Bird begins to soar All own the God and weep the Man no more But now the Latest Honours all are pay'd And the dark Grave receives the Mighty Dead There with her Hallow'd Ancestors to lie Entomb'd in Reverend Obscurity Here a fresh Stream of flowing Grief returns In speechless Horrour each Assistant mourns Till deep-mouth'd Cannon the sad Silence break And in loud Peals a Dreadful Sorrow speak The ecchoing Air returns the mournful Sound And Universal Nature groans around Cease Painter cease Thy Widow'd Art give o'er In silent Tears Maria's Death deplore And vow a Pilgrimage for Years to come To Fair Maria's consecrated Tomb There undisturb'd let her bless'd Relicks lie Nor think Maria's Name can ever die Whose Death as well as Life deserves a History FINIS