Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A51783
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Sylvana a pastoral lamenting the death of our most gracious Queen Mary, of blessed memory / by Mr. Manning.
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Manning, Mr. (Francis), fl. 1688-1716.
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1695
(1695)
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Wing M448A; ESTC R180293
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3,872
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12
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lov'd Sylvana's Barge nor parted till the night Weep all ye River Gods bewail this loss Ye silver Streams bemoan this fatal cross Farewell ye Sheep ye skipping Goats adieu Sylvana walks no more in Fields with you Farewell ye little Kids and tender Lambs A long farewell to Steers and butting Rams Stop ye melodious Brids your tuneful Throats Alas no more delight your warbling notes Sylvana that rejoyced to hear your Charms O wretched Fate is seiz'd by Death's cold Arms. But let sad Philomel her Songs rehearse She varies not from her complaining course Sing mournful Bird thy freedom justly take The Burden of thy Song Sylvana make Ye Pitying Swans a timely offering bring And to the Great Sylvana's Praise your dying Accents Sing Strew Leaves ye Shepherds on the Desart Gound Sylvana Wills it Let no Spring be found Unshaded then in sad Procession move And shew the Sheperdess your latest Love Then raise a Tomb of costly make refin'd Of Whitest Marble suited to her Mind Which done a round it all her Name rehearse And six thereon a Monumental Verse ' Here lies Sylvana hear it every Wind ' The Greatest Fairest best of Womankind ' Unequall'd in her Virtue Wisdom Love ' In Goodness nearest to the Gods above ' Snatcht by Grim Death in her securest State ' All Nature grieves at her untimely Fate ' Grieves that so good a life should have so short a date Mourn British Woods let every Swain deplore Lament each Mymph Sylvana is no more Inexorable Death Thou Bane to Joys Who undistinguishing the World annoys Could'st thou not find amongst the meaner sort An Object fitter for thy fatal Dart Must our Britannia's glory thus be gone Did poor Sylvana ever do thee wrong Oh no! She knew not wrong she was all good The sweetest kindest Nymph of all the Wood. Thou pityless Destroyer of the Fair When all seems calm thou still art making War What could provoke thee to commit this Fact Believe me 't was a bold and daring Act To seize the Shepherdess void of all fear When the Great Shepherd stood himself so near Behold that Shepherd now whom last we Nam'd Lord of this Island much for Hunting fam'd The Lupine-Chase beyond the rest he loves Eager of sport each Year to Gallia roves There Lives a Mighty VVolf of swiftest pace Commanding all the VVoods about the place Unlimited and ready to Devour His Cruelty as boundless as his Power Thither with earnest steps our Swain repairs To ease the Countrey of its raging fears Resolv'd to tame the Monster fierce and wild Or not to leave him till he proves more mild Oft has he made him smart and oft repell'd His Gratest force and oft his Rage has quell'd See where he lies now prostrate on the Greund No Comfort for the Shepherd can be found He who n'ere knew how to Lament or Yield Unconquer'd in the Chase and in the Field Look how he Weeps Expanding both his Arms No more to tast the Lov'd Sylvana's Charms Sylvana is the only word he speaks Sylvana is the only sound he likes Name Business to him Name Affairs of State His Answer still deplores Sylvana's Fate Such Magick in Sylvana's Name appears That tho it heightens Grief 't is Musick to his Ears Mourn British Woods let every Swain deplore Lament each Mymph Sylvana is no more Shee 's gone 't is true without Redemption fled But rests not properly among the Dead Her Soul Immortal as her Fame on Earth Has mounted Heaven and gain'd a second Birth The Good shall always live The actions of the Just Shall ever Bud and Blossom in the Dust Her stop my Muse Now Shepherd let us hast My Flocks by this time want their Noons Repast But first Melampus mind me what I say I shall expect your Muse another Day FINIS
SYLVANA A PASTORAL Lamenting the DEATH Of our Most Gracious Queen MARY Of Blessed Memory By Mr. MANNING Interitum montesque feri Sylvaeque loquuntur Virg. The Second Edition LONDON Printed for J. Weld at the Crown between the Temples-Gates in Fleet-street MDCXCV To the Right Honourable Sir JOHN SOMMERS Kt. Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of ENGLAND and one of His Majesties Most Honourable Privy Council AMongst the pious acknowledgements which have been lately paid to the Memory of our late Queen This comes tho' less deserving to crave your Lordships Patronage The true concern of its Author will I hope in some sort excuse the errors of the Poem 'T is Pastoral my Lord A kind of Verse us'd amongst Shepherds in old time that admits of nothing affected or disagreeing to the purest Innocence such as was practised in the Golden Age. I presume not hereby to inform your Lordship of the Nature of Pastorals but to vindicate that Verse from the ill opinions of some who methinks by disapproving of it must be no Friends to Virtue and Innocence But least I prove troublesome to your Lordship whose Hours are of infinite Value and Importance I humbly begg your Lordships acceptance of this Essay and the Honour to subscribe my self My Lord Your Lordships most Humble and most devoted Servant F. M. A PASTORAL Lamenting the Death of the Late QUEEN Damon Melampus Mel. COME hither Damon I have one demand To make which well deserves a Faithul hand I know thee grateful and of tender mind Ready to please and moulded to be kind You well recall how at Adonis Feast Amongst the tuneful Swains at your request At your request tho' much unskill'd in Lays I play'd upon my Pipe and sung my Damon's praise Shepherd I piped and sung with all my Might Because 't was pleasing in my Shepherds sight Now all I ask is Grant me one soft hour Soft as Aglae's Arms in yonder Bower An unfrequented place secure of shade Fertile in wilds for Grief most fitly made There with Harmonious Reed and tuneful breath Thou shalt begin a Song of great Sylvana's Death Dam. Oh! I am most unfit for such a task Not able to perform the Boon you ask For so exalted doth the Theme appear That it exceeds a lowly Shepherds Sphear Besides should I retire with thee and sing My Flocks would stray to the forbidden Spring Believe me 't is an ugly Water-place Muddy unwholesom round it noxious grass Such faults all thereabouts are lately seen That now my Sheep graze always on the Green Yet to oblige the Swain my gentle Friend For sure I love the well I 'll strive to bend My Art-less Voice and tune my mournful Reed Pipe a sad strain for Oh Sylvana's Dead Mel. I know kind Shepherd that the Subject's great A lofty Theme deserving utmost State Couldst thou like Orpheus move inanimates Or play at fam'd Arion's wondrous rate Wer 't thou the Favorite of all the Nine The first in Song of all the tuneful line If such thou wer 't in voice and such in Lays Yet wouldst thou not suffice to shew Sylvana's praise But come my Swain what tho' thou art not made To sing great lofty strains in Roman shade A Shepherd's humble Verse is full as well To shew a true concern and tender zeal As to thy Flocks I 'll view them all the while And sure my eyes are good least any spoil Be made or they run roving to the Spring Now let us sit and sweetly Damon sing Dam. Mourn British woods let every Swain deplore Lament each Nymph Sylvana in no more O mournful time O great and dismal cross Such as the Woods n're saw before this loss Where have we been Melampus how employ'd Wrapt up in joys with various pleasures cloy'd It must be so so calm was our Estare Minds so united and so fix'd our Seat We were so happy but alas the time Is grown more dismal and more sad the clime O mournful State the Woods all chang'd appear The Trees all wither'd and the Streams not clear Mourn British woods let every Swain deplore Lament each Nymph Syluana is no more Was ever Land so fortunately blest Were ever shady Groves so well possest Of Lords a pair without example seen The happiest lovingst Shepherds of the Green He the Great Swain unmatch'd in vertue Love Greatness and all things else that Heroes move Great in himself but Greater in the Pride He took in his all-shining lovely Bride A Shepherdess so exquisitely Fair So Wise so Good in every thing so rare That all Perfections seemd to center there So kind she was so just so fit to sway She knew both how to Govern and Obey When Great affairs call'd the Great Swain abroad Sylvana to transact at home employ'd With so much Prudence manag'd all Affairs That she reviv'd our hopes and banish'd all our fears Each Thing each State so gracefully became Whate're she undertook immortaliz'd her Name Mourn British woods let every Swain deplore Lament each Nymph Sylvana is no more O Direful loss O most untimely Fate Ye wretched Nymphs mourn your unhappy State Where 's the support of all your Glories fled Mourn all your Ornament Sylvana Dead Where are ye now ye Woods and where ye Groves How fare your Turtles and how greet your Loves Who shall adorn your Arbours trim your Boughs Who crops your Trees and who your Grass-beds mows Where are ye now ye Rivers where ye Springs And ye false Rocks and where it 's Echo sings Deserted all all the sad loss bemoan So Universal is the sorrow grown Mourn British woods let every Swain deplore Lament each Nymph Sylvana is no more Look where Apollo stands the †Apollo was called Nomius a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 pascuum because he fed the Sheep of Admetus Nomian God Giving his answers by a silent Nod No more Admetus flocks the Shepherd feeds No more †A River of Thessaly upon whose banks Apollo is said to have fed the flocks of King Admetus Amphrysus hears his Oaten reeds See Pales too how grief has chang'd her face No longer seen that wonted lively grace Which made the Shepherds in a jovial ring Dance to her Praise and to her Honour sing Bacchus himself with all his jolly throng Contemns his Plays and sadly walks along No more they trip it on the softned ground Nor more doth the two-handled Bowl go round But all intent upon a solemn grief The common care pursue no vain relief Behold great Pan see see the flowing tide Of Tears with Daphnis piping by his side What is' t he plays or to what tunes his breath He plays hard Fate he sings Sylvana's Death Let Hills and Dales express their Panick fears Lament ye Rocks and soften into Tears Farewell ye Gentle Streams of Thamisis Sylvana will no more your Waters Grace How have I seen upon a Summers day When Phoebus did extend a glorious Ray A Fleet of well-built Boats a goodly sight Attend the