Selected quad for the lemma: truth_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A67450
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A funeral elegy upon the death of the Queen addrest to the Marquess of Normanby / by Mr. Walsh.
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Walsh, William, 1663-1708.
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1695
(1695)
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Wing W646; ESTC R707
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4,112
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11
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Woe In Grief united and lamenting all The Best of Women's most untimely Fall Oh if they cou'd in real Truth disclose The Nations Sorrow and the Nations Loss Barbarians sure wou'd lend a pitying Eye Nor France it self some Pious Tears deny Peculiar Vertues touch peculiar Men But all must praise the Vertues of Her Reign When e'er our Martial Monarch went to War Her Princely Breast sustain'd the Publick Care And while abroad He did our Foes o'ercome We felt the Blessings of Her Reign at home Here stop my Muse here close the Mournful Sight Or dar'st thou undertake a nobler Flight Behold the King behold that Load of Woe See how unfeign'd a Grief adorns his Brow The Nations Glory and the Publick Care The Fate of Europe and the Thoughts of War For the first time are banish'd from His Breast By Grief by Horror by Despair possest Who this sad Scene can unconcern'd perceive Who grieve not now may they for ever grieve By Heav'n 't were vile our Gravity to keep When Monarchs mourn their Loss and Heroes weep Who can advise in such a Case as this Or offer Comfort to a Grief like His They call 'em Kings they gawdy Names bestow And flatter 'em with being Gods below But when Diseases all their Hopes devour How vain 's their Grandeur and how weak's their Power Who was so blest as He till one sad Day Snatch'd all the Comforts of His Life away What Scene of Humane Life can seem secure What Mortal e'er can think his Glories sure When one dire Blow of unexpected Fate Changes the Happiest to the wretchedst State He who so boldly did in Fields advance The Hopes of Europe and the Fears of France Arm'd against all but this impending Blow Now sinks beneath that wondrous Weight of Woe Neglects himself and us abhors Relief And with too tender Thoughts indulges Grief Here he reflects the Queen and I have sate And in calm Terms debated Europe's Fate When restless Cares have hurried Me away There wou'd She sit and pass the lingring Day Not in Luxurious Follies of the Court Reading or Work Her idlest Hours divert When Publick Safety made Me leave the Land The Nation flourish'd under Her Command Whatever Fortune we receiv'd in War With equal Temper was receiv'd by Her Vict'ry ne'er made Her vain nor Losses sad She doubled good Success and lessen'd bad To please was sure th' Employment of Her Life The humblest Princess and the tendrest Wife With how much Sorrow wou'd She see Me part Yet ne'er attempt the Journey to divert So much Her Love was rul'd by what was fit So much to Reason wou'd Her Will submit Can I forget Her haste but t'other Day With what Concern She met Me on the Way Auspicious Smiles upon Her Cheeks arise And Tears of Gladness started from Her Eyes When with such Triumph She receiv'd Me there Who cou'd have thought Her End had been so near Here break my Heart And here my Eyes run o'er Think what She was And think She 's now no more Arise Heroick Prince At last arise See at Your Feet the sad Britannia lies With voluntary Vows Your Reign secures And begs You not neglect Her Fate in Yours Lamenting Europe does Your Steps persue And different Interests centre all in You Shake this Lethargick Sorrow off and see By the Queens Loss how great your own wou'd be Who shou'd sustain the Weight of publick Care Or who protect us from the Rage of War Invading France stands ready to destroy And at our Sorrow shows an Impious Joy Exert Your self Great Sir and make her know What 't is t' enrage a Land opprest with Woe Confine her Monarch to his Native Bounds And write Your Sorrows in his Subjects Wounds Here NORMANBY receive while Senates mourn The Doleful Ecchoes that the Groves return Canst thou refuse to take thy Pen once more And sing Death's Altar stain'd with nobler Gore Or if the Toils of State thy Thoughts engross Excite some others to lament the Loss Too long the Muses Sons have been contemn'd And to a vile ignoble Toil condemn'd Vice was with prostituted Praise adorn'd And Tyrants flatter'd whom their Subjects scorn'd Let 'em for shame some nobler Works dispence And in one Poem write a Nations Sense If while such meaner Tasks they did rehearse Those that despis'd their Heroes prais'd their Verse How can he fail of his desir'd success Who takes a Subject that it self can please Who in soft Verse our real Woes reveals And writes a Grief that every Reader feels THE END * Archbishop Tillotson * Alluding to the Temple of Death A Poem written by the Marquess of Normanby
A Funeral ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN Addrest to the MARQUESS OF NORMANBY By Mr. WALSH LONDON Printed for Iacob Tonson at the Iudge's Head near the Inner Temple-gate in Fleet-street 1695. A Funeral ELEGY UPON The Death of the QUEEN Addrest to the MARQUESS of NORMANBY WHile weeping Albion does its loss bewail And solemn Grief throughout these Realms prevail You Sacred Writers of the Muses Tribe In lasting Numbers must the Pomp describe Each should be ready at the doleful Call And All lament a Loss that touches All. Let no vain Fear deterr an opening Muse Nor Modesty their want of Zeal excuse When Sorrow is become the Publick Test 'T is he who grieves the most that writes the best See! See! The melancholy Scene appears And see a Nation overflow'd with Tears See how their Looks unfeign'd Affliction show And all their Discords melted into Woe None can the Loss another bears bemona Each will have Tears too few to mourn his own The Poor their Aid the Church its firm Support Its Pride the Nation its Delight the Court Her Foes if any Foes to her cou'd live An injur'd Princess ready to forgive Her Sex a Pattern of a Spotless Life The King a Friend a Partner and a Wife Now clear the way let the sad Pageant move And give the Nation leave t' express their Love The Great and Mighty too must take their Turn Nor shou'd the meà nest be forbid to Mourn While such a dismal Cause for Grief appears 'T were barb'rous to restrain a Man from Tears Her Soul so many Vertues did engross That every State has some peculiar Loss First Let the Poor her Charity declare With unaffected Tears and grateful Pray'r Oh Heaven they cry the Queen the Queen is dead Her Grandeur fall'n and all Her Glories fled Oh ye inexorable Pow'ers When you Doom'd Her sad Fate you shou'd have doom'd ours too Or was it doom'd Tho' Death you yet deferr We lost our only Means of Life in Her Now She is gone who shall our Wants supply Attend our Miseries Or hear our Cry Who when they 're Happy mind their Neighbours Ill Or free from Want reflect what others feel In Her that Pious Care appear'd alone She made the People's Miseries Her own In midst of Glory sigh'd for unfelt Woe Nor cou'd be blest while others were not so Heaven that Her Vertues to the Throne preferrs Seem'd more to mind our Safety sure than Hers Plac'd like the Sun in so sublime a Sphere That She more freely might relieve us here Next Let the Church its solemn Grief reveal And mourn Her Piety and Christian Zeal Not Zeal like theirs that sets the World in Flames Where that and Barb'rous Rage by diff'rent Names Express the self-same thing She better knew What milder Paths Religion shou'd persue All Pride and Rancour from Her Breast removes By Piety alone Her Faith She proves That Sacred Maxime rightly understood They best believe that do the greatest Good For whatsoe'er peculiar Sects have thought This was the Doctrine that our Saviour taught Tho' diff'rent Cares Her Princely Breast might share Yet still the Church was Her peculiar Care Nor Partial yet but knowing that the best And easiest Method to reform the rest For who on Preachers Doctrines can rely When all their Actions give their Words the Lye To this our late Corruptions owe their Rise The Land was plung'd into a Sea of Vice Men by Prophaneness to Preferment haste And Women thought it Scandal to be Chaste Under a Load of Crimes the Nations groan The Queen with Pious Thoughts ascends the Throne Resolves judiciously t' oppose its Force First by Example She restrains the Course Vertue 's no longer made the Vulgar Sport Nor Leudness passes for a Jest at Court Preferments wait th' Industrious and the Just And Publick Spirits share the Publick Trust Prelates tho' made still by the Sovereign Choice Seem recommended by the People's Voice She too whose Royal Hand had place'd 'em there Taught 'em to move and to adorn their Sphere Religious Lives successfully they Teach By giving Patterns of the Lives they Preach This seen by all by all must be confest 'T is true She liv'd not to mature the rest Those Glorious Scenes that were for Peace design'd Those Seeds of Wonders brooding in Her Mind Yet had we been as Worthy to receive Those Gracious Favours as the Queen to give Heaven without doubt had spar'd Her precious Blood Her Schemes had taken and Her Platforms stood Taught by our Loss let us the Cause reverse And mend the Manners that produc'd the Curse One of the Noblest of the Sacred Race Just step'd before Her to prepare the Place The Church must bear a double share of Woe An Elder Brother first a Mother now But see that Lovely Melancholly Train That droop like Lillies over-charg'd with Rain The Ladies now divested of their Pride Each Ornament of Beauty laid aside No more in vain Disputes their Time mispend But only for their Share of Grief contend Taught at too dear a Price that Fatal Truth Vain is the Boast of Beauty Wit and Youth If Sorrow has each Vulgar Soul subdu'd To mourn the Charms they but at distance view'd How dreadful must they cry the Loss appear To those who view'd her shining Vertues near By them th' external Cabinet was seen By us the Brightness of the Gems within Who in Her Presence with Regret cou'd stay Or from Her Court go unoblig'd away A thousand tender Things we may recall A thousand Favours She has heap'd on all Her Soul so Great and yet so far from Proud So Soft so Easie Affable and Good A Stranger scarce had guest Her to be Queen But by Her Prudence and Her Princely Mien Her Motions all so Winningly did tend And every Word She spoke She gain'd a Friend Yet no peculiar Preference exprest Not kind to one to disoblige the rest Mirth never made Her say a thing unfit Vertue Her Will and Prudence rul'd Her Wit If any were displeas'd to see Her Great They sold their Eyes and Ears to keep their Hate Let 'em but see and hate Her if they cou'd Let 'em but hear what all the World allow'd What Comforts can so just a Grief asswage Snatch'd in the Pride and Lustre of Her Age Nip'd like a Flow'r by some untimely Frost The Crown the Glory of our Sex is lost Oh Kensington that once wert our Delight A sad Remembrance and a mournful Sight The Thoughts of thee make all our Eyes o'erflow And Pleasures past encrease our present Woe The Men in this an easier Fortune share Business and Action may divert their Care While wretched Women harder Fate must find And know no Balsom for a wounded Mind Now see the sad Assemblies of the State Struck with the News of Her so sudden Fate All in a Body joyn'd That Loss deplore Which each Particular had done before First let the Lords their early Sorrow show The Commons represent the Nations