A POEM , [ ON THE DEATH OF Our Late Soveraign Lady Queen MARY . ] TUn'd to the solemn strains of general Woe , Do thou my Muse thy Pious sorrow show , And let the mighty Consternation prove , That Grief , tho' Cold , as much of Heat may move , As the first Raptures of aspiring Love . Hark ! how the dismal Trump of busie Fame — Does to the worlds unwilling ears proclaim Our Royal Mistresses lamented Fate , And Deaths proud Triumph or'e the Just , and Great ; Not the Dread Call of Heaven at the last Day , When Souls unsentenc'd shou'd for Judgment stay , Cou'd more amazing Terror then infuse , Than Europe shook with , at the wounding News : Fate by this unexpected loss has shown , The force of Grief before was never known ; Ev'n Envy that Injurious Hypocrit : That , at her Virtues Noon , affirm'd it Night , Now blind with gazing on her Lustre lies , And sheds her Praises at her watring Eyes : Her murm'ring Foes , that thought themselves Opprest , Are now in undistinguish Sables Drest : For each Religion did its Faith enjoy , She One defended , but did none destroy , Unless to bring the day destruction be , When Bigotts wander in Obscurity : Thus , tho' to different Paths of Faith w'incline , Yet all Opinions in their Sorrow joyn : So Jarring Rivals , when the Fair one dyes , Like long lov'd friends embrace with weeping Eyes . When Heav'n after the Universal Flood , With new-born Souls th' unpeopled world renew'd , Her Brighter Spirit sure was kept above As the best Pattern of Immortal Love , Yet , after Thousands of revolving Years , In frailèr flesh th'Imprison'd Soul appears : But , as the Sun , till in the Westen Skies , Lets none behold him with undazl'd Eyes : So here on Earth her Virtues shone so bright , That none cou'd praise 'em , till they saw 'twas Night She's Sett : Nor cou'd this Tedious life endure , ( Too long a Penance for a Soul so Pure ) Alas ! she long'd her first Abode to see , And mourn'd her Absence from Divinity , Grac't with her Fellow-Angels as she went , She rain'd her Virtues from the Firmament , And if a stream of Virtue's found below , It must from her the Boundless Ocean flow . Now tho' the Sea supplies all Streams , that run , Yet that it self is guided by the Moon , So was her brighter Soul by strict Devotion . So Constantly her Pious Vows she pay'd , So fixt her thoughts , that even in Dreams she Pray'd , So fast her wants her giving God reliev'd , Her Pray'rs were still but thanks for Gifts receiv'd : Her Faith unbounded gave her Reason Law , When this commanded th' other stood in Awe : Religious Discord she might well prevent , For in Example she was Argument . Her Fruitful Soul with Endless Virtue blest With Various Flowers was like a Garden drest , Where Choice stood unresolv'd which Scent was best , Alternate Odours still perfum'd the Air , Occasion was the Season of the Year , Which like the Kind returning Spring reviv'd Each Good that slept ; for tho' it slept it liv'd , One Tree there was , which Cold and Frost cou'd bear , The Bay-Devotion flourisht all the Year . But , as the Fruit alone commends the Tree , So did Her Virtues praise her Piety , Of which the Eldest-born was Charity . And this the Needy to their Comfort knew ; For , while She liv'd , They Charitable grew ; Heav'n did but lend the Sums it might bestow , And took Receits for all it did allow ; For still She Intrest paid to th' Poor below ; And if their number did increas'd appear , Sometimes she from her private Wants wou'd spare , And Trusted Heav'n was in Debt to Her . How many Parents have their Children sav'd From threatning Want by her sure Alms reliev'd ? What Tribes has she receiv'd from hands unknown , Which She with Joy Adopted , as her own ? Methinks I see a Starving Mothers Grief , Strugling 'twixt Nature , and her Babes relief , Unable to endure the Infants Cry , And yet it need less able to supply , At length she yields to hard Necessity . And must we part ( She cry's ) my Darling Joy ? Must Absence all our Harmless Love destroy ? Then sighing Kisses it , and huggs it close , And dreads to part but more her hopes to loose . Resolv'd , at last , she stops her flowing Eyes , And strait to Court unseen the Babe Conveys , Secure of Nourishment she leaves it there , And next day finds it in the Nurses Care . Thus , least hereafter some show'd want Relief , Her Early Pitty was preventative , The Old , who seem'd to pine in Cold Despair , Reviv'd their Hopes , and Crown'd 'em still in her : So when our Saviour the Diseas'd did Cure , He brought from Distant parts the Sick , and Poor , Who , by some Fam'd Physicians Art giv'n ore , Swell'd with new Hopes , now feel their Pains no more . At least with greater ease their ach endure , Half heal'd by Faith , er'e they can reach the Cure , And as in Tribes the new Beleivers came , The Dumb , the Lunatick , the Blind , and Lame , They Walkt , they Saw they Spoke , and prais'd his Name . Ne're did a Life so short more Good produce , In which each Minute was of Double Use , So soon she Finisht her Appointed task , Her Virtue labour'd more , than Heav'n did ask . That when her hasty Soul arriv'd above , She did their equal Joys , and Wonder move , All knew the Place near Gods Right Hand was Hers ; But thought it Vacant yet for several Years . Now tho her Charity did Boundless Reign , Yet not the Poor the Greatest Loss sustain : For She to many a Subsistance left , Tho' of The Foundress , not the Dole Bereft . Our Grief alas ! yet rises in Degree , As those that mourn her do in Quality : Next to the Poor are those of Noble Arts , Which she encourag'd to their best Deserts : Musick , and Poetry , not long agoe , Our Nations Pride , were almost Treason Now , But that they both our Tides of Grief can move , As well as heretofore our Joys , or Love . At Court the Rising Flood of Pious Teares , Yet Greater still , ( as does the Loss ) appears , Where all like walking Ghosts , in Grief are seen , For a lost Friend , a Mother and a Queen . But oh ! the Rapid Force , that sweeps away Great Caesars Quiet , and his Chearful Day ! Now ! now ! my Muse : let loose thy Streams of Woe , Let 'em unbounded , as the Ocean flow , Swell with big Sighs the Raging Tempest high , Then mount , and ore the distant Danger fly , And in thy Transient view , survey the Soul , Whom all around the Angry Billows rowle , Behold the Shipwreck of our Monarchs Joy , Which Thirsty Death in Fields cou'd ne're Destroy : Thus Mariners the Seas Abroad o're come , Yet sink with all the Fraight in sight of Home . Why ! why ! Ye Pow'rs must Bleeding Majesty So vast a Wound receive from Destiny ? Is't not enough to see a Nation Groan ? But must the Loss be doubled on a Throne ? Why did ye Gild with such a Glorious Sun His Happy life , and let it set so soon ? The light , that slowly dies leaves sight behind : But , when 'tis snatcht away , it strikes us Blind ; Without Regret we spare the Absent Day , Resting secure of his Returning Ray ; But when for ever he resigns his Light , 'Tis worse , than Death to live in such a Night , In such a Night , who moves is sure to stray , In such a Night our Guide might loose his way , And tho' th' unguarded Flock shou'd quite be lost , The Shepard first is Hurt , and feels the Affliction most , Thus our Great Master in his Grief has shown , He lov'd the life Departed , as his own . In vain , alas ! wou'd weak Philosophy Prescribe us Rules to Govern Passions by : For when a Joy of such Important weight Is taken out , Grief turns the Ballance strait , Reason but holds the Scales , and sits to see , The Joy remov'd , if it Proportion be : So tho' each Thought new sorrow shou'd Create , T'wou'd be to what he lost but equal Weight , And what he lost his Griefs alone Relate . For what was Obvious to each Common Eye Declar'd more Virtues did in secret lye Which from the Darkned world were still conceal'd , And to her Mourning Lord alone reveal'd , Tho' from her Orb she gave Promiscuous Light , Some shortned Raies He kept from Human sight , And only lets our Dazled Fancy Rove , To form the Virtues of her Fruitful Love , Tho' Heav'n no Off-spring from her Bed design'd , But Bad her Live the Phoenix of her Kind Her Love was Fruitful still : for love's i'th Mind . Her Soul was Married to her Monarchs Will , Which he cou'd scarce declare , she wou'd so soon fulfill , Desire of Pleasing , as the Child of Love , They Both , like Tender Parents , did approve , She more of Mothers fondness might express , He seldom sought it , but ne're lov'd it less . Had such a Bride to Solomon been given , He ne're had wander'd for his Amorous Heav'n , Her unexhausted Charms had fixt his Love , Nor cou'd a Change his Happiness improve . So firm a Union Nature never made , In whom we had the sure Foundation lai'd , Of a most Perfect , and Immortal Bliss , Till Death convinc'd our fancy'd Happiness , Fondly secure of their Eternal Sway . T'our selves we promis'd Everlasting Day : For , while so Bright their Godlike Virtues shone , Abroad His Courage , and Her Care at Home , What cou'd we think of such an Heavenly Pair , But they Immortal as their Actions were For , till one dy'd , we thought that Heaven was here All the poor help weak Reason can afford , To calm the sighs of her afflicted Lord , Is , when each Nation shall the News receive , As they the Loss , so they'll divide the grief : Nay ev'n in Louis She must Nature stir , If not his Sorrow , yet at least his Fear , He Dreads , that Her's the Fate of France may prove , Knowing her Death our Monarchs Soul does move , Who by this loss secure from Greater Harms , His Foes regardless now may dare to Arms , And having nought , that more his mind can Load , He doubts will Double all his Rage Abroad . Yet hold my Muse , thy wandring Wing retain , A mournful Thought now lures thee back again , When to the Restless Toiles of Horrid War Our King Inexorable shall repair , Whom shall he leave , our Guardian Angel Here ? Or , when his Hard-fought Battles he has Won , Where shall be joyful throw his Lawrels down ? Whose Grateful Love his Conquests now shall Crown ? Secure of Late we spar'd our Warlike Prince , E're our Domestick safty fled from Hence , Who , while Her Absent Hero led the War , Taught us the Pleasure of Obedience Here . Yet let him go , and safe return with Spoile , Our Greif , alas ! prevents a Civil Broil , Whatere's Abroad , at Home it must be Peace , The Woes we feel Rebellion can't redress , We're Crush't to Concord by our Miseries . Look down , Bright Saint from thine AEtherial Seat , And view the Pious Ruins of thy State , Asswage the Torrent of our Monarchs Woe , Which o're his Drowning Reason seems to Flow , Return the Hero's Part that reign'd in Thee , When thou in Smiles didst meet Mortality , Teach him thy Early Fate , like Thee , to bear , Nor let him Woman in his Greifs Appear , Let Happy Dreams inform his Restless Mind , To what Advantage thou hast life resign'd , Give to his Joyful View thy Crowns of Bliss , And to his Thoughts restore their Wand'ring Peace , While to his Sorrows this Releif is Giv'n , H'as lost a Queen on Earth , and gain'd a Freind in Heav'n . FINIS .