An ELEGY On the Death of that true Perfection of Beauty and Goodness , the Lady ESSEX SPICKET , who dyed of the Small-Pox , immediately after her Marriage .

Written by way of Dialogue betwixt Mors and Hymen .

Mors . GReat Second Cause , of Mans Original , Why does thy Head upon thy Bosom fall ? Why are thy active Spirits all dispers'd ? Why thy Robe torn , and genial Torch revers'd , As if the end of Nature now were come , And general Dissolution fill'd one Tomb . Since Mortals all by our disposes move , I point their date of Time , and thou their Love Since Death is natural to all are born , Why dost thou languish thus , why dost thou mourn ? Hymen . Thou bloodless Tyrant of Mortality ; Pale King of Charnels , canst thou ask me why ? Ah , that I could reverse Heavens great Decree , And in thy Place fix any Fate but thee ! Thou that thus rudely dar'st my Rights invade , And cloud Love's brighest Lustre with thy shade , With barbarous Power act a lawless Guest , And Rape a Virgin from her Nuptial Feast ; The sharpest Bolt in Heaven with fatal speed , My eager Rage should dart upon thy head , Mo. Raging in vain , — thou idly spendst thy breath , Dost thou not know reward for Sin is Death ? Since Primitive offence , Hymen , for Sin I own , But ah , why should she Perish that had none ? The sweet Aspatia was all purity . Mors . Was not the sweet Aspatia born to dye ? Hym. Tho Nature's Tribute once she were to pay Could it be due upon her Wedding-day ; A time when Rapture the pleas'd Sense controuls , And spritely Joy kept Revels in their Souls . When Vesta fond of her dear Charge to me , Had just giv'n up her beauteous Votary , A sacred Mould for a blest Progeny : At such a time when Love did brightest shine , When Life was dear , to force her to resign Was cruelty fit for no Breast but thine . Mo. These Arguments how vainly you employ ! You are a Friend , but I sworn Foe to Joy ; At the wide door of Luxury I wait , And summon there the least prepar'd to fate ; An envious Pleasure does my Breast o'erflow To dash their sweetest draughts of Life with wo ; So when the haughty Syrian Monarch crown'd His swelling Bowls in Gulphs of Pleasure drown'd ; When Consecrated Vessels were not free From the wild Law of his Impiety ; When thoughtless Epicures swoln with excess , And wanton Women charm'd his Soul with bliss , The fatal Hand upon the Wall was plac'd , Subscribing that short moment for his last . Hym. Why nam'st thou that , or Syria's Monarch here Death , as reward of Sin was proper there ; His ill spent days obtain'd to long a date , Spotted with Crimes and mellow'd for his fate ; But sweet Aspatia guiltless from her birth , Divinely liv'd an Angel upon Earth . Mors . Merrit extreme , but with a Mortal date , Hym. All worth is Mortal with remorseless fate ; A charming Grace did all her Actions guide , A sacred Virtue never soil'd with Pride ; A saint-like Piety , a pitying Heart , An uncorrupted Beauty without Art , Humble as Cottage Girls , yet awful too , Kidn to distress , and to all Merrit true ; Devout as Angels , singing Hymns on high , Yet spite of all their Graces : Mo. Born to dye : Hym. If these could not thy Avarice o'er-come , Thou might'st take more to swell the mighty sum , Her graceful Modesty , her mighty Wit , The one delightful , as the other great ; And then for Patience , and blest Charity , None e'er her equal knew : Mo. Yet born to dye , Hym. Not only dye , but in her blooming Age , To feel the Curse of thy extremest Rage , A double Death did her dear Life pursue , Of Beauty first , and then of Nature too , Vile Schelliton that wouldst not Pity shew , But where no Flesh is , how should Pity grow ? Were thy Soul form'd of any thing but spite , Or all the contraries of soft delight : Those Eyes late blinded with disease so foul With pointed Beams had shot thee to the Soul , Mo. That was one Reason why I quench'd their fire , Her Wit and Beauty did so far aspire , Even Death had else been fool'd into desire , Pity had warm'd my Breast to let her live , And Female Charms had purchas'd a Reprieve , Had not resenting Ghosts o'er whom I Reign , All murmuring at a thought so strange , so vain , Declar'd in the Grand Council of my State , Pity was fit for any thing but Fate . Hym. And Fate more fit for any thing than Love , Henceforth aloud in every-shady Grove , Where harmless Lovers pretty Garlands wove . The Swains and Nymphs Aspatia's Obsequies , Shall sing with heavy Hearts and weeping Eyes ; Aspatia's hapless Fate each Breast shall sway , Aspatia's story shall wear out the day , Satyrs shall range from their obscure Abode , Vice shall grow famous , Marriage out of mode , And till by warrant from the Deity Hymen has power to alter Fate's decree , Of this great wrong he'll ne'er cease to complain , Nor ever tye the genial Knot again .