ON THE DEATH OF

MRS. ELIZABETH FILMER

AN ELEGIACALL EPITAPH

OU that shall live awhile, before

You

Old time tyrs, and is no more:
When that this ambitious stone
Stoopes low as what it tramples on:
Know that in that age, when sinne
Gave the world law, and governd Queene,
A virgin liv'd, that still put on

White thoughts, though out of fashion:
That trac't the stars, 'spite of report,

And durst be good, though chidden for❜t:
Of such a soule that infant Heav'n
Repented what it thus had giv'n:

For finding equall happy man,
Th' impatient pow'rs snatch it agen.

Thus, chaste as th' ayre whither shee's fled,
She, making her celestiall bed
In her warme alablaster, lay
As cold as in this house of clay:
Nor were the rooms unfit to feast
Or circumscribe this angel-guest;

The radiant gemme was brightly set
In as divine a carkanet;

Of which the clearer was not knowne,
Her minde or her complexion.

Such an everlasting grace,

Such a beatifick face,

Incloysters here this narrow floore,
That possest all hearts before.

Blest and bewayl'd in death and birth!
The smiles and teares of heav'n and earth!
Virgins at each step are afeard,

Filmer is shot by which they steer'd,
Their star extinct, their beauty dead,

That the yong world to honour led;
But see! the rapid spheres stand still,
And tune themselves unto her will.

Thus, although this marble must,
As all things, crumble into dust,

And though you finde this faire-built tombe
Ashes, as what lyes in its wombe:

Yet her saint-like name shall shine
A living glory to this shrine,
And her eternall fame be read,
When all but very vertue's dead.

Х

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND

MR. PETER LILLY

ON THAT EXCELLENT PICTURE OF HIS MAJESTY AND
THE DUKE OF YORKE, DRAWNE BY HIM

AT HAMPTON-COURT

EE! what a clouded majesty, and eyes

SEE

Whose glory through their mist doth brighter rise!

See! what an humble bravery doth shine,

And griefe triumphant breaking through each line,
How it commands the face! so sweet a scorne
Never did happy misery adorne!

So sacred a contempt, that others show
To this, (oth' height of all the wheele) below,
That mightiest monarchs by this shaded booke
May coppy out their proudest, richest looke.

Whilst the true eaglet this quick luster spies,
And by his sun's enlightens his owne eyes;
He cures his cares, his burthen feeles, then streight
Joyes that so lightly he can beare such weight;
Whilst either eithers passion doth borrow,

And both doe grieve the same victorious sorrow.

These, my best Lilly, with so bold a spirit And soft a grace, as if thou didst inherit

For that time all their greatnesse, and didst draw With those brave eyes your royal sitters saw.

Not as of old, when a rough hand did speake A strong aspect, and a faire face, a weake; When only a black beard cried villaine, and By hieroglyphicks we could understand; When chrystall typified in a white spot, And the bright ruby was but one red blot; Thou dost the things Orientally the same Not only paintst its colour, but its flame: Thou sorrow canst designe without a teare, And with the man his very hope or feare; So that th' amazed world shall henceforth finde None but my Lilly ever drew a minde.

W

THE LADY A. L.

MY ASYLUM IN A GREAT EXTREMITY

ITH that delight the Royal captiv's brought

Before the throne, to breath his farewell

thought,

To tel his last tale, and so end with it,
Which gladly he esteemes a benefit;

When the brave victor, at his great soule dumbe,
Findes something there fate cannot overcome,
Cals the chain'd prince, and by his glory led,
First reaches him his crowne, and then his head;
Who ne're 'til now thinks himself slave and poor;
For though nought else, he had himselfe before.
He weepes at this faire chance, nor wil allow,
But that the diadem doth brand his brow,
And under-rates himselfe below mankinde,
Who first had lost his body, now his minde.

With such a joy came I to heare my dombe, And haste the preparation of my tombe, When, like good angels who have heav'nly charge To steere and guide mans sudden giddy barge, She snatcht me from the rock I was upon,