Oh! rest in peace, dear friends, and, let it be 35 Thomas James. CXX EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS. The Lady Mary Villiers lies Under this stone: with weeping eyes As dear to thee as this to them, Bewail in their's thine own hard case; Mayst find thy darling in an urn. CXXI Thomas Carew. 5 10 EXEQUY ON HIS WIFE, Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, Instead of dirges this complaint; And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, Receive a strew of weeping verse From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see 5 Quite melted into tears for thee. Dear loss since thy untimely fate, My task hath been to meditate On thee, on thee: thou art the book, The library whereon I look, Though almost blind. For thee, loved clay, Using no other exercise But what I practise with mine eyes : By which wet glasses I find out To one that mourns; this, only this, ΙΟ 15 20 25 Thou scarce hadst seen so many years 30 Like a fled star, is fall'n and gone, And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish 35 Which such a strange eclipse doth make I could allow thee for a time 40 And putting off thy ashy shroud At length disperse this sorrow's cloud. 45 50 A glimpse of thee, till that day come Which shall the earth to cinders doom, The body of this world like thine, My little world! That fit of fire 55 To our souls' bliss: then we shall rise, And view ourselves with clearer eyes In that calm region, where no night Can hide us from each other's sight. 60 Meantime, thou hast her, earth: much good May my harm do thee. Since it stood With Heaven's will I might not call Her longer mine, I give thee all 65 With a most free and bounteous grief, 70 Which in thy casket shrined doth lie: See that thou make thy reckoning straight, And yield her back again by weight; For thou must audit on thy trust 75 So close the ground, and 'bout her shade 80 Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed Never to be disquieted! My last good night! Thou wilt not wake 85 Till I thy fate shall overtake : Till age, or grief, or sickness must It so much loves; and fill the room Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale. Through which to thee I swiftly glide. 'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, Thou, like the van, first took'st the field, And gotten hast the victory In thus adventuring to die Before me, whose more years might crave Beats my approach, tells thee I come; I shall at last sit down by thee. The thought of this bids me go on, And wait my dissolution 115 With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive Till we shall meet and never part. CXXII 120 Henry King. ЕРІТАРН. Our life is only death! time that ensu'th By Thee and for Thee; and, when I was decayed, Why doth the devil then usurp on me? 5 ΙΟ Why doth he steal, nay, ravish that's thy right? John Donne. |