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Anno ætatis 17:

On the Death of a fair Infant, dying of a

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I.

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Fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,

Soft silken Primrose fading timelesly, Summer's chief Honour, if thou hadît out-lasted Bleak winter's force that made thy blossom drie; For he being amorous on that lovely die

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss But kill'd, alas, and then bewail'd his fatal bliss.

II.
For since grim Aquilo his charioteer
By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deity full neer,
If likewise he fome fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th'infamous blot,

Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld, Which’mongst the wanton Gods a fout reproach was

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III.

So mounting up in ycie-pearled car,
Through middle empire of the freezing air
He wander'd long, till thee he spy'd from far,
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care.
Down he descended from his Snow-fofr chair,

But all unvares with his cold-kind embrace Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair biding place.

IV.
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilom did flay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth'born on Eurota's strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;

But then transform'd him to a purple flower, Alack that fo to change thee winter had no power.

V. Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead, Or that thy coarse corrupts in earth's dark womb, Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed, Hid from the World in a low delved comb; Could Heav'n for pity thee fo Ariąly doom?

Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality, that shew'd thou wast divine.

VI,
Resolve me then, oh Soul most surely blest,
(If so it be that thou these plaints doft hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e'er thou hoverest,
Whether above that high first-moving Sphere,
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)

O say me true, if thou wert mortal wight,
And why from us so quickly thou didst takethy flight.

VII, Wert thou fome Star which from the ruin'd roof Of Ihak’t Olympus by mischance didft fall; Which careful Jove in Nature's true behoof Took

up, and in fit place did reinstal? Or did of late earth's Sons besiege the wall

Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head.

VIII.
Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me footh,
And cam'ít again to visit us once more
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth?

Or that crown'd Matron sage white-robed Truth? Or any

other of that Heav'nly brood Let down in clowdie thronę to do the World some

IX.

[good. Or wert thou of the golden-winged hoast, Who having clad thy felf in humane weed, To earth from thy præfixed seat didft poast, And after short abode flie back with speed, As if to fhew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.

X. But oh why didst thou not stay here below To bless us with thy Heav'n-loy'd innocence, To flake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe, To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence, Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,

To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart
But thou canst best performthat office where thou art.

XI.
Then thou the Mother of so sweet a Child
Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy forrows wilds

Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent;

This if thou do, he will an off-spring give,
That till the World's last end shall make thy name to

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'ER-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirch,

Wherewith the stage of Air and Earth did ring, And joyous news of Heav'nly Infangs birth, My muse with Angels did divide to sing; But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In Wintry folftice like the shortn'd light Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.

II. For now to forrow must I tune my song, And fet my Harp to notes of saddest wo, Which on our dearest Lord did seise e'er long, Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, Which he for us did freely undergo.

Most perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest plight Of labours huge and hard, too hard forbuman wight,

III. He

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