Classic Poem

On the Death of the Queen of Bohemia

Allthough the most do with officious heat
Only adore the living and the great;
Yet this Queene's merit fame so far hath spread,
That she rules still, though dispossesst and dead
For loosing one, two other crownes remain'd:
Over all hearts and her owne griefes she reign'd
Two thrones so splendid, as to none are lesse,
But to that third which she doth now possesse
Her birth and heart fortune so well did know,
That seeking her owne fame in such a foe,
She dress'd the spacious theatre for the fight,
And the admiring world call'd to the sight;
An army then of mighty sorrowes brought,
Who all against this single vertue fought;
And sometimes stratagems, and sometimes blowes,
To her heroique soule they did oppose;
But at her feet their vaine attempts did fall,
And she discover'd and subdu'd them all
Till fortune weary of her malice grew,
Became her captive and her trophy too;
And by too late a tribute, beg'd to have been
Admitted subject to so brave a Queen
But as some Hero who a field hath won,
Viewing the things he had so greatly done,
When by his spirit's flight he finds that he
With his owne life must buy the victory,
He makes the slaughter'd heape that next him lyes
His funerall pile, and there in triumph dyes:
So fell the royall dame, with conquering spent,
And left in every brest her monument;
Wherein so high an epitaph is writt,
As I must never dare to coppy it;
But that bright angel which did on her waite,
In fifty yeares contention with her fate,
And in that office did with wonder see
How great her troubles, how much greater she;
How she maintain'd her best prerogative,
In keeping still the power to forgive;
How high she did in her devotions go,
And how her condescensions stoopt as low;
With how much glory she had ever been
A daughter, sister, mother, wife, and Queen;
Will sure employ some deathlesse Muse to tell
Our children this instructive miracle,
Who may her sad illustrious life recite,
And after all her wrongs, may do her right.English