Elegie to the Blessed Memory of Mildred Lady Luckyn, An
1.
A RE all Quils dead? Or be they buried deepe
In black-mouth'd Lethe's bottomlesse abysse?
How come our Poets, that were wont to keepe
Sorrow's sad Vigils strictly, so remisse?
Are they growne dull or drowzy? Can soft sleepe
Charme them at such a needful Time as this?
Or has dumbo Griefe found out a newer fashion
To character her thoughts, and cloath her Passion,
Then eye-bedawbing teares, and printed Lamentation?
2.
B E what it will be, Reader; I must pay
My vows to Vertue's Altar, must be bold
To scorne Example, and to tread that way
Which blunt Affection leads: Or new or old
I value not: I have a Word to say,
That all the world must heare: I cannot hold.
Great Spirit of Truth: If this Threnodian story
Extend her Honour with thy losse of Glory:
Strike dumb these lips; strike dead these knees that fal before ye.
3.
Come sweet Infuser of Diviner Straines,
From whom the streams of hallowed Passion flow.
Dart thy bright beames into my ravish'd Braines;
Enlarge my straightned thoughts, that they may show
To all the world, from Princes, down to Swains,
What heav'nly Powers, and warbling Angels know;
Guide thou my hand; Inspire my Quilt and me
With Truth and Art; Thou knowst those tears that be
Dropt for the death of Saints are consecrate to Thee.
4.
Disturbe me not you loads of Flesh and Blood.
You nat'rall Parents of unnaturall Passion;
Sinke not mine eyes in that tempestuous flood,
Which hurries Faith from her appointed station:
Hence lumpish Griefe, that onely serves to brood
The mungreil whelps of dunghill Contemplation;
Hence all that 's earthy: O, my soule, refine
Thy drossy thoughts (or be no thoughts of mine)
And like our subject prove no lesse than all divine.
5.
Even such was Shee: Her richly-furnish'd brest
Was a faire Temple; and her heart a Shrine
Guarded with troops of Angels, where did rest
A Glorie nine times greater than the Nine:
Her soule was fill'd with Heav'n, and full-possest
With heav'nly Raptures; She was all divine:
She was a Harmony, where ev'rie Part
Was sung by Graces, so compos'd by Art
It rouz'd up ev'ry enre it ravisht ev'ry heart.
6.
For ever blasted be those narrow Eyes,
That looke asquint upon this holy Shrine;
Thrice be those lips accurs'd that dare disguize
The Sacred Temple of the glorious Trine;
Still may those cares be fed with Tarres and Lies
That cannot relish Musick so Divine:
Who ere thou be, that dare attempt to spot
So pure a Name, O may it prove thy lot,
For ever to be knowne the Thing that she was not.
7.
Gvsh forth mine Eyes, and when your floods be spent
Borrow new Tides from Passion's Oratory;
Take streames on trust untill your Flood-gates vent
The Common stock, and weep an Allegorie:
If hearts turne stones, make very stones relent,
And help to beare the burthen of thy Story:
O, here 's a Subject that shall force and teare
The Portals of an Adamantine eare;
Yet sooner breake a heart, perchance, than broach a teare.
8.
Had she beene onely that, which serves to raise
The name of woman to a common height;
Had she been onely that, which, now adayes,
With some Allowance makes perfection weight;
She had deserv'd her share of common praise,
Perchance and had been priz'd above her rate:
But she was All: her substance had no Skumme
She was a perfect Quintessence, in whom
All others' Items met, and made one Totall summe.
9.
I N Birth, her Blood was Noble; In her life,
Severely pious; sweet in Conversation:
A happy Parent; and a loyall Wife;
In words, discreet; Divine in Contemplation:
Slow to admit, apt to compose a strife;
Secret in Almes: and full of milde Compassion:
Potent and free in Canaan's Oratory;
In life and death a rare-selected Story:
In life a Saint in Grace; In death, a Saint in Glory.
10.
Knowledge that often puffs the spungy Braine
Gave her the Treasure of a lowly brest;
Wisedome, that, once abus'd, turns Trap and Traine
Built in her simple heart the Turtle's nest;
Riches that cloathe the brow with proud disdaine
Made her appeare farre lesser than the least:
She had true knowledge, wisdome, wealth, in which
Sh' enjoy'd her God, his glory was her pitch;
True! knowledge made her wise: True wisdome made her Rich.
11.
Ladies let not your emulous stomacks swell
To heare Perfection crown'd: There may accrew
Some honour to your names; If you excell,
Jove's Bird has fruitfull wings, which daily mue
More springhtly Quils than ours; die you as well
(Heav'n grant'ye may) they'll doe no lesse for you?
Till then expect it not, know halfe your Glory
Shines at your death; But dead, they wil restore ye,
From your forgotten Dust, and write your perfect story.
12.
May this rare Patterno dwell before your eye;
When time shall please t'unclaspe your fleshy Cage,
Her holy death will teach ye all to die,
And scorne the malice of Infernall rage;
She dy'd at halfe her dayes; and know ye, why?
She was a Rule propos'd to Youth, to Age;
She was a light, that glorified your dayes;
Obscur'd, alone, by our inferiour Praise;
The vertue of the world was but her Periphrase.
13.
Now blow thy Trumpe, and see if Envy durst
Presume to snarle, or vent her frothy Gall;
Fame blow aloud: Let Envy snarle her worst;
Doe; let her fret, and fume, and foame, and fall
Stark-mad: Blow louder till the Bedlim burst.
And stinck; and taint her newes-corrupting Hall;
Blow Fame, & spare not: If some base-bred tongue
That wants a name to lose, should chance to wrong
Thy honour'd Trumpet's breath, then make thy blast more strong.
14.
O but this light is out: What wakefull eyes
E'r mark'd the Progresse of the Queen of light
Rob'd with full Glorie in her Austrian skies,
Vntill at length in her young Noone of night
A swarth Tempestuous Cloud doth rise; and rise
And hides her lustre from our darkned sight:
Even so too early Death (that has no eares
Open to suits) in her scarce Noone of yeares,
Dasht out our light and left the Tempest in our teares.
15.
Patents of humane lifes are short; and drawne
Without a Clause, and with a secret Date;
Our day is spent, before it scarcely dawne,
Each Vrn 's appointed, come it soon or late;
The coorse-grain'd Lockrom, and the white-skin Lawne
Are both subjected to the selfe-same Fate:
Fate throwes at all, Death sips of ev'rie blood,
Had she but slain the bad, and spar'd the Good,
Our Quil had spar'd this Iuck, our eies had spar'd this Flood.
16.
Qvick-finger'd Death 's impartiall, and lets flie
Her shafts at all: but aimes with fouler spite
At fairer Markes; She, now and then, shoots by
And hits a Foole, but levels at the White.
She often pricks the Eagle in the Eye,
And spares the Carkas of the flagging Kite;
Queens drop away, when blue-leg'd Maukin lives;
Drones thrive, when Bees are burnt within their hives,
And Courtly Mildred dies, when Country Madge survives.
17.
Retract that word, false Quill: O let mine Eyes
Redeeme that language with a thousand teares;
Our Mildred is not dead: How passion lies!
How ill that sound does relish in these eares!
Can she be dead, whose conqu'ring soule defies
The Bands of death; and worse than death, the fears
No, no, she sits enthron'd, and smiles to see
Our childish passions; she triumphs, while we
In sorow blaze her death, that 's death-and sorow-free.
18.
Sweet soule, forgive the Treason of my Pen,
Which makes thy State the subject of a teare
And with false whining kils thee once agen;
Forgive our folly, or disdaine to heare:
Thou art an Angel, we, alas, but Men;
Our words are Nonsense in thy purer eare:
We craul below, while thou sitt'st crown'd above,
Fill'd with the peace of Heav'n's Tri-une Iehove:
Yet in our childish teares accept our childish love.
19.
Thou sitt'st attended with those heav'nly Bands,
That bring our Tydings to th' Eternall Throne;
Thy blood-washt soule now views and understands
That glorious One in Three, that Three in One;
To th' safe protection of whose sacred hands,
Thy gasping lips convey'd their latest groane:
Thou seest those Glorious Persons, whereunto
Thy dying breath did tender, and bestow
The care of thy deare Spouse and Babes, and th'Infant too.
20.
Undoubted Peace and sempeternall Toy
Rests thy faire Soule in everlasting Blisse:
Compar'd to thine, how I contemine this Toy,
This life, and all this silly world cals, This!
At all adventures, may those hands convey
My soule, (which carried thine) where thy soule is:
Blest Heire of life, If such a Thing could be,
That Heav'n's pearle Portals should bee close to Thee,
What should become of Man! what should become of me!
21.
Words call in words! o from this fruitfull Theam,
As from a Spring, floods issue forth; and meet
And swell into a Sea: Streame joynes with streame:
Our weary Numbers have regain'd new feet,
And bring in Stuffe more fit to load a Reame,
Then to be lodg'd within a slender Sheet:
The thirsty soule, whose trembling fingers touch
The swelling Bowle may soone transgresse; and such
That ne'r can speak enough, may easly speak too much.
22.
Yet one word more; And then my Quill and I
Will woo Apollo; and beg leave to play:
Youth, learne to live; and deeper Age, to die;
This heav'n-fled Saint hath scor'd ye both the way:
Your Rule's above, but your Example's by;
Heav'n sets not earth such Copies ev'ry day.
Her vertues be your Guide; They lie before ye;
So shall ye adde more Honour to her Story
And gain your selves a Crowne; and gain her Crowne more Glory.
A RE all Quils dead? Or be they buried deepe
In black-mouth'd Lethe's bottomlesse abysse?
How come our Poets, that were wont to keepe
Sorrow's sad Vigils strictly, so remisse?
Are they growne dull or drowzy? Can soft sleepe
Charme them at such a needful Time as this?
Or has dumbo Griefe found out a newer fashion
To character her thoughts, and cloath her Passion,
Then eye-bedawbing teares, and printed Lamentation?
2.
B E what it will be, Reader; I must pay
My vows to Vertue's Altar, must be bold
To scorne Example, and to tread that way
Which blunt Affection leads: Or new or old
I value not: I have a Word to say,
That all the world must heare: I cannot hold.
Great Spirit of Truth: If this Threnodian story
Extend her Honour with thy losse of Glory:
Strike dumb these lips; strike dead these knees that fal before ye.
3.
Come sweet Infuser of Diviner Straines,
From whom the streams of hallowed Passion flow.
Dart thy bright beames into my ravish'd Braines;
Enlarge my straightned thoughts, that they may show
To all the world, from Princes, down to Swains,
What heav'nly Powers, and warbling Angels know;
Guide thou my hand; Inspire my Quilt and me
With Truth and Art; Thou knowst those tears that be
Dropt for the death of Saints are consecrate to Thee.
4.
Disturbe me not you loads of Flesh and Blood.
You nat'rall Parents of unnaturall Passion;
Sinke not mine eyes in that tempestuous flood,
Which hurries Faith from her appointed station:
Hence lumpish Griefe, that onely serves to brood
The mungreil whelps of dunghill Contemplation;
Hence all that 's earthy: O, my soule, refine
Thy drossy thoughts (or be no thoughts of mine)
And like our subject prove no lesse than all divine.
5.
Even such was Shee: Her richly-furnish'd brest
Was a faire Temple; and her heart a Shrine
Guarded with troops of Angels, where did rest
A Glorie nine times greater than the Nine:
Her soule was fill'd with Heav'n, and full-possest
With heav'nly Raptures; She was all divine:
She was a Harmony, where ev'rie Part
Was sung by Graces, so compos'd by Art
It rouz'd up ev'ry enre it ravisht ev'ry heart.
6.
For ever blasted be those narrow Eyes,
That looke asquint upon this holy Shrine;
Thrice be those lips accurs'd that dare disguize
The Sacred Temple of the glorious Trine;
Still may those cares be fed with Tarres and Lies
That cannot relish Musick so Divine:
Who ere thou be, that dare attempt to spot
So pure a Name, O may it prove thy lot,
For ever to be knowne the Thing that she was not.
7.
Gvsh forth mine Eyes, and when your floods be spent
Borrow new Tides from Passion's Oratory;
Take streames on trust untill your Flood-gates vent
The Common stock, and weep an Allegorie:
If hearts turne stones, make very stones relent,
And help to beare the burthen of thy Story:
O, here 's a Subject that shall force and teare
The Portals of an Adamantine eare;
Yet sooner breake a heart, perchance, than broach a teare.
8.
Had she beene onely that, which serves to raise
The name of woman to a common height;
Had she been onely that, which, now adayes,
With some Allowance makes perfection weight;
She had deserv'd her share of common praise,
Perchance and had been priz'd above her rate:
But she was All: her substance had no Skumme
She was a perfect Quintessence, in whom
All others' Items met, and made one Totall summe.
9.
I N Birth, her Blood was Noble; In her life,
Severely pious; sweet in Conversation:
A happy Parent; and a loyall Wife;
In words, discreet; Divine in Contemplation:
Slow to admit, apt to compose a strife;
Secret in Almes: and full of milde Compassion:
Potent and free in Canaan's Oratory;
In life and death a rare-selected Story:
In life a Saint in Grace; In death, a Saint in Glory.
10.
Knowledge that often puffs the spungy Braine
Gave her the Treasure of a lowly brest;
Wisedome, that, once abus'd, turns Trap and Traine
Built in her simple heart the Turtle's nest;
Riches that cloathe the brow with proud disdaine
Made her appeare farre lesser than the least:
She had true knowledge, wisdome, wealth, in which
Sh' enjoy'd her God, his glory was her pitch;
True! knowledge made her wise: True wisdome made her Rich.
11.
Ladies let not your emulous stomacks swell
To heare Perfection crown'd: There may accrew
Some honour to your names; If you excell,
Jove's Bird has fruitfull wings, which daily mue
More springhtly Quils than ours; die you as well
(Heav'n grant'ye may) they'll doe no lesse for you?
Till then expect it not, know halfe your Glory
Shines at your death; But dead, they wil restore ye,
From your forgotten Dust, and write your perfect story.
12.
May this rare Patterno dwell before your eye;
When time shall please t'unclaspe your fleshy Cage,
Her holy death will teach ye all to die,
And scorne the malice of Infernall rage;
She dy'd at halfe her dayes; and know ye, why?
She was a Rule propos'd to Youth, to Age;
She was a light, that glorified your dayes;
Obscur'd, alone, by our inferiour Praise;
The vertue of the world was but her Periphrase.
13.
Now blow thy Trumpe, and see if Envy durst
Presume to snarle, or vent her frothy Gall;
Fame blow aloud: Let Envy snarle her worst;
Doe; let her fret, and fume, and foame, and fall
Stark-mad: Blow louder till the Bedlim burst.
And stinck; and taint her newes-corrupting Hall;
Blow Fame, & spare not: If some base-bred tongue
That wants a name to lose, should chance to wrong
Thy honour'd Trumpet's breath, then make thy blast more strong.
14.
O but this light is out: What wakefull eyes
E'r mark'd the Progresse of the Queen of light
Rob'd with full Glorie in her Austrian skies,
Vntill at length in her young Noone of night
A swarth Tempestuous Cloud doth rise; and rise
And hides her lustre from our darkned sight:
Even so too early Death (that has no eares
Open to suits) in her scarce Noone of yeares,
Dasht out our light and left the Tempest in our teares.
15.
Patents of humane lifes are short; and drawne
Without a Clause, and with a secret Date;
Our day is spent, before it scarcely dawne,
Each Vrn 's appointed, come it soon or late;
The coorse-grain'd Lockrom, and the white-skin Lawne
Are both subjected to the selfe-same Fate:
Fate throwes at all, Death sips of ev'rie blood,
Had she but slain the bad, and spar'd the Good,
Our Quil had spar'd this Iuck, our eies had spar'd this Flood.
16.
Qvick-finger'd Death 's impartiall, and lets flie
Her shafts at all: but aimes with fouler spite
At fairer Markes; She, now and then, shoots by
And hits a Foole, but levels at the White.
She often pricks the Eagle in the Eye,
And spares the Carkas of the flagging Kite;
Queens drop away, when blue-leg'd Maukin lives;
Drones thrive, when Bees are burnt within their hives,
And Courtly Mildred dies, when Country Madge survives.
17.
Retract that word, false Quill: O let mine Eyes
Redeeme that language with a thousand teares;
Our Mildred is not dead: How passion lies!
How ill that sound does relish in these eares!
Can she be dead, whose conqu'ring soule defies
The Bands of death; and worse than death, the fears
No, no, she sits enthron'd, and smiles to see
Our childish passions; she triumphs, while we
In sorow blaze her death, that 's death-and sorow-free.
18.
Sweet soule, forgive the Treason of my Pen,
Which makes thy State the subject of a teare
And with false whining kils thee once agen;
Forgive our folly, or disdaine to heare:
Thou art an Angel, we, alas, but Men;
Our words are Nonsense in thy purer eare:
We craul below, while thou sitt'st crown'd above,
Fill'd with the peace of Heav'n's Tri-une Iehove:
Yet in our childish teares accept our childish love.
19.
Thou sitt'st attended with those heav'nly Bands,
That bring our Tydings to th' Eternall Throne;
Thy blood-washt soule now views and understands
That glorious One in Three, that Three in One;
To th' safe protection of whose sacred hands,
Thy gasping lips convey'd their latest groane:
Thou seest those Glorious Persons, whereunto
Thy dying breath did tender, and bestow
The care of thy deare Spouse and Babes, and th'Infant too.
20.
Undoubted Peace and sempeternall Toy
Rests thy faire Soule in everlasting Blisse:
Compar'd to thine, how I contemine this Toy,
This life, and all this silly world cals, This!
At all adventures, may those hands convey
My soule, (which carried thine) where thy soule is:
Blest Heire of life, If such a Thing could be,
That Heav'n's pearle Portals should bee close to Thee,
What should become of Man! what should become of me!
21.
Words call in words! o from this fruitfull Theam,
As from a Spring, floods issue forth; and meet
And swell into a Sea: Streame joynes with streame:
Our weary Numbers have regain'd new feet,
And bring in Stuffe more fit to load a Reame,
Then to be lodg'd within a slender Sheet:
The thirsty soule, whose trembling fingers touch
The swelling Bowle may soone transgresse; and such
That ne'r can speak enough, may easly speak too much.
22.
Yet one word more; And then my Quill and I
Will woo Apollo; and beg leave to play:
Youth, learne to live; and deeper Age, to die;
This heav'n-fled Saint hath scor'd ye both the way:
Your Rule's above, but your Example's by;
Heav'n sets not earth such Copies ev'ry day.
Her vertues be your Guide; They lie before ye;
So shall ye adde more Honour to her Story
And gain your selves a Crowne; and gain her Crowne more Glory.
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