Eleonora a panegyrical poem dedicated to the memory of the late Countess of Abingdon / written by Mr. Dryden.
         Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
      
       
         
           1692
        
      
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             Eleonora a panegyrical poem dedicated to the memory of the late Countess of Abingdon / written by Mr. Dryden.
             Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
          
           [8], 24 p.
           
             Printed for Jacob Tonson ...,
             London :
             1692.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Newberry Library and Worcester College Library, Oxford.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Abingdon, Eleanor Bertie, -- Countess of, -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           Eleonora
           :
           A
           PANEGYRICAL
           POEM
           :
           Dedicated
           to
           the
           MEMORY
           Of
           the
           Late
           COUNTESS
           OF
           ABINGDON
           .
        
         
           Written
           by
           Mr.
           DRYDEN
           .
        
         
           
             —
             Superas
             evadere
             ad
             auras
             ,
          
           
             Hoc
             opus
             ,
             hic
             labor
             est
             .
             Pauci
             ,
             quos
             aequus
             amavit
          
           
             Juppiter
             ,
             aut
             ardens
             evexit
             ad
             oethera
             virtus
             ;
          
           
             Diis
             geniti
             potuere
             .
          
           
             
               Virgil
               Aeneid
               .
               l.
               6.
            
             
          
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           for
           
             Jacob
             Tonson
          
           ,
           at
           the
           
             Judges
             Head
          
           in
           Chancery-Lane
           ,
           near
           Fleetstreet
           .
           1692.
           
        
         
           Where
           compleat
           Sets
           of
           Mr.
           Dryden's
           Works
           are
           Sold
           :
           The
           Plays
           being
           put
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           THE
           RIGHT
           HONOURABLE
           THE
           Earl
           of
           Abingdon
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           
             MY
             LORD
             ,
          
        
         
           THE
           Commands
           ,
           with
           which
           You
           honour'd
           me
           some
           Months
           ago
           ,
           are
           now
           perform'd
           :
           They
           had
           been
           sooner
           ;
           but
           betwixt
           ill
           health
           ,
           some
           business
           ,
           and
           many
           troubles
           ,
           I
           was
           forc'd
           to
           deferr
           them
           till
           this
           time
           .
           Ovid
           ,
           going
           to
           his
           Banishment
           ,
           and
           Writing
           from
           on
           Shipbord
           to
           his
           Friends
           ,
           excus'd
           the
           Faults
           of
           his
           Poetry
           by
           his
           Misfortunes
           ;
           and
           told
           them
           ,
           that
           good
           Verses
           never
           flow
           ,
           but
           from
           a
           serene
           and
           compos'd
           Spirit
           .
           Wit
           ,
           which
           is
           a
           kind
           of
           Mercury
           ,
           with
           Wings
           fasten'd
           to
           his
           Head
           and
           Heels
           ,
           can
           slye
           but
           slowly
           ,
           in
           a
           damp
           air
           .
           I
           therefore
           chose
           rather
           to
           Obey
           You
           late
           ,
           than
           ill
           :
           if
           at
           least
           I
           am
           capable
           of
           writing
           any
           thing
           ,
           at
           any
           time
           ,
           which
           is
           worthy
           Your
           Perusal
           and
           Your
           Patronage
           .
           I
           cannot
           say
           that
           I
           have
           escap'd
           from
           a
           Shipwreck
           ;
           but
           have
           only
           gain'd
           a
           Rock
           by
           hard
           swimming
           ;
           where
           I
           may
           pant
           a
           while
           and
           gather
           breath
           :
           For
           the
           Doctors
           give
           me
           a
           sad
           assurance
           ,
           that
           my
           Disease
           never
           took
           its
           leave
           of
           any
           man
           ,
           but
           with
           a
           purpose
           to
           return
           .
           However
           ,
           my
           Lord
           ,
           I
           have
           laid
           hold
           on
           the
           Interval
           ,
           
           and
           menag'd
           the
           small
           Stock
           which
           Age
           has
           left
           me
           ,
           to
           the
           best
           advantage
           ,
           in
           performing
           this
           inconsiderable
           service
           to
           my
           Ladies
           Memory
           .
           We
           ,
           who
           are
           Priests
           of
           Apollo
           ,
           have
           not
           the
           Inspiration
           when
           we
           please
           ;
           but
           must
           wait
           till
           the
           God
           comes
           rushing
           on
           us
           ,
           and
           invades
           us
           with
           a
           fury
           ,
           which
           we
           are
           not
           able
           to
           resist
           :
           which
           gives
           us
           double
           strength
           while
           the
           Fit
           continues
           ,
           and
           leaves
           us
           languishing
           and
           spent
           ,
           at
           its
           departure
           .
           Let
           me
           not
           seem
           to
           boast
           ,
           my
           Lord
           ;
           for
           I
           have
           really
           felt
           it
           on
           this
           Occasion
           ;
           and
           prophecy'd
           beyond
           my
           natural
           power
           .
           Let
           me
           add
           ,
           and
           hope
           to
           be
           believ'd
           ,
           that
           the
           Excellency
           of
           the
           Subject
           contributed
           much
           to
           the
           Happiness
           of
           the
           Execution
           :
           And
           that
           the
           weight
           of
           thirty
           Years
           was
           taken
           off
           me
           ,
           while
           I
           was
           writing
           .
           I
           swom
           with
           the
           Tyde
           ,
           and
           the
           Water
           under
           me
           was
           buoyant
           .
           The
           Reader
           will
           easily
           observe
           ,
           that
           I
           was
           transported
           ,
           by
           the
           multitude
           and
           variety
           of
           my
           Similitudes
           ;
           which
           are
           generally
           the
           product
           of
           a
           luxuriant
           Fancy
           ;
           and
           the
           wantonness
           of
           Wit.
           Had
           I
           call'd
           in
           my
           Judgment
           to
           my
           assistance
           ,
           I
           had
           certainly
           retrench'd
           many
           of
           them
           .
           But
           I
           defend
           them
           not
           ;
           let
           them
           pass
           for
           beautiful
           faults
           amongst
           the
           better
           sort
           of
           Critiques
           :
           For
           the
           whole
           Poem
           ,
           though
           written
           in
           that
           which
           they
           call
           Heroique
           Verse
           ,
           is
           of
           the
           Pindarique
           nature
           ,
           as
           well
           in
           the
           Thought
           as
           the
           Expression
           ;
           and
           as
           such
           ,
           requires
           the
           same
           grains
           of
           allowance
           for
           it
           .
           It
           was
           intended
           ,
           as
           Your
           Lordship
           sees
           in
           the
           Title
           ,
           not
           for
           an
           Elegie
           ;
           but
           a
           Panegyrique
           .
           A
           kind
           of
           Apotheosis
           ,
           indeed
           ;
           if
           a
           Heathen
           Word
           may
           be
           applyed
           to
           a
           Christian
           use
           .
           And
           on
           all
           Occasions
           of
           Praise
           ,
           if
           we
           take
           the
           Ancients
           for
           our
           Patterns
           ,
           we
           are
           bound
           by
           Prescription
           to
           employ
           the
           magnificence
           of
           Words
           ,
           and
           the
           force
           of
           Figures
           ,
           to
           adorn
           the
           sublimity
           of
           Thoughts
           .
           Isocrates
           amongst
           the
           Grecian
           
           Orators
           ;
           and
           Cicero
           ,
           and
           the
           younger
           Pliny
           ,
           amongst
           the
           Romans
           ,
           have
           left
           us
           their
           Precedents
           for
           our
           security
           :
           For
           I
           think
           I
           need
           not
           mention
           the
           inimitable
           Pindar
           ,
           who
           stretches
           on
           these
           Pinnions
           out
           of
           sight
           ,
           and
           is
           carried
           upward
           ,
           as
           it
           were
           ,
           into
           another
           World.
           
        
         
           This
           at
           least
           ,
           my
           Lord
           ,
           I
           may
           justly
           plead
           ,
           that
           if
           I
           have
           not
           perform'd
           so
           well
           as
           I
           think
           I
           have
           ,
           yet
           I
           have
           us'd
           my
           best
           endeavours
           to
           excel
           my self
           .
           One
           Disadvantage
           I
           have
           had
           ,
           which
           is
           ,
           never
           to
           have
           known
           ,
           or
           seen
           my
           Lady
           :
           And
           to
           draw
           the
           Lineaments
           of
           her
           Mind
           ,
           from
           the
           Description
           which
           I
           have
           receiv'd
           from
           others
           ,
           is
           for
           a
           Painter
           to
           set
           himself
           at
           work
           without
           the
           living
           Original
           before
           him
           .
           Which
           the
           more
           beautiful
           it
           is
           ,
           will
           be
           so
           much
           the
           more
           difficult
           for
           him
           to
           conceive
           ;
           when
           he
           has
           only
           a
           relation
           given
           him
           ,
           of
           such
           and
           such
           Features
           by
           an
           Acquaintance
           or
           a
           Friend
           ;
           without
           the
           Nice
           Touches
           which
           give
           the
           best
           Resemblance
           ,
           and
           make
           the
           Graces
           of
           the
           Picture
           .
           Every
           Artist
           is
           apt
           enough
           to
           flatter
           himself
           ,
           (
           and
           I
           amongst
           the
           rest
           )
           that
           their
           own
           ocular
           Observations
           ,
           would
           have
           discover'd
           more
           perfections
           ,
           at
           least
           others
           ,
           than
           have
           been
           deliver'd
           to
           them
           :
           Though
           I
           have
           receiv'd
           mine
           from
           the
           best
           hands
           ,
           that
           is
           ,
           from
           Persons
           who
           neither
           want
           a
           just
           Vnderstanding
           of
           my
           Lady's
           Worth
           ,
           nor
           a
           due
           Veneration
           for
           her
           Memory
           .
        
         
           Doctor
           Donn
           the
           greatest
           Wit
           ,
           though
           not
           the
           best
           Poet
           of
           our
           Nation
           ,
           acknowledges
           ,
           that
           he
           had
           never
           seen
           Mrs.
           Drury
           ,
           whom
           he
           has
           made
           immortal
           in
           his
           admirable
           Anniversaries
           ;
           I
           have
           had
           the
           same
           fortune
           ;
           though
           I
           have
           not
           succeeded
           to
           the
           same
           Genius
           .
           However
           ,
           I
           have
           follow'd
           his
           footsteps
           in
           the
           Design
           of
           his
           Panegyrick
           ,
           which
           was
           to
           raise
           an
           Emulation
           in
           the
           living
           ,
           to
           
           Copy
           out
           the
           Example
           of
           the
           dead
           .
           And
           therefore
           it
           was
           ,
           that
           I
           once
           intended
           to
           have
           call'd
           this
           Poem
           ,
           the
           Pattern
           :
           And
           though
           on
           a
           second
           consideration
           ,
           I
           chang'd
           the
           Title
           into
           the
           Name
           of
           that
           Illustrious
           Person
           ,
           yet
           the
           Design
           continues
           ,
           and
           Eleonora
           is
           still
           the
           Pattern
           of
           Charity
           ,
           Devotion
           ,
           and
           Humility
           ;
           of
           the
           best
           Wife
           ,
           the
           best
           Mother
           ,
           and
           the
           best
           of
           Friends
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           my
           Lord
           ,
           though
           I
           have
           endeavour'd
           to
           answer
           Your
           Commands
           ,
           yet
           I
           cou'd
           not
           answer
           it
           to
           the
           World
           ,
           nor
           to
           my
           Conscience
           ,
           if
           I
           gave
           not
           Your
           Lordship
           my
           Testimony
           of
           being
           the
           best
           Husband
           now
           living
           :
           I
           say
           my
           Testimony
           only
           :
           For
           the
           praise
           of
           it
           ,
           is
           given
           You
           by
           Your self
           .
           They
           who
           despise
           the
           Rules
           of
           Virtue
           both
           in
           their
           Practice
           and
           their
           Morals
           ,
           will
           think
           this
           a
           very
           trivial
           Commendation
           .
           But
           I
           think
           it
           the
           peculiar
           happiness
           of
           the
           Countess
           of
           Abingdon
           ,
           to
           have
           been
           so
           truly
           lov'd
           by
           you
           ,
           while
           she
           was
           living
           ,
           and
           so
           greatefully
           honour'd
           ,
           after
           she
           was
           dead
           .
           Few
           there
           are
           who
           have
           either
           had
           ,
           or
           cou'd
           have
           such
           a
           loss
           ;
           and
           yet
           fewer
           who
           carried
           their
           Love
           and
           Constancy
           beyond
           the
           Grave
           .
           The
           exteriours
           of
           Mourning
           ,
           a
           decent
           Funeral
           ,
           and
           black
           Habits
           ,
           are
           the
           usual
           stints
           of
           Common
           Husbands
           :
           and
           perhaps
           their
           Wives
           deserve
           no
           better
           than
           to
           be
           mourn'd
           with
           Hypocrisie
           ,
           and
           forgot
           with
           ease
           .
           But
           You
           have
           distinguish'd
           Your self
           from
           ordinary
           Lovers
           ,
           by
           a
           real
           ,
           and
           lasting
           grief
           for
           the
           Deceas'd
           .
           And
           by
           endeavouring
           to
           raise
           for
           her
           ,
           the
           most
           durable
           Monument
           ,
           which
           is
           that
           of
           Verse
           .
           And
           so
           it
           wou'd
           have
           prov'd
           if
           the
           Workman
           had
           been
           equal
           to
           the
           Work
           ;
           and
           Your
           Choice
           of
           the
           Artificer
           ,
           as
           happy
           as
           Your
           Design
           .
           Yet
           ,
           as
           Phidias
           when
           he
           had
           made
           the
           Statue
           of
           Minerva
           ,
           cou'd
           not
           forbear
           to
           ingrave
           his
           own
           Name
           ,
           as
           Author
           of
           the
           Piece
           ;
           so
           give
           me
           leave
           to
           hope
           ,
           
           that
           by
           Subscr●ving
           mine
           to
           this
           Poem
           ,
           I
           may
           live
           by
           the
           Goddess
           ,
           and
           transmit
           my
           Name
           to
           Posterity
           by
           the
           memory
           of
           Hers.
           'T
           is
           no
           flat●ery
           ,
           to
           assure
           Your
           Lordship
           ,
           that
           she
           is
           remember'd
           in
           the
           pre●ent
           Age
           ,
           by
           all
           who
           have
           had
           the
           Honour
           of
           her
           Conversation
           and
           Acquaintance
           .
           And
           that
           I
           have
           never
           been
           in
           any
           Company
           since
           the
           news
           of
           her
           death
           was
           first
           brought
           me
           ,
           where
           they
           have
           not
           extoll'd
           her
           Virtues
           ;
           and
           even
           spoken
           the
           same
           things
           of
           her
           in
           Prose
           ,
           which
           I
           have
           done
           in
           Verse
           .
        
         
           I
           therefore
           think
           my self
           oblig'd
           to
           thank
           Your
           Lordship
           for
           the
           Commission
           which
           You
           have
           given
           me
           :
           How
           I
           have
           acquitted
           my self
           of
           it
           ,
           must
           be
           left
           to
           the
           Opinion
           of
           the
           World
           ,
           in
           spight
           of
           any
           Protestation
           ,
           which
           I
           can
           enter
           against
           the
           present
           Age
           ,
           as
           Incompetent
           ,
           or
           Corrupt
           Judges
           .
           For
           my
           Comfort
           they
           are
           but
           Englishmen
           ,
           and
           as
           such
           ,
           if
           they
           Think
           Ill
           of
           me
           to
           Day
           ,
           they
           are
           inconstant
           enough
           ,
           to
           Think
           Well
           of
           me
           to
           Morrow
           .
           And
           ,
           after
           all
           ,
           I
           have
           not
           much
           to
           thank
           my
           Fortune
           that
           I
           was
           born
           amongst
           them
           .
           The
           Good
           of
           both
           Sexes
           are
           so
           few
           ,
           in
           England
           ,
           that
           they
           stand
           like
           Exceptions
           against
           General
           Rules
           :
           And
           though
           one
           of
           them
           has
           deserv'd
           a
           greater
           Commendation
           ,
           than
           I
           cou'd
           give
           her
           ,
           they
           have
           taken
           care
           ,
           that
           I
           shou'd
           not
           tire
           my
           Pen
           ,
           with
           frequent
           exercise
           on
           the
           like
           Subjects
           ;
           that
           Praises
           ,
           like
           Taxes
           ,
           shou'd
           be
           appropriated
           ;
           and
           left
           almost
           as
           Individual
           as
           the
           Person
           .
           They
           say
           my
           Talent
           is
           Satyre
           ;
           if
           it
           be
           so
           ,
           't
           is
           a
           Fruitful
           Age
           ;
           and
           there
           is
           an
           extraordinary
           Crop
           to
           gather
           .
           But
           a
           single
           hand
           is
           insufficient
           for
           such
           a
           Harvest
           :
           They
           have
           sown
           the
           Dragons
           Teeth
           themselves
           ;
           and
           't
           is
           but
           just
           they
           shou'd
           reap
           each
           other
           in
           Lampoons
           .
           You
           ,
           my
           Lord
           ,
           who
           have
           the
           Character
           of
           Honour
           ,
           though
           't
           is
           not
           my
           Happiness
           to
           know
           
           You
           ,
           may
           stand
           aside
           ,
           with
           the
           small
           Remainders
           of
           the
           English
           Nobility
           ,
           truly
           such
           ,
           and
           unhurt
           your selves
           ,
           your Selves
           mad
           Combat
           .
           If
           I
           have
           pleas'd
           You
           ,
           and
           some
           few
           others
           ,
           I
           have
           obtain'd
           my
           end
           .
           You
           see
           ,
           I
           have
           disabled
           my self
           ,
           like
           an
           Elected
           Speaker
           of
           the
           House
           ;
           yet
           like
           him
           I
           have
           undertaken
           the
           Charge
           ;
           and
           find
           the
           Burden
           sufficiently
           recompenc'd
           by
           the
           Honour
           .
           Be
           pleas'd
           to
           accept
           of
           these
           my
           Vnworthy
           Labours
           ;
           this
           Paper
           Monument
           ;
           and
           let
           her
           Pious
           Memory
           ,
           which
           I
           am
           sure
           is
           Sacred
           to
           You
           ,
           not
           only
           plead
           the
           Pardon
           of
           my
           many
           Faults
           ,
           but
           gain
           me
           Your
           Protection
           ,
           which
           is
           ambitiously
           sought
           by
           ,
        
         
           
             MY
             LORD
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Lordship
             's
             Most
             Obedient
             Servant
             ,
             John
             Dryden
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           Eleonora
           :
           A
           PANEGYRICAL
           POEM
           Dedicated
           to
           the
           MEMORY
           OF
           THE
           Late
           Countess
           of
           ABINGDON
           .
        
         
           
             AS
             ,
             when
             some
             Great
             and
             Gracious
             Monarch
             dies
             ,
             
          
           
             Soft
             whispers
             ,
             first
             ,
             and
             mournful
             Murmurs
             rise
          
           
             Among
             the
             sad
             Attendants
             ;
             then
             ,
             the
             sound
          
           
             Soon
             gathers
             voice
             ,
             and
             spreads
             the
             news
             around
             ,
          
           
             Through
             Town
             and
             Country
             ,
             till
             the
             dreadful
             blast
          
           
             Is
             blown
             to
             distant
             Colonies
             at
             last
             ;
          
           
           
             Who
             ,
             then
             perhaps
             ,
             were
             off'ring
             Vows
             in
             vain
             ,
          
           
             For
             his
             long
             life
             ,
             and
             for
             his
             happy
             Reign
             :
          
           
             So
             slowly
             ,
             by
             degrees
             ,
             unwilling
             Fame
          
           
             Did
             Matchless
             
             Eleonora's
             fate
             proclaim
             ,
          
           
             Till
             publick
             as
             the
             loss
             ,
             the
             news
             became
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Nation
             felt
             it
             ,
             in
             th'
             extremest
             parts
             ;
          
           
             With
             eyes
             o'reflowing
             ,
             and
             with
             bleeding
             hearts
             :
          
           
             But
             most
             the
             Poor
             ,
             whom
             daily
             she
             supply'd
             ;
             
          
           
             Beginning
             to
             be
             such
             ,
             but
             when
             she
             dy'd
             .
          
           
             For
             ,
             while
             she
             liv'd
             ,
             they
             slept
             in
             peace
             ,
             by
             night
             ;
          
           
             Secure
             of
             bread
             ,
             as
             of
             returning
             light
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             with
             such
             firm
             dependance
             on
             the
             Day
             ,
          
           
             That
             need
             grew
             pamper'd
             ;
             and
             forgot
             to
             pray
             :
          
           
             So
             sure
             the
             Dole
             ,
             so
             ready
             at
             their
             call
             ,
          
           
             They
             stood
             prepar'd
             to
             see
             the
             Manna
             fall
             .
          
        
         
           
             Such
             Multitudes
             she
             fed
             ,
             she
             cloath'd
             ,
             she
             nurst
          
           
           
             That
             she
             ,
             her self
             ,
             might
             fear
             her
             wanting
             first
             .
          
           
             Of
             her
             Five
             Talents
             ,
             other
             five
             she
             made
             ;
          
           
             Heav'n
             ,
             that
             had
             largely
             giv'n
             ,
             was
             largely
             pay'd
             :
          
           
             And
             ,
             in
             few
             lives
             ,
             in
             wondrous
             few
             ,
             we
             find
          
           
             A
             Fortune
             ,
             better
             fitted
             to
             the
             Mind
             .
          
           
             Nor
             did
             her
             Alms
             from
             Ostentation
             fall
             ,
          
           
             Or
             proud
             desire
             of
             Praise
             ;
             the
             Soul
             gave
             all
             :
          
           
             Unbrib'd
             it
             gave
             ;
             or
             ,
             if
             a
             bribe
             appear
             ,
          
           
             No
             less
             than
             Heav'n
             ;
             to
             heap
             huge
             treasures
             ,
             there
             .
          
        
         
           
             Want
             pass'd
             for
             Merit
             ,
             at
             her
             open
             door
             ,
          
           
             Heav'n
             saw
             ,
             he
             safely
             might
             increase
             his
             Poor
             .
          
           
             And
             trust
             their
             Sustenance
             with
             her
             so
             well
             ,
          
           
             As
             not
             to
             be
             at
             charge
             of
             Miracle
             .
          
           
             None
             cou'd
             be
             needy
             ,
             whom
             she
             saw
             ,
             or
             knew
             ;
          
           
             All
             ,
             in
             the
             Compass
             of
             her
             Sphear
             ,
             she
             drew
             :
          
           
             He
             who
             cou'd
             touch
             her
             Garment
             ,
             was
             as
             sure
             ,
          
           
             As
             the
             first
             Christians
             of
             th'
             Apostles
             cure
             .
          
           
           
             The
             distant
             heard
             ,
             by
             Fame
             ,
             her
             pious
             deeds
             ;
          
           
             And
             laid
             her
             up
             ,
             for
             their
             extremest
             needs
             ;
          
           
             A
             future
             Cordial
             ,
             for
             a
             fainting
             Mind
             ;
          
           
             For
             ,
             what
             was
             ne're
             refus'd
             ,
             all
             hop'd
             to
             find
             ;
          
           
             Each
             in
             his
             turn
             :
             The
             Rich
             might
             freely
             come
             ,
          
           
             As
             to
             a
             Friend
             ;
             but
             to
             the
             Poor
             ,
             't
             was
             Home
             .
          
           
             As
             to
             some
             Holy
             House
             th'
             Afflicted
             came
             ;
          
           
             The
             Hunger-starv'd
             ,
             the
             Naked
             ,
             and
             the
             Lame
             ;
          
           
             Want
             and
             Diseases
             fled
             before
             her
             Name
             .
          
           
             For
             zeal
             like
             hers
             ,
             her
             Servants
             were
             too
             slow
             ;
          
           
             She
             was
             the
             first
             where
             need
             requir'd
             ,
             to
             go
             ;
          
           
             Her self
             the
             Foundress
             ,
             and
             Attendant
             too
             .
          
        
         
           
             Sure
             she
             had
             Guests
             sometimes
             to
             entertain
             ;
          
           
             Guests
             in
             disguise
             ,
             of
             her
             Great
             Master's
             Train
             :
          
           
             Her
             Lord
             himself
             might
             come
             ,
             for
             ought
             we
             know
             ;
          
           
             Since
             in
             a
             Servant's
             form
             he
             liv'd
             below
             :
          
           
           
             Beneath
             her
             Roof
             ,
             he
             might
             be
             pleas'd
             to
             stay
             :
          
           
             Or
             some
             benighted
             Angel
             ,
             in
             his
             way
          
           
             Might
             case
             his
             Wings
             ;
             and
             seeing
             Heav'n
             appear
          
           
             In
             its
             best
             work
             of
             Mercy
             ,
             think
             it
             there
             ,
          
           
             Where
             all
             the
             deeds
             of
             Charity
             and
             Love
          
           
             Were
             in
             as
             constant
             Method
             ,
             as
             above
             :
          
           
             All
             carry'd
             on
             ;
             all
             of
             a
             piece
             with
             theirs
             ;
          
           
             As
             free
             her
             Alms
             ,
             as
             diligent
             her
             cares
             ;
          
           
             As
             loud
             her
             Praises
             ,
             and
             as
             warm
             her
             Pray'rs
             .
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             was
             she
             not
             profuse
             ;
             but
             fear'd
             to
             wast
             ,
             
          
           
             And
             wisely
             manag'd
             ,
             that
             the
             stock
             might
             last
             ;
          
           
             That
             all
             might
             be
             supply'd
             ;
             and
             she
             not
             grieve
          
           
             When
             Crouds
             appear'd
             ,
             she
             had
             not
             to
             relieve
             .
          
           
             Which
             to
             prevent
             ,
             she
             still
             increas'd
             her
             store
             ;
          
           
             Laid
             up
             ,
             and
             spar'd
             ,
             that
             she
             might
             give
             the
             more
             :
          
           
             So
             Pharaoh
             ,
             or
             some
             Greater
             King
             than
             he
             ,
          
           
             Provided
             for
             the
             sev'nth
             Necessity
             :
          
           
           
             Taught
             from
             above
             ,
             his
             Magazines
             to
             frame
             ;
          
           
             That
             Famine
             was
             prevented
             e're
             it
             came
             .
          
           
             Thus
             Heav'n
             ,
             though
             All-sufficient
             ,
             shows
             a
             thrift
          
           
             In
             his
             Oeconomy
             ,
             and
             bounds
             his
             gift
             :
          
           
             Creating
             for
             our
             Day
             ,
             one
             single
             Light
             ;
          
           
             And
             his
             Reflection
             too
             supplies
             the
             Night
             :
          
           
             Perhaps
             a
             thousand
             other
             Worlds
             ,
             that
             lye
          
           
             Remote
             from
             us
             ,
             and
             latent
             in
             the
             Sky
             ,
          
           
             Are
             lighten'd
             by
             his
             Beams
             ,
             and
             kindly
             nurst
             ;
          
           
             Of
             which
             our
             Earthly
             Dunghil
             is
             the
             worst
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             ,
             as
             all
             Vertues
             keep
             the
             middle
             line
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             somewhat
             more
             to
             one
             extreme
             incline
             ,
          
           
             Such
             was
             her
             Soul
             ;
             abhorring
             Avarice
             ,
          
           
             Bounteous
             ,
             but
             ,
             almost
             bounteous
             to
             a
             Vice
             :
          
           
             Had
             she
             giv'n
             more
             ,
             it
             had
             Profusion
             been
             ,
          
           
             And
             turn'd
             th'
             excess
             of
             Goodness
             ,
             into
             Sin.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             These
             Vertues
             rais'd
             her
             Fabrick
             to
             the
             Sky
             ;
             
          
           
             For
             that
             which
             is
             next
             Heav'n
             ,
             is
             Charity
             .
          
           
             But
             ,
             as
             high
             Turrets
             ,
             for
             their
             Ay'ry
             steep
          
           
             Require
             Foundations
             ,
             in
             proportion
             deep
             :
          
           
             And
             lofty
             Cedars
             ,
             as
             far
             ,
             upward
             shoot
             ,
          
           
             As
             to
             the
             neather
             Heav'ns
             they
             drive
             the
             root
             ;
          
           
             So
             low
             did
             her
             secure
             Foundation
             lye
             ,
          
           
             She
             was
             not
             Humble
             ,
             but
             Humility
             .
          
           
             Scarcely
             she
             knew
             that
             she
             was
             great
             ,
             or
             fair
             ,
          
           
             Or
             wise
             ,
             beyond
             what
             other
             Women
             are
             ,
          
           
             Or
             ,
             which
             is
             better
             ,
             knew
             ;
             but
             never
             durst
             compare
             .
          
           
             For
             to
             be
             consc'ious
             of
             what
             all
             admire
             ,
          
           
             And
             not
             be
             vain
             ,
             advances
             Vertue
             high'r
             :
          
           
             But
             still
             she
             found
             ,
             or
             rather
             thought
             she
             found
             ,
          
           
             Her
             own
             worth
             wanting
             ,
             others
             to
             abound
             :
          
           
             Ascrib'd
             above
             their
             due
             to
             ev'ry
             one
             ,
          
           
             Unjust
             and
             scanty
             to
             her self
             alone
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Such
             her
             Devotion
             was
             ,
             as
             might
             give
             rules
             
          
           
             Of
             Speculation
             ,
             to
             disputing
             Schools
             ;
          
           
             And
             teach
             us
             equally
             the
             Scales
             to
             hold
          
           
             Betwixt
             the
             two
             Extremes
             of
             hot
             and
             cold
             ;
          
           
             That
             pious
             heat
             may
             mod'rately
             prevail
             ,
          
           
             And
             we
             be
             warm'd
             ,
             but
             not
             be
             scorch'd
             with
             zeal
             .
          
           
             Business
             might
             shorten
             ,
             not
             disturb
             her
             Pray'r
             ;
          
           
             Heav'n
             had
             the
             best
             ,
             if
             not
             the
             greater
             share
             .
          
           
             An
             Active
             life
             ,
             long
             Oraisons
             forbids
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             still
             she
             pray'd
             ,
             for
             still
             she
             p●ay'd
             by
             deeds
             .
          
        
         
           
             Her
             ev'ry
             day
             was
             Sabbath
             :
             Only
             free
          
           
             From
             hours
             of
             Pray'r
             ,
             for
             hours
             of
             Charity
             .
          
           
             Such
             as
             the
             Jews
             from
             servile
             toil
             releast
             ;
          
           
             Where
             works
             of
             Mercy
             were
             a
             part
             of
             rest
             :
          
           
             Such
             as
             blest
             Angels
             exercise
             above
             ,
          
           
             Vary'd
             with
             Sacred
             Hymns
             ,
             and
             Acts
             of
             Love
             ;
          
           
           
             Such
             Sabbaths
             as
             that
             one
             she
             now
             enjoys
             ;
          
           
             Ev'n
             that
             perpetual
             one
             ,
             which
             she
             employs
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             such
             vicissitudes
             in
             Heav'n
             there
             are
             )
          
           
             In
             Praise
             alternate
             ,
             and
             alternate
             Pray'r
             .
          
           
             All
             this
             she
             practis'd
             here
             ;
             that
             when
             she
             sprung
          
           
             Amidst
             the
             Quires
             ,
             at
             the
             first
             sight
             she
             sung
             .
          
           
             Sung
             ,
             and
             was
             sung
             her self
             ,
             in
             Angels
             Lays
             ;
          
           
             For
             praising
             her
             ,
             they
             did
             her
             Maker
             praise
             .
          
           
             All
             Offices
             of
             Heav'n
             so
             well
             she
             knew
             ,
          
           
             Before
             she
             came
             ,
             that
             nothing
             there
             was
             new
             .
          
           
             And
             she
             was
             so
             familiarly
             receiv'd
             ,
          
           
             As
             one
             returning
             ,
             not
             as
             one
             arriv'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             Muse
             ,
             down
             again
             precipitate
             thy
             flight
             ;
             
          
           
             For
             how
             can
             Mortal
             Eyes
             sustain
             Immortal
             Light
             !
          
           
             But
             as
             the
             Sun
             in
             Water
             we
             can
             bear
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             not
             the
             Sun
             ,
             but
             his
             Reflection
             there
             ,
          
           
           
             So
             let
             us
             view
             her
             here
             ,
             in
             what
             she
             was
             ;
          
           
             And
             take
             her
             Image
             ,
             in
             this
             watry
             Glass
             :
          
           
             Yet
             look
             not
             ev'ry
             Lineament
             to
             see
             ;
          
           
             Some
             will
             be
             cast
             in
             shades
             ;
             and
             some
             will
             be
          
           
             So
             lamely
             drawn
             ,
             you
             scarcely
             know
             ,
             't
             is
             she
             .
          
           
             For
             where
             such
             various
             Vertues
             we
             recite
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             like
             the
             Milky-Way
             ,
             all
             over
             bright
             ,
          
           
             But
             sown
             so
             thick
             with
             Stars
             ,
             't
             is
             undistinguish'd
             Light.
             
          
        
         
           
             Her
             Vertue
             ,
             not
             her
             Vertues
             let
             us
             call
             ,
          
           
             For
             one
             Heroick
             comprehends
             'em
             all
             :
          
           
             One
             ,
             as
             a
             Constellation
             is
             but
             one
             ;
          
           
             Though
             't
             is
             a
             Train
             of
             Stars
             ,
             that
             ,
             rolling
             on
             ,
          
           
             Rise
             in
             their
             turn
             ,
             and
             in
             the
             Zodiack
             run
             .
          
           
             Ever
             in
             Motion
             ;
             now
             't
             is
             Faith
             ascends
             ,
          
           
             Now
             Hope
             ,
             now
             Charity
             ,
             that
             upward
             tends
             ,
          
           
             And
             downvvards
             vvith
             diffusive
             Good
             ,
             descends
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             As
             in
             Perfumes
             compos'd
             with
             Art
             and
             Cost
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             hard
             to
             say
             what
             Scent
             is
             uppermost
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             this
             part
             Musk
             or
             Civet
             can
             we
             call
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Amber
             ,
             but
             a
             rich
             Result
             of
             all
             ;
          
           
             So
             ,
             she
             was
             all
             a
             Sweet
             ;
             whose
             ev'ry
             part
             ,
          
           
             In
             due
             proportion
             mix'd
             ,
             proclaim'd
             the
             Maker's
             Art.
          
           
             No
             single
             Virtue
             we
             cou'd
             most
             commend
             ;
          
           
             Whether
             the
             Wife
             ,
             the
             Mother
             ,
             or
             the
             Friend
             ;
          
           
             For
             she
             was
             all
             ,
             in
             that
             supreme
             degree
             ,
          
           
             That
             ,
             as
             no
             one
             prevail'd
             ,
             so
             all
             was
             she
             .
          
           
             The
             sev'ral
             parts
             lay
             hidden
             in
             the
             Piece
             ;
          
           
             Th'
             Occasion
             but
             exerted
             that
             ,
             or
             this
             .
          
        
         
           
             A
             Wife
             as
             tender
             ,
             and
             as
             true
             withall
             ,
             
          
           
             As
             the
             first
             Woman
             was
             ,
             before
             her
             fall
             :
          
           
             Made
             for
             the
             Man
             ,
             of
             whom
             she
             was
             a
             part
             ;
          
           
             Made
             ,
             to
             attract
             his
             Eyes
             ,
             and
             keep
             his
             Heart
             .
          
           
           
             A
             second
             Eve
             ,
             but
             by
             no
             Crime
             accurst
             ;
          
           
             As
             beautcous
             ,
             not
             as
             brittle
             as
             the
             first
             .
          
           
             Had
             she
             been
             first
             ,
             still
             Paradise
             had
             bin
             ,
          
           
             And
             Death
             had
             found
             no
             entrance
             by
             her
             sin
             .
          
           
             So
             she
             not
             only
             had
             preserv'd
             from
             ill
          
           
             Her
             Sex
             and
             ours
             ,
             but
             liv'd
             their
             Pattern
             still
             .
          
        
         
           
             Love
             and
             Obedience
             to
             her
             Lord
             she
             bore
             ,
          
           
             She
             much
             obey'd
             him
             ,
             but
             she
             lov'd
             him
             more
             .
          
           
             Not
             aw'd
             to
             Duty
             by
             superior
             sway
             ;
          
           
             But
             taught
             by
             his
             Indulgence
             to
             obey
             .
          
           
             Thus
             we
             love
             God
             as
             Author
             of
             our
             good
             ;
          
           
             So
             Subjects
             love
             just
             Kings
             ,
             or
             so
             they
             shou'd
             .
          
           
             Nor
             was
             it
             with
             Ingratitude
             return'd
             ;
          
           
             In
             equal
             Fires
             the
             blissful
             Couple
             burn'd
             :
          
           
             One
             Joy
             possess'd
             'em
             both
             ,
             and
             in
             one
             Grief
             they
             mourn'd
             .
          
           
             His
             Passion
             still
             improv'd
             :
             he
             lov'd
             so
             fast
          
           
             As
             if
             he
             fear'd
             each
             day
             wou'd
             be
             her
             last
             .
          
           
           
             Too
             true
             a
             Propher
             to
             foresee
             the
             Fate
          
           
             That
             shou'd
             so
             soon
             divide
             their
             happy
             State
             :
          
           
             When
             he
             to
             Heav'n
             entirely
             must
             restore
          
           
             That
             Love
             ,
             that
             Heart
             ,
             where
             he
             went
             halves
             before
             .
          
           
             Yet
             as
             the
             Soul
             is
             all
             in
             ev'ry
             part
             ,
          
           
             So
             God
             and
             He
             ,
             might
             each
             have
             all
             her
             Heart
             .
          
        
         
           
             So
             had
             her
             Children
             too
             ;
             for
             Charity
             
          
           
             Was
             not
             more
             fruitful
             ,
             or
             more
             kind
             than
             she
             :
          
           
             Each
             under
             other
             by
             degrees
             they
             grew
             ;
          
           
             A
             goodly
             Perspective
             of
             distant
             view
             :
          
           
             Anchises
             look'd
             not
             with
             so
             pleas'd
             a
             Face
          
           
             In
             numb'ring
             o'er
             his
             future
             Roman
             Race
             ,
          
           
             And
             Marshalling
             the
             Heroes
             of
             his
             name
          
           
             As
             ,
             in
             their
             Order
             ,
             next
             to
             light
             they
             came
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             Cybele
             with
             half
             so
             kind
             an
             Eye
             ,
          
           
             Survey'd
             her
             Sons
             and
             Daughters
             of
             the
             Skie
             .
          
           
           
             Proud
             ,
             shall
             I
             say
             ,
             of
             her
             immortal
             Fruit
             ,
          
           
             As
             far
             as
             Pride
             with
             Heav'enly
             Minds
             may
             suit
             .
          
        
         
           
             Her
             pious
             love
             excell'd
             to
             all
             she
             bore
             ;
             
          
           
             New
             Objects
             only
             multiply'd
             it
             more
             .
          
           
             And
             as
             the
             Chosen
             found
             the
             perly
             Grain
          
           
             As
             much
             as
             ev'ry
             Vessel
             cou'd
             contain
             ;
          
           
             As
             in
             the
             Blissfull
             Vision
             each
             shall
             share
             ,
          
           
             As
             much
             of
             Glory
             ,
             as
             his
             Soul
             can
             bear
             ;
          
           
             So
             did
             she
             love
             ,
             and
             so
             dispence
             her
             Care.
          
           
             Her
             eldest
             thus
             ,
             by
             consequence
             ,
             was
             best
             ;
          
           
             As
             longer
             cultivated
             than
             the
             rest
             :
          
           
             The
             Babe
             had
             all
             that
             Infant
             care
             beguiles
             ,
          
           
             And
             early
             knew
             his
             Mother
             in
             her
             smiles
             :
          
           
             But
             when
             dilated
             Organs
             let
             in
             day
          
           
             To
             the
             young
             Soul
             ,
             and
             gave
             it
             room
             to
             play
             ,
          
           
             At
             his
             first
             aptness
             ,
             the
             Maternal
             Love
          
           
             Those
             Rudiments
             of
             Reason
             did
             improve
             :
          
           
           
             The
             tender
             Age
             was
             pliant
             to
             command
             ;
          
           
             Like
             Wax
             it
             yielded
             to
             the
             forming
             hand
             :
          
           
             True
             to
             th'
             Artificer
             ,
             the
             labour'd
             Mind
          
           
             With
             ease
             was
             pious
             ,
             generous
             ,
             just
             and
             kind
             ;
          
           
             Soft
             for
             Impression
             from
             the
             first
             ,
             prepar'd
             ,
          
           
             Till
             Vertue
             ,
             with
             long
             exercise
             ,
             grew
             hard
             ;
          
           
             With
             ev'ry
             Act
             confirm'd
             ;
             and
             made
             ,
             at
             last
          
           
             So
             durable
             ,
             as
             not
             to
             be
             effac'd
             ,
          
           
             It
             turn'd
             to
             Habit
             ;
             and
             ,
             from
             Vices
             free
             ,
          
           
             Goodness
             resolv'd
             into
             Necessity
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             fix'd
             she
             Virtue
             's
             Image
             ,
             that
             's
             her
             own
             ,
          
           
             Till
             the
             whole
             Mother
             in
             the
             Children
             shone
             ;
          
           
             For
             that
             was
             their
             Perfection
             :
             she
             was
             such
             ,
          
           
             They
             never
             cou'd
             express
             her
             Mind
             too
             much
             .
          
           
             So
             unexhausted
             her
             Perfections
             were
             ,
          
           
             That
             ,
             for
             more
             Children
             ,
             she
             had
             more
             to
             spare
             :
          
           
           
             For
             Souls
             unborn
             ,
             whom
             her
             untimely
             death
          
           
             Depriv'd
             of
             Bodies
             ,
             and
             of
             mortal
             breath
             :
          
           
             And
             (
             cou'd
             they
             take
             th'Impressions
             of
             her
             Mind
             )
          
           
             Enough
             still
             left
             to
             sanctifie
             her
             Kind
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             wonder
             not
             to
             see
             this
             Soul
             extend
             
          
           
             The
             bounds
             ,
             and
             seek
             some
             other
             self
             ,
             a
             Friend
             :
          
           
             As
             swelling
             Seas
             to
             gentle
             Rivers
             glide
             ,
          
           
             To
             seek
             repose
             ,
             and
             empty
             out
             the
             Tyde
             ;
          
           
             So
             this
             full
             Soul
             ,
             in
             narrow
             limits
             pent
             ,
          
           
             Unable
             to
             contain
             her
             ,
             sought
             a
             vent
             ,
          
           
             To
             issue
             out
             ,
             and
             in
             some
             friendly
             breast
          
           
             Discharge
             her
             Treasures
             ,
             and
             securely
             rest
             .
          
           
             T'unbosom
             all
             the
             secrets
             of
             her
             Heart
             ,
          
           
             Take
             good
             advice
             ,
             but
             better
             to
             impart
             .
          
           
             For
             't
             is
             the
             bliss
             of
             Friendship
             's
             holy
             state
          
           
             To
             mix
             their
             Minds
             ,
             and
             to
             communicate
             ;
          
           
             Though
             Bodies
             cannot
             ,
             Souls
             can
             penetrate
             .
          
           
           
             Fixt
             to
             her
             choice
             ;
             inviolably
             true
             ;
          
           
             And
             wisely
             chusing
             ,
             for
             she
             chose
             but
             few
             .
          
           
             Some
             she
             must
             have
             ;
             but
             in
             no
             one
             cou'd
             find
          
           
             A
             Tally
             fitted
             for
             so
             large
             a
             Mind
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Souls
             of
             Friends
             ,
             like
             Kings
             in
             Progress
             are
             ;
          
           
             Still
             in
             their
             own
             ,
             though
             from
             the
             Pallace
             far
             :
          
           
             Thus
             her
             Friend's
             Heart
             her
             Country
             Dwelling
             was
             ,
          
           
             A
             sweet
             Retirement
             to
             a
             courser
             place
             :
          
           
             Where
             Pomp
             and
             Ceremonies
             enter'd
             not
             ;
          
           
             Where
             Greatness
             was
             shut
             out
             ,
             and
             Buis'ness
             well
             forgot
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             is
             th'
             imperfect
             draught
             ;
             but
             short
             as
             far
          
           
             As
             the
             true
             height
             and
             bigness
             of
             a
             Star
          
           
             Exceeds
             the
             Measures
             of
             th'
             Astronomer
             .
          
           
             She
             shines
             above
             we
             know
             ,
             but
             in
             what
             place
             ,
          
           
             How
             near
             the
             Throne
             ,
             and
             Heav'ns
             Imperial
             Face
             ,
          
           
           
             By
             our
             weak
             Opticks
             is
             but
             vainly
             ghest
             ;
          
           
             Distance
             and
             Altitude
             conceal
             the
             rest
             .
          
        
         
           
             Tho
             all
             these
             rare
             Endowments
             of
             the
             Mind
             
          
           
             Were
             in
             a
             narrow
             space
             of
             life
             confin'd
             ;
          
           
             The
             Figure
             was
             with
             full
             Perfection
             crown'd
             ;
          
           
             Though
             not
             so
             large
             an
             Orb
             ,
             as
             truly
             round
             .
          
        
         
           
             As
             when
             in
             glory
             ,
             through
             the
             publick
             place
             ,
          
           
             The
             Spoils
             of
             conquer'd
             Nations
             were
             to
             pass
             ,
          
           
             And
             but
             one
             Day
             for
             Tiumph
             was
             allow'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             Consul
             was
             constrain'd
             his
             Pomp
             to
             crowd
             ;
          
           
             And
             so
             the
             swift
             Procession
             hurry'd
             on
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             ,
             though
             not
             distinctly
             ,
             might
             be
             shown
             ;
          
           
             So
             ,
             in
             the
             straiten'd
             bounds
             of
             life
             confin'd
             ,
          
           
             She
             gave
             but
             glimpses
             of
             her
             glorious
             Mind
             :
          
           
             And
             multitudes
             of
             Vertues
             pass'd
             along
             ;
          
           
             Each
             pressing
             foremost
             in
             the
             mighty
             throng
             ;
          
           
           
             Ambitious
             to
             be
             seen
             ,
             and
             then
             make
             room
             ,
          
           
             For
             greater
             Multitudes
             that
             were
             to
             come
             .
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             unemploy'd
             no
             Minute
             slipt
             away
             ;
          
           
             Moments
             were
             precious
             in
             so
             short
             a
             stay
             .
          
           
             The
             haste
             of
             Heav'n
             to
             have
             her
             was
             so
             great
             ,
          
           
             That
             some
             were
             single
             Acts
             ,
             though
             each
             compleat
             ;
          
           
             But
             ev'ry
             Act
             stood
             ready
             to
             repeat
             .
          
        
         
           
             Her
             fellow
             Saints
             with
             busie
             care
             ,
             will
             look
          
           
             For
             her
             blest
             Name
             ,
             in
             Fate
             's
             eternal
             Book
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             pleas'd
             to
             be
             outdone
             ,
             with
             joy
             will
             see
          
           
             Numberless
             Vertues
             ,
             endless
             Charity
             ;
          
           
             But
             more
             will
             wonder
             at
             so
             short
             an
             Age
             ;
          
           
             To
             find
             a
             Blank
             beyond
             the
             thirti'th
             Page
             ;
          
           
             And
             with
             a
             pious
             fear
             begin
             to
             doubt
          
           
             The
             Piece
             imperfect
             ,
             and
             the
             rest
             torn
             out
             .
          
           
           
             But
             't
             was
             her
             Saviour's
             time
             ;
             and
             ,
             cou'd
             there
             be
          
           
             A
             Copy
             near
             th'
             Original
             ,
             't
             was
             she
             .
          
        
         
           
             As
             precious
             Gums
             are
             not
             for
             lasting
             fire
             ,
          
           
             They
             but
             perfume
             the
             Temple
             ,
             and
             expire
             ,
          
           
             So
             was
             she
             soon
             exhal'd
             ;
             and
             vanish'd
             hence
             ;
          
           
             A
             short
             sweet
             Odour
             ,
             of
             a
             vast
             expence
             .
          
           
             She
             vanish'd
             ,
             we
             can
             scarcely
             say
             she
             dy'd
             ;
          
           
             For
             but
             a
             Now
             ,
             did
             Heav'n
             and
             Earth
             divide
             :
          
           
             She
             pass'd
             serenely
             with
             a
             single
             breath
             ,
          
           
             This
             Moment
             perfect
             health
             ,
             the
             next
             was
             death
             .
          
           
             One
             sigh
             ,
             did
             her
             eternal
             Bliss
             assure
             ;
          
           
             So
             little
             Penance
             needs
             ,
             when
             Souls
             are
             almost
             pure
             .
          
           
             As
             gentle
             Dreams
             our
             waking
             Thoughts
             pursue
             ;
          
           
             Or
             ,
             one
             Dream
             pass'd
             ,
             we
             slide
             into
             a
             new
             ;
          
           
             (
             So
             close
             they
             follow
             ,
             such
             wild
             Order
             keep
             ,
          
           
             We
             think
             our selves
             awake
             ,
             and
             are
             asleep
             :
             )
          
           
           
             So
             softly
             death
             succeeded
             life
             ,
             in
             her
             ;
          
           
             She
             did
             but
             dream
             of
             Heav'n
             ,
             and
             she
             was
             there
             .
          
        
         
           
             No
             Pains
             she
             suffer'd
             ,
             nor
             expir'd
             with
             Noise
             ;
          
           
             Her
             Soul
             was
             whisper'd
             out
             ,
             with
             God's
             still
             Voice
             :
          
           
             As
             an
             old
             Friend
             is
             beckon'd
             to
             a
             Feast
             ,
          
           
             And
             treated
             like
             a
             long
             familiar
             Guest
             ;
          
           
             He
             took
             her
             as
             he
             found
             ;
             but
             found
             her
             so
             ,
          
           
             As
             one
             in
             hourly
             readiness
             to
             go
             .
             
          
           
             Ev'n
             on
             that
             day
             ,
             in
             all
             her
             Trim
             prepar'd
             ;
          
           
             As
             early
             notice
             she
             from
             Heav'n
             had
             heard
             ,
          
           
             And
             some
             descending
             Courtier
             ,
             from
             above
          
           
             Had
             giv'n
             her
             timely
             warning
             to
             remove
             :
          
           
             Or
             counsell'd
             her
             to
             dress
             the
             nuptial
             Room
             ;
          
           
             For
             on
             that
             Night
             the
             Bridegroom
             was
             to
             come
             .
          
           
             He
             kept
             his
             hour
             ,
             and
             found
             her
             where
             she
             lay
             
          
           
             Cloath'd
             all
             in
             white
             ,
             the
             Liv'ry
             of
             the
             Day
             :
          
           
           
             Scarce
             had
             she
             sinn'd
             ,
             in
             thought
             ,
             or
             word
             ,
             or
             act
             ;
          
           
             Unless
             Omissions
             were
             to
             pass
             for
             fact
             :
          
           
             That
             hardly
             Death
             a
             Consequence
             cou'd
             draw
             ,
          
           
             To
             make
             her
             liable
             to
             Nature's
             Law.
          
           
             And
             that
             she
             dy'd
             ,
             we
             only
             have
             to
             show
             ,
          
           
             The
             mortal
             part
             of
             her
             she
             left
             below
             :
          
           
             The
             rest
             (
             so
             smooth
             ,
             so
             suddenly
             she
             went
             )
          
           
             Look'd
             like
             Translation
             ,
             through
             the
             Firmament
             ;
          
           
             Or
             like
             the
             fiery
             Carr
             ,
             on
             the
             third
             Errand
             sent
             .
          
        
         
           
             O
             happy
             Soul
             !
             if
             thou
             canst
             view
             from
             high
             ,
             
          
           
             Where
             thou
             art
             all
             Intelligence
             ,
             all
             Eye
             ,
          
           
             If
             looking
             up
             to
             God
             ,
             or
             down
             to
             us
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             find'st
             ,
             that
             any
             way
             be
             pervious
             ,
          
           
             Survey
             the
             ruines
             of
             thy
             House
             ,
             and
             see
          
           
             Thy
             widow'd
             ,
             and
             thy
             Orphan
             Family
             ;
          
           
             Look
             on
             thy
             tender
             Pledges
             left
             behind
             :
          
           
             And
             ,
             if
             thou
             canst
             a
             vacant
             Minute
             find
          
           
           
             From
             Heav'nly
             Joys
             ,
             that
             Interval
             afford
          
           
             To
             thy
             sad
             Children
             ,
             and
             thy
             mourning
             Lord.
          
           
             See
             how
             they
             grieve
             ,
             mistaken
             in
             their
             love
             ,
          
           
             And
             shed
             a
             beam
             of
             Comfort
             from
             above
             ;
          
           
             Give
             'em
             ,
             as
             much
             as
             mortal
             Eyes
             can
             bear
             ,
          
           
             A
             transient
             view
             of
             thy
             full
             glories
             there
             ;
          
           
             That
             they
             with
             mod'rate
             sorrow
             may
             sustain
          
           
             And
             mollifie
             their
             Losses
             ,
             in
             thy
             Gain
             .
          
           
             Or
             else
             divide
             the
             grief
             ,
             for
             such
             thou
             wert
             ,
          
           
             That
             shou'd
             not
             all
             Relations
             bear
             a
             part
             ,
          
           
             It
             were
             enough
             to
             break
             a
             single
             heart
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             this
             suffice
             :
             Nor
             thou
             ,
             great
             Saint
             ,
             refuse
             
          
           
             This
             humble
             Tribute
             of
             no
             vulgar
             Muse
             :
          
           
             Who
             ,
             not
             by
             Cares
             ,
             or
             Wants
             ,
             or
             Age
             deprest
             ,
          
           
             Stems
             a
             wild
             Deluge
             with
             a
             dauntless
             brest
             :
          
           
             And
             dares
             to
             sing
             thy
             Praises
             ,
             in
             a
             Clime
          
           
             Where
             Vice
             triumphs
             ,
             and
             Vertue
             is
             a
             Crime
             :
          
           
           
             Where
             ev'n
             to
             draw
             the
             Picture
             of
             thy
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             Is
             Satyr
             on
             the
             most
             of
             Humane
             Kind
             :
          
           
             Take
             it
             ,
             while
             yet
             't
             is
             Praise
             ;
             before
             my
             rage
          
           
             Unsafely
             just
             ,
             break
             loose
             on
             this
             bad
             Age
             ;
          
           
             So
             bad
             ,
             that
             thou
             thy self
             had'st
             no
             defence
             ,
          
           
             From
             Vice
             ,
             but
             barely
             by
             departing
             hence
             .
          
        
         
           
             Be
             what
             ,
             and
             where
             thou
             art
             :
             To
             wish
             thy
             place
             ,
          
           
             Were
             in
             the
             best
             ,
             Presumption
             ,
             more
             than
             grace
             .
          
           
             Thy
             Reliques
             (
             such
             thy
             Works
             of
             Mercy
             are
             )
          
           
             Have
             ,
             in
             this
             Poem
             ,
             been
             my
             holy
             care
             .
          
           
             As
             Earth
             thy
             Body
             keeps
             ,
             thy
             Soul
             the
             Sky
             ,
          
           
             So
             shall
             this
             Verse
             preserve
             thy
             Memory
             ;
          
           
             For
             thou
             shalt
             make
             it
             live
             ,
             because
             it
             sings
             of
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A36620-e540
           
             The
             ducti
             〈…〉
             
          
           
             〈…〉
             
          
           
             Of
             her
             prudent
             Management
             .
          
           
             Of
             her
             〈…〉
             ility
             .
          
           
             Of
             her
             Piety
             .
          
           
             Of
             her
             various
             Vertues
             .
          
           
             Of
             her
             C●●jugal
             Vi●tues
             .
          
           
             Of
             her
             〈◊〉
             to
             her
             C●●●dren
             .
          
           
             〈…〉
             
          
           
             〈…〉
             
          
           
             〈…〉
             
          
           
             Her
             prepa-redness
             to
             dye
             .
          
           
             She
             dy'd
             on
             Whitsunday
             night
             .
          
           
             Apostrophe
             to
             her
             Soul.
             
          
           
             Epiphonema
             :
             or
             close
             of
             the
             Poem
             .