ELEGY On the Death of Her Highness MARY Princess Dowager of Aurange, DAUGHTER TO CHARLES the First, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, &c.  

HAil Graceful MARY! summoned up to be,  
A Member-Saint o'th' Heavenly hierarchy!  
For since Your Virgin-Name-Sake's peered with You,  
Our Ave-Maries must be Doubled too.   

What Zeal of Glory did Your Highness Move,  
To rob Low-Countries, to Enrich th' Above?  
Or was it in a compliment You fell,  
To leave HENRIETTA 'thout a Parallel?  
Was't not Enough, that Glouc'ster's Shining Star  
Shrunk the Payr-Royal, to a Royal Payr?  
And as ambassador (to fit Your State)  
Prepared Your Ways, knowing the Path was straight?  
But must (O Times!) more Royal Blood be spilled,  
To make atonement, for a Kingdom's Guilt?  
Cursed be that 
* 

Tenero sedet in Ore Lues.  
Si, tàm pracipiti, fuerant Ventura, Volatu,  
Debuerant aliâ, Fata, Venire Viâ.    Bane of Greatness! A Disease  
That Scandals Galen and Hippocrates!  
So loathsome too, the Soul would hardly own  
The Body at the Resurrection!  
Thus the Lamb Suffers, while the Fox still thrives:  
Heavens kingdom's near; 'Tis time t'Amend our Lives.  
'Tis for the Nations Sins, a Punishment  
On Princes falls. They'd Live if we'd Repent:  
Here let our Souls, flow from our Eyes in Tears!  
Like Those, Whose Hopes, are Mastered by their Fears!  
Another Branch, lopped from the Royal Tree,  
And shall the Shrubs remain Secure and Free?  
Oh! if our Earthly Gods, like Men, must lie,  
How, like the Beasts that perish, shall Vassals die?   

All Things Immortal, in this Lady were  
But mere Mortality, and That lies Here!  
Whose Goodness needs no Gloss to set it off,  
Say but— 'Twas Charles his Daughter— That's Enough.  
Oh may Her Son like Her, live to inherit  
The mother's Virtues and the father's Spirit!  
Then will Heaven bless its Blessing with that Good  
Which cannot be expressed, less Understood.   

The Wonder of Her Sex! less Great, then Good:  
Honouring Her Name, Ennobled by Her Blood!  
The age's joy and Grief! Envy and Prìde!  
You could not think Her Mortal, till She died.  
In brief, be this inscribed upon Her tomb,  
HERE LIES THE MIRACLE OF Christendom!  
But— Cease to Mourn!—  
A Princess never dies;  
But, like the Sun, does only Set to Rise.   
HEN. BOLD. Olim è N. C. Oxon.   

London, Printed for Edward Husbands, and are to be sold at the Sign of the Golden Dragon in Fleetstreet, 1660.