AN elegy, Upon the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE ANNE, Countess OF SHREWSBURY.  
By J. C. Gentleman.  
LONDON, Printed 1657.   

To the Right Honourable THE EARL OF SHREWSBURY.  
IF your Lordship can descend so low as to own those Relations, which some of my friends now have, or lately have had to your Lordship, this Dedication will be so much the less your wonder; and indeed in my own present capacity, I take myself to be within the circle of duty, though more remote from the centre of your Immediate Commands. My Lord, This elegy is guilty in two particulars; first, that it raises the dead (uncivil almost to a miracle) after the expense of so much sorrow, to live shall I say, or rather to bleed, afresh to your awakened memory? putting you in mind of a sad sequestration never to be compounded, for: Next, that it rudely paints out in dead colours those lineaments of virtue, which in her were so lively expressed, that I may religiously affirm, she was a True Copy drawn from the Divine Original. And let it be the mark of my weakness, so long as it is likewise the merit of her Glory, to be above both my conception and expression. I confess the contemplation of her Excellencies might create a Poet, but such a Poet must needs act beneath his Creation, his form being too Noble for the matter it is to actuate; My Lord, Your deceased Lady, whom we commemorate, was full of sweetness and benignity, and your Lordship is as much Executor of her perfections as you are Master of your own; you will therefore be pleased in the name of both, to pardon this presumption of  
Your lordship's most humble Servant JO: CROUCH.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY MOUNT GARRET.  
MADAM,  
THough by the power of Law and Religion, my Lord of Shrewsbury was sole proprietor of your Daughter and her Inheritance, (both which he purchased by the instrate of his merits) yet by the Law of Nature your Honour had the first and most intimate propriety; She being your real flesh, and his Metaphorical, yet that more real then usually Metaphors intend, the former tye engageth conscience, but the latter more nearly obligeth affection. Madam, I thought it my duty to divide this service between my Lord and You; being both joint Purchasers in her life, and Sympathizers in her death, if there be any thing in this elegy which may pretend to Life and Spirit, doubtless it was inspired by the Genius of your deceased Daughter; if any thing of sadness and mourning your Ladyship may suppose it dropped from my sister's eyes: 'Tis smooth and easy, like her temper and disposition it commemorates; and your Ladyship (as your goodness must prompt you) will, I hope, be the same to it. And upon that account only, I expect your Ladyship will pardon this service, and the weakness of it, to  
MADAM, Your honour's most humble Servant, JO: CROUCH.   

THE elegy.  
Farewell Great Conyers Heir, thou brightest Pearl  
Nature 'ere polished to enrich an Earl,  
An Earl of the first Magnitude, yet He  
So high, concludes he was too low for Thee:  
His goodness, greater than his Name, before  
Rendered his Titles too inferior;  
He kindly fell degraded by his Love,  
That humbled this great Turtle to his Dove:  
But what his goodness wrought before, his Fate  
Sad Earl! submits him still beneath thy State.  
Death, that grand Tyrant over Mortal things,  
Who disthrones Emperors, Protectors, Kings,  
Has enthroned Thee; now raised as far above  
Thy Earl, as he transcends all Earls in Love.  
Hard lot! He loves still, rather more than less;  
Must keep his Love, and lose his happiness!  
Whose sorrow knows no ground of joy but this,  
No power, below Heaven, could divide your bliss.  
He's not alone, their death, when great Stars fall,  
Though not disease, proves Epidemical.  
Fair Saint, how many lives lament thy death?  
Whose blood was warmed by thine, not their own breath,  
Forgive astonishment if it cannot mourn,  
Our Hearts are dead and buried in thy urn:  
Pardon our eyes if dry, they're sunk, and weep  
Back to our hearts, our sorrows are so deep!  
But let's with leave of Providence inquire  
Why this Fair Rose must in its June expire?  
Was it because she took no pleasure here  
In Husband, Mother, Babes? Three things so dear:  
I'm sure they all loved her, and now improve  
Their grief by the dimensions of their Love:  
She died, but once (O that vast once!) but they  
Each hour sad tributes to her memory pay.  
Sometimes our vigorous fancies (though in vain)  
Possessed, act high, and fetch her back again  
With an Herculean Love; Now Hopes and Fears  
Struggle, and Joy smiles in a Bath of Tears:  
But O the emptiness of that Creation  
Takes Birth and form from fond imagination!  
One minute makes her live, another dye,  
Thus we her death, our own griefs multiply:  
O then 'twas not for want of Love she died!  
That might have been sooner than life supplied:  
Her death knew no such disharmonious strife,  
But answered the sweet music of her life:  
Her last sigh (loves last echo) though but faint,  
Breathed out her kind soul in an amorous pant:  
Her Lord and she, never was kinder Pair,  
One Soul moved both, which fed on Love, not Air;  
How often did this sweet expression start  
From the full satisfaction of her Heart;  
I would not change (quoth she) good Shrewsbury's Wife  
For Empress; better pleased with him then life!  
Nor was her venture small, when providence led  
This best of Ladies to her Nuptial Bed;  
She was her father's Heir, and must disclaim  
Not only his Estate, but House, and Name:  
That Dower must vast and comprehensive be,  
Whose Total is the whole Posterity!  
When Conyers must be lost, except the Font  
christian the Name, 
A Daughte●●…  and stamp new life upon't:  
Here expired not the breath of one, but all,  
A Families life dead in one funeral!  
Were I to write her Epitaph it should be,  
Here lies interred a genealogy!  
Posterity, Ancestors, all dead but Name,  
And that to live upon the breath of Fame.  
Live pretty Lady Conyers, live, to save  
Talbot from guilt, and Conyers from the grave!  
And yet, good soul! this universal sale  
Still seemed to her too cheap to countervail  
His merit, and her Love; t'improve her land,  
Gives him her life, her life's at his command:  
Good Saint! she might have saved this liberal cost,  
Had she but reckoned what he reckoned most;  
Had she cast in the treasure of her mind,  
Sh' had raised her sum, had been both rich and kind,  
That was the first unkindness she e'er gave,  
Her dearest Lord, to lead him to her Grave!  
This Loyalty to her Lord, could not impair  
Her duty, equal to her mother's care;  
In all just things obedient to her will,  
As if the Countess had been Conyers still:  
And might have well appeared to vulgar sense  
Virgin for aspect, duty, Innocence.  
No Child to Parent more just homage paid,  
Only she died, and there first disobeyed:  
That was against her mother's will, you'll say,  
But 'twas heaven's Mandate, and she must obey:  
Thus Heaven at once infrings, and forgives  
All Obligations made to Relatives!  
Madam you're Wise, then make no vain complaints,  
Can you act higher, then furnish Heaven with Saints?  
When you observed Heaven shining in her face,  
Did you not then assign her to that place?  
So good! what then? O let her live, you cry!  
So good! she's ripe for Heaven, O let her die!  
Where is our intellect, our sense, our eyes?  
When we think virtue fit to mortalize?  
But must the Genial Bed, O Juno! be  
Not her Babes, but her soul's delivery?  
Ingratitude of Nature! Must a Tomb  
Prove the sad Merit of a Fruitful Womb?  
What wilt thou do sweet Babe to purge thy Fate,  
Who boughtest this cheap World at so dear a rate?  
Poor harmless Viper! thou mad'st I dare say,  
Prophetic lamentations the first day.  
Those very bowels which thy Birth had rent  
Still pitied thee, thou was't so innocent:  
Be sure to pay thy Father, when thou know'st  
How much thy Mother for thy Birth thou ow'st;  
Thou ow'st as much duty, as life; for she  
Lost her own life to give a life to thee.  
Yet with heaven's leave (discreet at last) she stays  
(In labour now with death, not thee) some days;  
'Twas for thy sake that not till then she died,  
To save thee from the guilt of Matricide!  
Sweet Babe! may Heaven prolong thy precious life,  
Thou pledge of the best Mother and best Wife!  
France that spruce Nation, of the Purest air,  
Admired this Lady both for Wise, and Fair;  
She spoke their Language with its natural tone,  
They thought (but much deceived) she was their own:  
Theirs, all except their vice; for when she came  
Back to her Native soil, she was the same,  
The same White Conyers still: The change of place  
altars no Soul, without a change of grace!  
She brought their decent modes and used them here,  
Only she left the Nations vanity there.  
Her voice was sweet without affected Art  
Fit for the choir, where now she bears a part.  
As for her Charity consult the Poor,  
They say she kept a Table at her door;  
Their thronging to her grave kind witness bears,  
Strowing the sad way not with flowers, but tears:  
The Poor lament, and tell you, how they fared,  
Heaven speaks her Charity best by her reward:  
This Diamond in her Crown is not the least,  
To meet Rich Saints, whom Poor she used to feast.  
Is this that Charity which in stead of Poor,  
Sits now herself without an Alms at door?  
That Charity, which with so much noise and din  
The Faith o'th' age hath almost made a sin?  
This was that Charity she did so prize,  
Her Grace within, without her Exercise!  
You Ladies that exhaust your wealth and time  
In dear bought toys to make a costly crime,  
Lay up some gold for Heaven; what you spend here,  
If ill dispensed, will not be reckoned there.  
But I digress, who now no satire write,  
But elegy; Dead Folks use not to bite!  
Witness good heaven, I would not wish to find  
Great Shrewsbury's wealth, without his Lady's mind!  
So pious, so devout! methinks I see  
The posture of her bended Heart and Knee,  
Both alike flexible: believe me, when  
She dealt with Heaven, she was no Countess then!  
Allowing Natural Acts, and sober care  
Of decencies, her whole life was one prayer.  
See, see, her moist Eyes, whilst with heaven she pleads,  
Drop Tears, Religious Pearls, in stead of beads!  
Her pious life was her death's best presage,  
Whose whole tract was a Christian Pilgrimage;  
A Pilgrimage to that Jerusalem, where  
Dwell, only Saints, no Turk inhabits there.  
Death had not much to do in th' extreme hour,  
So weakened were the sinews of his power:  
Her cheerfulness at last all fear beguiles,  
Taking her leave, like a kind friend with smiles.  
But what Crowns all (in other great ones rare)  
She knew no pride either of good or fair:  
Her goodness ('tis a sweet absurdity)  
Raised her to heaven by its humility;  
That Ladder on which good Father Jacob went  
To heaven; humility the soul's ascent!  
When Eyes fall, Hearts may rise: Humility thus  
Like showers the clouds, draws down our Heaven to us!  
Great Souls may act high, when their bodies faint:  
And Heaven stoops down to meet an humble Saint!  
Her very Maids proud of their Mistress name,  
Learned to be humble at the price of shame,  
Were forced to blush, and guilty scarlet be  
By mere reflections of her modesty;  
I'm sure she made them humble, when she died,  
Her death was the grand Penance of their pride.  
This rich Pearl lost, makes the sad owners poor,  
All turns to grief now what was joy before:  
Her Beauty, wisdom, Grace, serve all t'express  
Her great bliss, and our great unhappiness!  
Could not all this our Countess keep alive?  
No; she must die, and all this must survive:  
When such ripe fruit in gracious Souls you see,  
It springs from seeds of Immortality!  
Farewell blessed Saint, none ever riper dy'd,  
Thou livedst till thou wast almost glorified;  
So Angelical was thy Soul! If Providence  
Had pleased, thou might'st have been translated hence  
Without th'exspiring of thy perfumed breath;  
Grace called for Heaven, humility for Death!  
Thy Name, though Glorious, here was at a loss;  
The Christians Crown is brighter than his Cross!  
He that would write thy praises, first should go  
To Heaven, and there their just dimensions know.  
FINIS.