ON THE Death of the QUEEN. BY A Person of Honour.   

ON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN.  
By a Person of Honour.  
The Beauty of Israel is fallen—  
LONDON: Printed for R. Bentley, in russel-street in Covent-Garden. 1695.   

ON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN.  

SHE's gone! The Beauty of our Isle is fled;  
Our Joy cut off, the Great MARIA dead.  
We faint beneath the Stroke: But weep no more,  
Waft not our Sorrow to a Foreign Shore;  
Lest ALBION's Enemies with impious Breath  
Profane our Sighs, and Triumph in Her Death.  
Tears are too mean for Her; our Grief should be  
Dumb as the Grave, and Black as Destiny.  
For such a Loss let universal Nature mourn,  
And all things to their first Disorder turn.   

Ye Fields and Gardens, where our Sovereign walked  
Serenely Smiled, and profitably Talked;  
Be Gay no more; but Wild and Barren lie,  
That all your blooming Sweets, with Her's, may die,  
Sweets that crowned Love, and softened Majesty.   

Blessed Princess How distinguished, how adored!  
How much above even Her own Sphere She soared!  
Whilst other Monarch's glory in their State,  
In Wealth and Power contented to be Great;  
She, with a Godlike and Heroic Mind,  
Pursued a Greatness of another Kind;  
A brighter Diadem than Earth could give;  
A glorious Name that should for ever live.  
And with unwearied Virtue pressing on,  
Gave Lustre to, not borrowed from a Crown.  
Nor was this Angel lodged in common Earth,  
Her Form proclaimed Her Mind as well as Birth;  
So graceful and so lovely; ne'er was seen  
A finer Woman, or more awful Queen:  
The Gazing Crowd admired Her as a God,  
And reverenced the Ground whereon she trod.   

Ye gentle Nymphs that on her Throne did wait,  
And helped to fill the Brightness of Her State;  
Mourn over your dead Mistress, speechless mourn,  
Watch Her dear Ashes, and attend Her Urn.  
She cherished and adorned your tender Years,  
Preventing still the fearful Mother's Cares;  
Whilst all with shining Gold, and Purple graced,  
Your Beauties in the fairest Light were placed.   

How Majesty is fallen! As if the Great  
Were destined to short Days, and sudden Fate.  
O Empire! Thou deceitful treacherous Good!  
How false thy Smiles, tho' hard to be withstood!  
What stormy Ills thy calmer Brow conceals,  
And what uncommon Strokes a Monarch feels!  
See where the glorious NASSAV fainting lies;  
The mighty ATLAS falls, the Conqueror dies.   

O Sir! return, to ALBION's Help return;  
Command your Grief, and like a Hero mourn.  
If you forsake us, we are lost indeed;  
Your Subjects now Lament, but then must Bleed.  
Think what a Task Your Virtue has begun,  
And be not weary ere your Race is run.  
That Power that formed You in the tender Womb,  
Then laid the Scenes of all Your Toils to come.  
Decreed that you should EVROPE's Saviour be,  
And from fierce Monsters purge the Earth and Sea;  
Monsters of Tyrants that oppress 〈◊〉  
And set no Bounds to their ambitious Mind.   

Success and Honour wait upon your Arms;  
Heaven guide your Heart and guard you still from 〈◊〉  
MARIA has the Crown of Glory won▪  
And may you Late arrive where she is gone.   
FINIS.