A Funeral Eclogue Sacred to the Memory of Her Most Serene MAJESTY. Our Late Gracious Queen MARY: Who departed this LIFE at KINSINGTON: On Friday the 28th of December 1694. LONDON, Printed for John Whitlock, near Sationers-Hall, MDCXCV. A Funeral Eclogue Sacred to the Memory of Her Most Serene MAJESTY, etc. Celadon, Thyrsis. AS the sad Celadon retired of late, Full charged with Sorrow for Maria's fate, Into an obscure Grotto— Remote from Heaven, and Man's obscure sight, Secret as Love, and private as the Night, All Gloomy as his Thoughts it seemed to be, For Melancholy Thoughts covet privacy. As he fat Pensive on the grassy Bed, His naked Arm sustained his downcast Head. And his neglected Pipe hung silent by, Forgetting all its wont Harmony. Whilst little Rivulets of Tears did rise, From th' inte●hausted fountains of his Eyes. When Thyrsis hidden in a Thicket by, Herd the dejected Shepherds Elegy, Herd him unload the Sorrows of his Breast, Sorrow's! with great reluctancy expres'●. CELADON. Aetherial Powers! how unconcerned you keep Affairs below? or is great Jove a sleep? Lethargic Heavens! how, how can you alone In this great Cresis be bare lookers on? As if some usual Common thing was done. Strange and amazing! that no mighty fl●w Should 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 fundamental Law; In Providence no 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 was found, All things went on in their accustomed round. No black Eclipse, no Monarch-threatning Star Presaged the death of our Illustrious Fair. No● 〈◊〉 an unexpected Be●uge rise. But what flowed from our● own imploring Eyes, Heaven always used in some prodigious way, To signify a Monarch's fatal day. Nature for lesser persons has expressed, Her Grief by various Throes— But this surprizingly ●'re 〈◊〉 her Breast. At such an 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Nature is dumb, does into Marble grow. Thus shallow Fords a murmuring noise do love, Whilst deeper Waters with dumb silence move. How rigid are the Laws of stubh●●● 〈◊〉? That thus the Good, the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Great That thus the most Serene, and most August Should undistinguished s●eep with Common Dust. Too high! Poor Mortals! we too 〈◊〉 high! Suffered alas! our Mounting hopes to fly. From prudent Mariana's pious Care, What joys so great did we not hope to 〈◊〉? What happiness did we expect to see; From her well managed Aconomy? But ah! the blossoms of our hopes so Gay, Appeared, and promised fruit, but did decay▪ Promised so fair, gone so abruptly soon▪ 'Tis just as if the Sun should set at Noon. You of that Sex that would be wondrous fair, Exceeding beauteous as the Angel's 〈◊〉 Leave, leave your flattering Glasses all 〈◊〉 And haste to dress you by Maria's Tomb: Within the Marble Mirror look, and see, View well how short the greatest Glories be. 〈◊〉 on the Beauties of Her Heaven-born-Soul, Think well, and then Admire, and then Condole. With Sorrow think; when to the Grave you go, How little must be said in Praise of you, Since all that is called Virtuous was her due, Sometimes in Books and History we find, A faint resemblance of her Godlike Mind, Perhaps a Good, a Great, a Generous Soul we see, But still less Good, less Great, less Generous than she, For she of Virtue's Catalogue was the Epitome My Thoughts start back, and fly, as well they may, The sad remembrance of that Doleful Day, When round the Bed the grieved Physicians stood, And saw their utmost Skill could do no good, Saw their Art baffled by Triumphant Death; Saw how she struggled for a little Breath. And now Her Hero first was seen to fear, Tho' armed with greatest Patience, can't forbear, A Loss so Universal to Condole; Emasculating Sighs, unhinged his Valiant Soul. But hark! How every Angel, every Sphere, Fill all around the Circumambient 〈◊〉, With Heavenly Music, and with Heavenly Lays, With joyful Songs of Love, and Songs of Praise. How do th' Officious Angels crowd the Milky Way, To gaze on one as White, as Pure as they. Choirs of Laureat-Saints around her fly! Entering the Regions of Serenity, The blessed Inhabitants above ne'er knew a greater Jubilee. THYRSIS Discovering himself. Shepherd! Weep on— Nor shalt thou Weep alone; A General Loss, requires a General Grone. Thus long I've kept my struggling Passions down, Strove against Nature too; but can't forbear To pay the Royal Hearse a Tributary Tear. Take me thy Partner in thy Mighty Grief, Grief! Which admits no medium of Relief. Say ye learned World, what Monument shall I raise On well wrought Pillars of Immortal Verse? Bright as Maria's Worth, and fadeless as her praise. Fain would I something worthy Her rehearse, But ah! My Muse fears th' Icarian Fate, Flags her dull Wings, and thinks the Flight too great. Too great a Task t'advance her blooming Praise, Too great to lessen, and too great to raise; He who with equal Numbers can proclaim, The Great Maria's never fading Name, Shall stand next her in the Records of Fame. O! That I could adapted Words express? And my vast Thoughts in equal Measures dress? I'd make the Grief as public as the Loss. I'd tell the fatal News from Pole to Pole, " Where Winds can carry, or where Waves can roll▪ O! That I could do this— 〈◊〉 'tis a Task Will the Assertion of some Dryden ask, But I'll begin— Since there's no Dryden near. Thus in the absence of the Sun, the lesser Stars appear. The Vine doth grace the Trees, the Grapes the Vine, So thou Maria graced'st all that's Thine. But since of Fair Maria were here●●, Pales and Ph●bus have our Mountains left. Weep, ye Nereids, weep your Fountains dry, And let the thirsty Plants for want of moi● 〈◊〉 edie. Then let the Sea the fatal Tidings hear, The Sea! whose every drop, whose every 〈◊〉 Tear, Is too too small to express our Grief and Care. Witness you Fountains how oft she hath stood, Viewing herself in your transparent Flood, But you with Melancholy noise would glide along Slowly— as if you knew she'd soon be gone. The Trees with hanged down Heads do seem to grieve, As if they too her Absence did perceive. And all the Fields in Mourning now are hung, And every Shepherd's Lute now lies unstrung. The naked Fields are silent as the Grave, Neglected Pipes hang up in every Cave. Since she who taguht us how to Sing and Love, Augments the Number of the Blessed above. The Cooing Stockdove now, and Philomela, To Thorns and Hedges both their Sorrows tell. 〈◊〉 when the Nymph was present every Plant did rear Their joyful Heads, and smiled as well as her. And Shepherds with their smoothest, gentlest Lay, Did rival one another in her Praise. The Woods put on their greenest Livery, And Odorous Smells exhaled from every Tree. But ah! No more (that Killing word, No more) Shall we the Fair Maria's worth adore. She's gone— She's gone— Yet her Ideas treasured in my Breast, There let it pure and uncorrupted rest. Sooner shall Oxen Blow the Liquid Main, Sooner shall Ships Sail thro' the Grassy Plain. Sooner shall all things out of order run, Into their primitive Confusion. The Centre of the Earth shall sooner shake, And Trees their fixed Foundations shall forsake. Than I forgetful of Maria prove, Who was all Admiration, Joy, and Love. The dispersed Glories of her Beauteous Sex In her combined, did all in her Commix. She was as gay, and sprightly as the Grove, Straight as the Arrows of the God of Love; Serene and modest as the Rising Morn, Harmless as is the new sprung Infant-Corn. Her Thoughts were soft and easy as the Air, And yet more constant than a fixed Star. She added lustre to the Crown she wore, Rich in its Gems, but she adorned it more. Say, say ye mighty Dead if ought you know, what's acted on this Mundane Stage below, If there be any Spirit can make reply, To us that Live, concerning those that Die: Speak— Doth her Body in the Grave create Vermin, and feel the mouldering Laws of Fate? I could believe, (as 'tis but almost just) It lies entire, and blossoms in the Dust. Methinks Corruption and the Worms should spare, The Heavenly Temple of a Soul so fair. If my Zeal should transport me so away, Pardon, Blessed Virgin, if to Her I Pray— If I to Her should Ave Maries say, The coming Age, I fear, would Ido●●●e, And as her Merits, so her Relics prize. Scarce had we dried our Eyes for that Great He, Whose Graces did adorn the Reverend See. But lo! Inexorable Cruel Fate, Removed the mighty Pillar of the State. By these two great Examples we may see, The State goes Hand in Hand with Piety. If one does flourish, th' other too does Live, And if one falls the other can't Survive. He went before her to prepare the Way, And warn th' Inhabitants above, lest they (Like us at her departure) unprovided be, For her Arrival to Felicity. But lest Malicious Men should think that I Flatter the World, and do Mankind deceive With an Encomium not an Elegy, Or at least think I do but vainly grieve, May Jove with pointed Thunder strike me De●d, And darted Vengeance from above, transfix my Head. If I don't think her Loyal, Just, and True, The Best of Wives, and Best of Women too, Nay all that is, (or can be) said, is less than is her Due. FINIS.