AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN. Written by Peter Glean, Gent.  

Licenced,  
February 18 th', 1694/5. D. Poplar.   
LONDON: Printed for Sam. Heyrick, and are to be Sold by J. Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall. M DC XCV.   

AN ELEGY.  

I.  
Convulsed with Grief, whilst Nature's Organs strain,  
At last I'm forced to breathe a Vein;  
Or break it must with what it can't contain▪  
A Vein Elegiac, I mean,  
A Flood of Tributary Verse,  
Sacred, and fitted to Rehearse  
Britannia's Fate,  
And from its Date  
The like Convulsions in the Church and State.   

II.  
Albion! Unhappy Isle! what thou hast lost  
Defies the Richest Ages to repair;  
A Queen that Buoyed thy sinking Honour up,  
Who whilst She held the Regal Chair,  
Suckled thy Hectic Church and State,  
Both Languid grown and Ripe for Fate:  
She! Great by Nature, Birth, and Education,  
O'er looked the Envy of thy Peevish Nation;  
Yet Loved thee so,  
And Pitied too,  
As to disturb her solid Ease,  
With Anxious Cares about thy Peace  
Her Generous Soul was always bend  
About the Peaceful Arts of Government;  
And when th' unhappy Exigence  
Of War Recalled her Royal Consort hence;  
Above the Reason of her Sex,  
She Taught the Board a Scheme of Politics,  
When to Resolve, How to Debate;  
And where to bound Reason of State:  
The want of which, and which alone,  
Has Widowed many a Realm,  
And Emptied many a Throne.   

III.  
Whilst this Incomparable Lady stood,  
Blest with a Natural Delight in Good;  
She could not pass Religion by,  
But Understood, and Kend. that too,  
And Loved, and Practised what she knew:  
Those that have her Devotion seen,  
Thought her an Abbess, not a Queen:  
And as she could to Heaven Bow,  
She could be humble to her Subjects too,  
Great and not Proud, Affable and not Base,  
All o'er Decorum, All o'er Grace;  
Never were Virtues so well fixed,  
Never Passions so well mixed,  
Never Nature so alloyed,  
So well tempered, so employed,  
That 'twill be difficult to find  
Amongst th' Inferior Sex behind,  
So Great a Soul, and so Sedate a Mind.   

IV.  
If these Conspicuous Virtues could Revoke,  
And Prayers could Intercept a high Decree,  
Or stop the Sin-born Monster's struck;  
Those Balmy Orisons which went,  
Dear Saint! in Hecatombs to Heaven for thee,  
From Pious Prelates most familiar there,  
Must needs have changed Divine Assent,  
And kept thee here  
To Crown us many a happy Year.  
But all the Incense, all the Suppliant Oils,  
From City Altars, and from Rural Piles,  
From Prelate's Censers too the Vows which we  
Put up when Albion was one Censory;  
Although they were our All,  
Were too too small  
A Bidding for the fixed Decree.   

V.  
But now the Fatal Signal's given,  
The complicated Evil's joined;  
She took the best Viaticum for Heaven,  
And then lay down,  
Her Life resigned,  
With that Serenity of Mind  
With which she took the Crown:  
Stripped into naked Spirit, up she Climb  
From all this muddy Continent of Time,  
By Angels Guarded from new Fears,  
Wrapped in a Cloud of Balmy Dew,  
Leaving her Kingdoms drowned in Tears,  
Away to Heaven She flew.   
FINIS.