A FUNERAL ELEGY On Her ILLUSTRIOUS HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS ROYAL OF ORANGE, Who departed this life the 3 d. of January, new stile. 1661.  
MOre tragic matter yet, to make us shed  
Torrents of tears, the Princess Royal dead?  
She, whose great heart, like an unshaken rock  
Fixed in the floods, still braved the rudest shock  
Of adverse fate, when Heaven was pleased to try  
The courage of the Royal Family  
By Hell's incursions; and who could not be  
Less than herself, when in her low'st degree;  
Nor more, though seated on the proudest Throne  
Upon the earth, in both estates still one?  
She, who so well, when highest, could express  
Herself a Lamb, when low'st, a Lioness,  
If disrespected by a Prince, or State,  
In Her rich mind never unfortunate?  
She, whose fair soul and body both were pure,  
In act and thought, whose conscience was secure,  
Whose Life was Saintlike, and whose death the same,  
Is gone to Heaven, from whence the substance came:  
This peerless Princess, this pure Pearl is lost  
To us; but found upon the happy Coast  
That still is green: where gloriously She  
Sitteth enthroned in Eternity,  
With Her triumphant Father, Martyr King,  
Brother, and Sister, which four make a ring  
Of Crowned Angels, and a Hierarchy  
Of Saints to praise the Highest Majesty:  
Great Princes, now transformed to a fair Star,  
If from that bright Orb, where you fixed are,  
You can discern this wretched mote of earth  
Where mortals live, reflect on this sad birth  
Of our afflictions, caused by your remove.  
And cheer our hearts by one sweet look of love.  

EPITAPH.  
IF the proud Marble, Stranger, doth deny  
To satisfy thy curiosity,  
In thy demand what person lieth here,  
I'll answer thee, 'tis one whose life was dear  
To Heaven and Earth, a Princess great in blood,  
Great in estate, and in her mind as good:  
If th' art not pure and holy, come not near  
This sacred Shrine, a Saint's entombed here,  
A mirror of perfection, a rich Mine  
Of Chastity and Beauty, which doth shine  
Though under earth and casts an odour forth  
T'inspire all virtuous Ladies with her worth,  
Let no Profane feet then presume to tread  
Near the blessed relics of this great Saint dead.  WILL. LOWER.