ON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN, A POEM.  
Licenced March 9th, 1694/5.  
LONDON: Printed; And are to be sold by John Whitlock near Stationers-Hall. 1695.   

ON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN, etc.  

WHen Kingdoms feel such mighty Strokes of Fate,  
They ought to mourn not at the common rate:  
For Vulgar Losses Vulgar Tears suffice,  
A few weak Drops or Melancholy Sighs;  
But when so great a Princess is no more  
What Tears? What Accents can our Loss deplore?  
In Art we shall but small Assistance find,  
To tell the mighty Sorrows of the Mind;  
The Muse that sings exactly we mistrust,  
Her Passion is not hearty, tho' 'tis just;  
For real Griefs will artful Fancy scorn,  
Despising studied Methods, how to mourn:  
In broken Sighs our Troubles are expressed,  
And unaffected Numbers sing 'em best.   

Let manly Sorrow than each Soul employ,  
Disposed to Trouble and averse to Joy;  
All that was Good and Beautiful is gone,  
The Ornament and Blessing of the Throne:  
Maria was our Honour, our Delight,  
She pleased our Ears, and satisfied our Sight.   

When Fame had on her busy Wings conveyed  
Afar the Graces of the Royal Maid,  
Europe's young Princes for her Favour strove,  
And with large Presents thought to bribe her Love;  
Maria all their promised Empires scorned,  
With generous Slights their worthless Suits returned;  
Till Nassaw's growing Merit first did move  
Her Soul, and taught it early how to love:  
The Princess heard the Hero when he prayed,  
Whilst Virgin Blushes all her Heart betrayed;  
Her Wishes were discovered in her Eyes,  
And the young Goddess was the Victor's Prize.   

By Heaven she seemed predestined to the Crown,  
Which Merit, the best Title, made her own.  
Her wondrous Beauty justified her sway,  
For who, that saw her Eyes, could disobey?  
In her both Majesty and Meekness met,  
A Virtue seldom found among the great;  
Such noble Sweetness in her Looks we saw,  
Tempered with Royalty and Godlike Aw,  
As mortified the Proud, and blest the Meek,  
And courted wronged Petitioners to speak:  
The Fierceness of her Hero she employed  
When powerful Vice was fit to be destroyed:  
Yet tho' her Justice was so much revered,  
The Mercy of the Goddess still appeared.  
Some Princes, who Maria's Sceptre swayed,  
Used little Tricks and Force to be obeyed;  
But our fair Empress had no need of Art,  
She reigned in every valuable Heart.  
On her few Enemies, when e'er she smiled,  
Faction forgot its Fury and was mild;  
Those Enemies begot by a Mistake,  
Adored the Princess for the Beauty's sake,  
Whose early Virtues with her Years increased,  
And promised us the Blessing we possessed.  
In all the private Actions of her Life,  
The best of Women and the kindest Wife.   

O Nassaw! What didst thou possess in her,  
So Pious, Kind, so Dutiful and Fair,  
To thee she yielded all her blooming Charms,  
She lulled thy Care asleep within her Arms:  
In all your Toils Maria bore her part,  
Your constant Dangers touched her tender Heart;  
Your absence with perpetual Sighs she grieved,  
And with your Presence only was relieved.  
When Storms arose and Enemies appeared,  
When Statesmen could advise no more, and Warriors feared,  
She was in Action bold, in Counsel wise,  
Prevented all Attacks, and suffered no Surprise.   

When at the Boyn, for Victory you strove,  
And Glory seemed too prevalent for Love,  
Regardless of your Fate, when you rushed on,  
And died with Royal Blood the Field you won;  
Fame represented to Maria's View,  
In dreadful Shapes, the Deaths that threatened you;  
O then the Heroine began to fear,  
Her Frights increase, and in her Looks appear:  
Then all the softness of her Sex was shown,  
Your Dangers shook her tho' she scorned her own;  
With comely Grief her Beauties were increased,  
And precious Sighs disturbed her Royal Breast,  
Till your fresh Laurels at her Feet you lay,  
And your known Safety drove her Cares away:  
Then all her Graces with new Lustre shined,  
Her Looks declared the Pleasures of her Mind.  
Her duteous Maids, who whilst Maria mourned,  
Sighed nightly by her till her Lord returned;  
Then grieve no more, they all forgot the smart,  
And Love and Joy triumphs in every Heart:  
Now they contrive a thousand various ways,  
To please the Hero with their gentle plays,  
To soothe his warlike Spirit into Peace,  
And make him condescend to be at ease.  
Love made the brightest Figure at the Court,  
Where Youth and Wit, and Innocence resort,  
Maria, high, above the rest did shine,  
Her Mien most graceful and her Form Divine;  
Her Nymphs, who daily waited round the Throne,  
Who shined with Beams reflected from her own,  
In fair Maria's Absence, might have been  
Each taken for a Goddess or a Queen:  
But when our Princess graced the youthful Train,  
We soon distinguished who deserved to reign;  
At here's, their little Beauties disappear,  
And nothing seemed agreeable but her.   

But oh! the Goddess has the Temple left,  
Of all its Excellence and Pleasures reft:  
See the Remains of Love and Nature's Pride,  
Lies pale and ghastly by her Monarch's Side;  
The World's great Lord dissolved in manly Tears,  
Pensive and sighing by his Queen appears:  
Around her see the dismal Pomp of Woe,  
How all in various ways their Trouble show;  
See their distracted Looks and hear their Sighs,  
Her Maids wild Questions and their odd Replies;  
They beat their Breasts, they tear their lovely Hair,  
Despising every comfort, but despair:  
Like weeping Loves around the Queen they lie,  
And with their Mistress covet all to die.  
Mourn, mourn ye gay Companions of her Court,  
Where now, alas! you must no more resort;  
Your Princess will no more her Palace grace,  
Dark Looks and horrid Sighs must fill the Place:  
O! Let it ne'er with Pleasure be defiled,  
Let nothing there be seen but what is wild,  
Wild, as our Woes, let every Look appear,  
And Joy for ever be forgotten there.  
Maria's gone, with all her Beauties fled,  
To bless the Mansions of the happy Dead:  
Let every Muse attend her in her flight,  
To the bright Regions of Eternal Light,  
Where born on Cherubs, through the Air she flies,  
And with new Glories gilds the nether Skies,  
Whilst Angels blush and are ashamed to own  
A mortal Being purer than their own;  
Yet sure of Bliss, when e'er she should resign  
Her earthly Substance for a more Divine.   

If it had pleased the Author of our Fate,  
We wish her last Ascension had been late,  
That by her means our Discords might have ceased,  
And Satisfaction reigned in every Breast,  
That happy in some Princes of her Blood,  
Great like our Monarch, like Maria good,  
Her Subjects might have ever blest her Womb,  
And paid in Peace their Offerings to her Tomb.   
FINIS.