Threno-Maria.  
A Rapsodicall Essay ON THE DEATH Of our late Gracious Sovereign QUEEN MARY Of Ever-Blessed Memory.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Theoc. 
By Mr. Si. SEGAR.  
LONDON: Printed for Thomas Leving, at Gray's- Inn-Gate, next the Walks. 1695.   

Threno-Maria. A POEM on the DEATH of Her SACRED MAJESTY THE LATE GRACIOUS QUEEN MARY, etc.  

Plunged over in unexhausted floods of Brine,  
Not such, which round sad Albion's Empire twine  
Their surly Waves: Nor in such Streams that swell,  
The hollow Veins of the Pierian Hill:  
But in full Cataracts of that Extent,  
The Eyes Alymbick never yet could Vent;  
In such vast Deluges of Tears, whose stores  
And Crowding Conflux stopped the Optic Pores;  

My struggling Muse at last has burst my Brain,  
And forces me a tributary Swain,  
To pay the Homage of a Dolefull Strain:   
To Mourn the Royal shades contracted date,  
To Mourn the great Maria's hapless fate:  
That complex perfect All Maria; who  
When Stubborn Death had struck the dismal Blow,  
Guarded by glorious Seraphs, Slumbered hence  
Unto the Thrones of blessed Omnipotence;  
Whilst the Extravagant Celestial Choir,  
Weleomed her Advent with transported Lyres.   

Oh! what sweet Hymns, what Anthems did they frame?  
What Halleluja's tuned were to her Name?  
The Notes so charmed, through use the busy Throng,  
Forgot the Accents of their Former Song;  
That when their Wills attempted to rehearse  
Their dread Creator's facts in proper Verse;  
The silent strings flagged frighted at the touch,  
Nor could Angelic Art reduce them such;  
Maria still, no other Sacred sound,  
Would shake an Ela the Horizon round.   

But where am I? Close up my Muse again.  
The abrupt Numbers of a Mortal Pen  
(Tho' ne'er so pure, extracted or calcined,  
Heaven-thought, and spun by an inspired mind)  

Can her bright Zenith blazon, or display  
The dazzling Lustre, where her narrow Ray  
Creates one part o'th' Everlasting Day.   
Crush therefore that Effort, and back retire,  
Lest by to near Approach your Bard expire:  
Our Sacrilegious Fancy must not pry,  
Nor tract the Steps of Immortality:   

Come, leave the Empyrean Chambers, Come,  
Centre your flights within the Circle Home:  

Let Albion, Let Albion's wretched Isle,  
More cursed than our prime Parents barren soil,  
Exhale your Sorrow to bemoan a while.   
Or let your Howls in savage Features tell,  
Th' immeasured Loss, when great Maria Fell;  
The heaps of Tortures, the Convulsive grief,  
The Horror that inwrapps our sunk relief,  
Our Agonies, Our Hell that stabbed so late,  
The throbbing Vitals of our bleeding State.  
But this is Labour too:— A Work immense,  
Eccentric from the scope of Human Sense.   

What fit Words, suited symptoms, outward signs?  
What marks, or what Characteristic Lines,  
Can give the true Idea; And the Pain  
Portray, the infant Globe did first sustain,  

(when tottering on the Hinges to and fro,  
Through Adam's guilty Crime that damned it so.)  
The nodding Weight swayed on the brink of Woe?   
They who that Can the same Disorders trace,  
May paint with equal Strokes Brittania's Case:  
All other Drafts will else be weak and bare,  
Nor reach the heightened Passions suffered here.  
Nay! Now I fear beyond Comparison  
Maria's Death, in the Effects brought on.   

Lo! How a Chaos threat'ns its Return,  
T' entomb within th' Abyss of its own Urn  

The Universal Machine:— See! The Light,  
How eager it precipitates its flight,  
And is scaled o'er with an Eternal Night.   
The Crusted frame:— Look! Crumbles down; The Ball  
Shrunk, at the News to senseless Atoms fall:  
The Basis fails; Both Poles and Axis Crack,  
Th' Intelligences Faint, Their motions slack,  
The toiling Orbs grown feeble heavy move,  
The Astral Powers amazed at random rove,  
Since Blessed Maria's gone, they careless roll:  
Since great Maria's fall; who was the Soul  
Of Nature, and whose Virtues did Cement,  
Th' intrinsic Concord in each Element.   

Can Death's tyrannic force extend so far,  
To Crop the Radix of the World in her?  
An Emperor (th' Infernal Pit's chief brood,  
More fat than other Monstrous Fiends with blood.)  
Once wished his Anger strong enough to doom  
A single Blow, that should disbowell Rome:  
He limited revenge, Confined his Hate  
One City's Ruin might him Satiate.  
But this Grim Monarches sudden Avarice,  
Has supermounted That, His Artifice  
His ravenous Palate by one meal in gross,  
Hath quite Destroyed whole Nations Genius;  
And all confused decay: Unless Nassaw  
The pious Trouble for Maria awe:  
Our Roses fade, The Cambrian Feathers pale,  
The Thistles their low heads supinely drail,  

Batavia's Lion reels the Eagle droops,  
And trembling Spain beneath the burden stoops,  
Until thy Pleasure shall revive their Troops.    

Rouse therefore mighty Prince, revert the Clouds  
Dispel the Mists and black Cimaerian shrouds;  
Tear thence the Stupifying Cypress boughs,  
That twist their Paleness on thy Laurelled brows;  
Serene thy Aspect with a Sober Mirth,  
As flushed thy dear Maria's breathing Earth.  
The Temper of the Climes are in Convulse,  
And swelling dangers puff up every Pulse;  

Their open Rifts for Comfort gape amain,  
Nor will they shut their dreadful Wombs again,  
Till France  them with her Armies slain.   
And thou Heroic William must be He;  
If ought a Poet e'er could Prophecy,  
Or that his Prances can presage events,  
From past Transactions, present Accidents:  
'Tis thy firm Hand together that must tie,  
The broken Threads of Europe's Destiny;  
And root up the presumptive Lillyed Crown,  
That urged thy Thunder and provoked thy frown.  
'Tis thou great William for our loss and thine,  
Must act the Scene of cold Irena's Boyne  
In Gallia's reeking Gleebs: Whilst to reward  
Death's Insolence, who not Maria spared;  
Thy Foes shall die so fast, the thronging store  
Shall Choke, and surfeit Death for evermore.  
Go, hast the Crisis then, Anticipate the fear;  
Let Death's Catastrophe begin the year,  
And after may thy Monarchy command  
The wide-extended Ocean and the Land;  
Or for thy Consorts life late took away  
May heavens add Seav'ns to thee and crown thy head with grey.   

How well Maria lived, Her constant Prayers  
That Chained the bent Jehovah's listening Ears;  
Her holy Flames, devout religious Fires;  
Unspotted Raptures and divine Desires,  

The  Devoirs that hung her Nuptial Bed;  
The frequent Alms her scattered bounty spread,   
Which with the Doner's now extinguished:  
The Sublime Meekness, decent Mercy seen;  
The Symbols of a Godhead and a Queen;  
Her mein Deportment and Majestic Grace,  
The modest Smiles that beamed her Orient Face,  
Her Judgement, melting Language, Beauteous form,  
Her prompt discretion in a lowering Storm,  
Her wit's large Magazines: How just she swayed,  
How much admired, how loved and how obeyed:  
As those Endowments boundless, did excel  
Their Springs themselves and grand Original:  
Let Silence (the best Speaker) Comprehend,  
For Tongues to apt Expressions cant ascend.   
FINIS.