Vraniae Metamorphosis in Sydus:  
OR, THE TRANSFIGURATION OF OUR 〈◊〉 Gracious Sovereign Queen MARY.  
Discovered in a MIRACULOUS VISION SINCE THE CELEBRATION of Her FUNERAL.  
A POEM.  
To the Honourable CHARLES MONTAGUE, Esq Chancellor of the Exchequer, and One of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, etc.  
Most Humbly Presented.  
Written by a Doctor of PHYSIC.  
In nova fert Animus mutatas dicere formas Corpora—  Ovid Metamorph. 
LONDON, Printed for D. Browne, at the Bible without Temple-Bar, and R. Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane. 1694/5.   

Advertisement TO THE READER.  
Courteous Reader,  
I Suppose by the reading of this, you will certainly pass your judgement, that whoever wrote it, was only a Wellwisher to Poetry, and never will reach an Excellence. I must confess I have not the Vanity to esteem myself a Poet, or indeed am ambitious of the Title, unless I was sure to separate the common Adjunct the World gives to it, that is, Poverty, from its Profession. However, sometimes I unbend my Mind from my other Studies, and either to gratify my own melancholy Humoru, or to please my Friends, venture on Versifying, and, right or wrong, blunder into Poetry. Now when I have done this, I grow very apt, as others do, (since Poetry is the genuine Product of Fancy) to imagine that my Composition may be as acceptable to the World as any yet have been; so what with the Flattery of Friends, (for so I'll now call it) and the Instigation of an heightened Fancy, I have ventured to make public, what was at first designed for my own and Friends private Diversion. Nevertheless take the POEM 〈◊〉 it is, and think not the worse of it, because it has not raised my Reputation so high, as to deserve to be enrolled among the Poetic Tribe. Yet I hope your Candour will allow me this Favour among the rest, that if I have failed in giving a full and perfect Character of so good a Prince, 'tis no more than others have done before me, who have attempted to  Her indeed, but I am sure must own themselves utterly to have fallen short from what She truly deserves.  
Farewell. March. 7. 1694/ ●. Bluet Court in Fetter-lane, London.   

Vraniae Metamorphosis in Sydus:  
OR, THE TRANSFIGURATION OF OUR Late Gracious SOVEREIGN Queen Mary, etc.  

ONE Night, and 'twas a dismal Night indeed,  
The heavens a thickened Darkness o'erspread.  
Cynthia could not the gloomy Air inlight,  
Or pierce the solid Curtains of the Night.  
No twinkling Star Us the least Glimpse allowed,  
But the whole Sky was One continued Cloud.  
The reeling-tott'ring House, and whistling Wind  
Doubled the sad Confusion of my Mind.  
Thus as I lay this stormy Night in Bed,  
And on my Pillow leaned my Pensive Head,  
I strove with strong Desire to take my Rest,  
And with soft Slumbers ease my troubled Breast.  
But all in vain, my hopes of Rest were vain,  
The rocking Winds ne'er lulled away my Pain.  
The trickling Waters, sent from th' mighty Deep  
With pleasant Murmurs, ne'er invited Sleep.  
My active Spirits, those Springs of Life, in spite  
Of Poppy Potions, and the consenting Night  
Forbade my drowsy Eyes themselves to close,  
Or wearied Limbs t' embrace a just Repose.  
With Thoughts unsettl'd thus I distracted lay,  
Expecting Comfort from th' approaching Day.  
Now lest the Day, unkind as Night before,  
Should add some greater Misery to my store,  
Amidst these Troubles I resolved to try  
Whether 'twere possible for Ease to die.  
So for a while my Hands and Arms I spread,  
Wishing myself even every moment dead.  
Then, as if struck with the Almighty Rod,  
I lay, methoughts, a stupid senseless Clod;  
Waiting my Fate, yet fearing still to Die,  
Wished, and Resolved, I knew not what, or why.  
Ah! then said I (and round my Bed I roll)  
What mean these sad Distractions of my Soul?  
Some dire Presage, alas! I know't too well,  
These my Prophetic troubled Thoughts foretell!  
When on a sudden startled with a Noise,  
I know not whence it came, I heard a Voice,  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone;  
'Twas heavens Decree She should exchange a Throne.   

The Voice no sooner reached my trembling Ears,  
But my quick Eyes helped to augment my Fears.  
For straight a Flaming Light shone round the Room,  
Not such as from dull Fire, or Lightning come:  
But as the Sun in its Meridian bright,  
If that the Sun himself has so much Light.  
Wrapped in this Light, for 'twas a Lambent Flame,  
A Youth, a Lovely Youth, methoughts, there came,  
Whose radiant Beauty far outshined the Sun;  
No Lover saw the like, but was undone.  
His Eyes to Pearls too mean were to compare,  
For sure I am each rather was a Star,  
Which with Majestic pleasantness he roul'd  
On every side, than laboured to unfold  
His curled Locks, his Locks of purest Gold.  
I viewed his Hand, the milk or driven Snow  
Can never half that perfect Whiteness show.  
A well-tuned Harp hung dangling on his Arm,  
With which, as well as Beauty, he could charm.  
On this he played his Melancholy Strain;  
He played, and sighed, and played, and sighed again:  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone,  
'Twas heavens Decree She should exchange a Throne.  
And here he wept— oh! with what lovely Grace  
The trickling Tears bedewed his tender Face!  
After some Pause at last he Silence broke,  
And thus to me, now fearless grown, he spoke.   

I come in Message from the Eastern shore,  
To tell you that URANIA is no more.  
Me their winged Messenger kind Heaven sends,  
To let you know  lost the Best of Friends.  
With quick dispatch I bring th' unwelcome News,  
Left lying Fame your credulous Faith abuse;  
And fed by Flattery you still believe,  
Because you hopeed, and wished, She's still alive:  
No, 'tis not so, I waited at Her Death,  
And saw Her vent Her utmost panting Breath.  
'Twas sad, but 'twas my Duty there to wait,  
And heavens Command I should attend Her Fate.  
I saw the fatal Arrow, as it went,  
From the destroying Angel's Quiver sent.  
I saw Him dipped in Poison, as I stood,  
Which gave th' Infection to the Royal Blood.  
When struggling Nature laboured, though in vain,  
Th' imprisoned Venom to discharge again.  
I saw when it at first with angry Face  
Lurked undistinguished in the Tainted Mass;  
And blooming Spots appearing from within,  
Creeped through the little Crannies of the Skin.  
A Skin so Charming, and so wondrous Fair,  
That I want Words its Beauty to declare;  
Tho' then it looked, for I remembered yet,  
Like polished Silver with fine Rubies set.   

Thus the first Scene with flattering hopes began,  
And all things smooth in th' usual Current ran,  
Until the Angel gave the Fatal Blow,  
(For Heaven decreed, and therefore it must be so)  
And cut the Thread, the slender Thread of Life,  
And from the Best of Husbands took the Kindest Wife.  
Then might you see, what's dreadful to relate,  
Triumphant Death in all its Pomp and State.  
The livid Spots now o'er Her Body range,  
The sure Forerunners of the Tragic change.  
These gave the Signal of approaching Death,  
And curdling Blood thick'nd her Sighs and Breath;  
For now the florid Rubies shone no more,  
But back retired into the putrid Gore;  
The languid Spirits, now few, together throng,  
And slowly drive the Circulation on.  
Or (as Flocks hurried promiscuously stray)  
Through their Convulsive Channels fly away.  
Pale Looks, and hanging Head with meager mien,  
Ushered in the second dreadful Scene.  
How wan! How strangely changed she seemed to me  
That knew Her in Her Youth and Bravery!  
When Her brisk Eyes darted such amorous Rays,  
As they, who dare not say they love, must praise.  
At length, with trembling Lips, and falt'ring Tongue,  
In Words confused, mixed with Devotion,  
The last Effort that yielding Nature made,  
Thus to Her Dearest Consort, fainting, said,   

Farewell to worldly Vanities and State,  
Since 'tis Decreed, I humbly court my Fate.  
I freely can to Pleasures bid adieu,  
And gladly part with every thing— But You.  
You my Life's Happiness, my Soul, my All,  
All that poor URANIA Dear can call.  
To You I must— And here She stopped awhile,  
And with a kind, but half convulsive Smile,  
I must again, She said, my Thoughts reveal,  
And bid, and bid unwillingly Farewell.  
Kind Heaven prosper— Then She lost her Voice,  
And only made a silent murmuring Noise,  
Aiming to speak, as She had done before,  
Could not, but sighed, and kissed, and was no more.  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone,  
'Twas heavens Decree She should exchange a Throne.   

After this Youth had told his humble Tale,  
And, as I thought, with that concluded all,  
Taking his Harp, that on his Arm he hung,  
This Hymn he passionately played, and sung.   

Blessed Angels who are All-o're-Love,  
In doleful Consort join with me,  
And mourn URANIA's Fate above,  
She was All-Love as well as Ye:   

I mourn URANIA, Lovely URANIA's gone,  
'Twas heavens Decree she should exchange a Throne.   

Place Her among the brightest Choir,  
And Fairest Spirits of the Sky;  
For She was made of Heavenly Fire,  
And was as Bright, and Fair as they.   

URANIA's Dead, the Fair URANIA's gone,  
'Twas heavens Decree She should exchange a Throne.   

If any Souls among the rest  
More Innocent or Pure can be,  
With them be She for ever Blest,  
She was as Innocent as they.   

URANIA, th' Innocent URANIA's gone,  
'Twas heavens Decree She should exchange a Throne.  
If any Saint for greater Fame  
Of Piety Heaven prefer,  
Among these Saints inrol Her Name,  
She was as Pious as they were.   

URANIA's Dead, Pious UARNIA's gone,  
'Twas heavens Decree, etc.   

Humility in Princes seen,  
Claims justly a Celestial Seat;  
Then what does She deserve, a Queen  
That was so Good, so humbly Great?   

URANIA's Dead, th' Humble URANIA's gone,  
'Twas heavens, etc.   

Mourn then, the Lovely Fair One mourn,  
Bright without Pride, Fair without Scorn.  
As Innocent as th' harmless Dove,  
As Pious as the Saints above;  
As Great as Majesty could be,  
Yet greater in Humility.   

This is th' URANIA that is Dead and gone,  
Whom Heaven rewards with an Eternal Crown.   

Swift as the  then away He flew,  
Leaving me musing what He was, and who;  
So I to recollect myself began,  
And scattered Spirits rallied up again:  
This sure, said I, guessing by th' Harp in hand,  
Must be the Genius of Our Native Land,  
Whom Heaven ordained, being heavens peculiar Care,  
To watch and guard URANIA every where.  
'Midst bloody Wars her Influence did us save;  
Not only Life and sure Protection gave,  
And though unworthy made us happy still,  
Pouring on Blessings even against our Will.  
No longer now our harmless Soil let's boast,  
Think other Nations by th' Old Serpent cursed;  
Where a vast numerous Brood of poisonous Spawn  
Lies undiscerned in every Wood, and Lawn:  
For since that She is Dead, and with Her All,  
I'll nothing Happiness, or Blessing call.  
My rambling Thoughts perplex, and Spirits sink,  
My very Soul for Grief forgets to think.  
My Reason too— Hold there, a Voice replied,  
Passion must not your Reason, Sir, misguide.  
Althô th' Affliction's great, You're not undone,  
All Bliss in such a Pair that ruled the Throne,  
Is never wholly lost by losing One.  
And here He silent stood, whilst I amazed,  
And wondering whence the Voice came, round me gazed;  
When I espied, much like the first, another  
Fair Youth, which I believed to be his Brother:  
But seemed to have a more Majestic Soul,  
As if He acted all without Control,  
And send His Placats into distant Lands,  
To teach 'em how to execute's Commands.  
A Lion Rampant carved on's Sword He wore,  
True Emblem of the Power and Sway He bore;  
Whose ver' Effigies was so finely done,  
That Anger sparkled from the Sword alone:  
Or so, at least, it seemed to me that Night,  
Who'd been so long in one continued Fright.  
Whilst thus I lay half dead with new Surprise,  
Viewing the glittering Form with eager Eyes,  
He spoke again—   

Think this, and learn by thinking to repent,  
Not so much Loss, as gen'ral Punishment,  
Sent by th' Almighty's just afflicting Hand  
A Scourge for Sin, and to refine the Land;  
That those whose Business is themselves to please,  
Glutted with Lux'ry, and surfeited with Ease,  
'Midst the Career of their loved Jollities,  
May by Affliction learn to be more wise.  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone;  
'Twas heavens Decree She should exchange a Throne.   

I the Good Genius of the British Isle,  
Not long— and here He sighed, and paused awhile;  
Had the Joint-charge, and Tutelary care  
By Heaven appointed, of the Royal Pair.  
Being Decreed by the Eternal Will,  
Which is Unalterable, we fulfil;  
That where Two Princes do One Sceptre sway,  
Two Angels should a Joint attendance pay.  
Thus as we served, so we together moan,  
That half our Charge, our pleasant Charge is gone.  
And even Immortal Being's scarce can tell  
Her Praise sufficient, She deserved so well.  
Her very Thoughts, for those I understood,  
And private Motions of her Soul were good.  
Go then, and publish what you see and hear,  
And tell the World this short just Character.   

The Woman's Dead, whom vain 'twere to pretend  
For single Virtues only to commend;  
Her Modest, Chaste, or Affable to call,  
For She was more, nay, She alone was All.  
And if Her real Worth you'll try to find,  
Say all the Good you can of Womankind.  
When you want Words (and that I'm sure you must,  
If that Her Character be true and just)  
Then let your subtle Imagination try  
To form a Notion in th' highest degree  
Of some abstracted Good in'ts Purity,  
Conceive it aright, and then I'm sure 'tis She.  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone,  
'Twas heavens, etc.   

The Wife is Dead, whom Nature never made,  
Or Interest taught, to love in Masquerade.  
To feign Obedience, that was really none,  
Or by dissembling gain Affection.  
By which, some their fond Husband's Passions move,  
And gently cheat, and wheadle into Love.  
But as for Her, who scorned that trifling way,  
'Twas the same thing to love, and to obey.  
She ne'er compelled Her struggling Will to bend  
To humour Husband, or to flatter Friend.  
For all She did, was done with so much Ease,  
Was so sincere, so free from Artifice,  
That in Her very Nature 'twas to please.  
Would you describe Best Woman, and Best Wife?  
Describe, though Dead, URANIA to the Life.  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone,  
'Twas heavens, etc.   

The Queen is Dead, who whilst She wore the Crown,  
Made Justice's temper sweet as was Her own.  
And so with Mercy mixed as served for Awe,  
Yet softened the Severities of the Law.  
If e'er Industrious Clemency was shown  
To save such Wretches as deserved none;  
Vile Wretches, hardened Rebels, who sought Her Blood,  
'Twas then She strove, and laboured to do Good.  
Strange condescending Majesty that can  
By yielding conquered self, and stubborn Man!  
Yet so She did; and grand Affairs of State  
With so much prudent Management debate,  
With such an accurate Judgement, that 'twas plain  
The QUEEN, the Wife, the Woman were the same.  
heavens bless Great CAESAR, if He wed again,  
With such a Woman, such a Wife, and such a QUEEN.  
URANIA 's Dead, the Dear URANIA 's gone;  
'Twas heavens, etc.   

No sooner had He done, but close by's side  
There stood the very Woman He described.  
As far as I could guests by th' outward Mien,  
She couldn't be less than (as I thought) a QUEEN.  
And so it was; but as I fixed my Eyes,  
to pry more near into these Mysteries,  
And Sacred Image perfectly to view,  
Vast streams of Light, methoughts, around Her flew.  
'Tis true, althô 'tis wonderfully strange,  
I saw a glorious and stupend'ous Change:  
Her Body now grew EMINENTLY bright,  
And with a Flood of Beams confound my sight;  
Althô before it seemed of Heavenly Race,  
And brighter far than ever Mortals was.  
Yet now ten thousand times redoubled Beams  
Dart from the Mass, and flow in mighty Streams;  
With glowing Colour first appearing Red,  
Like the Sun rising from his Eastern Bed.  
Then with 〈◊〉 Flame, bright as th' Merid'an Sun,  
I thought indeed it was the same, it shone.  
And even now when ever it appears,  
It drowns the light of all the lesser Stars.  
Next which I saw some Stars with dimmer light,  
Which because near, seemed not to shine so bright,  
Around that mighty flaming Globe display  
Such Influence, as Alone would make a Day.  
But now seemed Spangles, little Gems of light;  
Designed, perhaps, by Power Infinite,  
To pay some signal secret Service, these  
Philosophers have called Satellites:  
Who on some Star of greater Magnitude wait,  
Who gives his Influence, as 'twere in State.  
Thus the whole Constellation formed I saw,  
And th' Angels with it from my sight withdraw,  
Conveyed to Heaven with a vast glittering Train,  
And with Her Glory's placed next Charles's-Wain;  
Where now She Reigns, and sends Her Influence down  
Eternally to guard, and bless the BRITISH CROWN.   
FINIS.