Sighs At the contemporary deaths OF Those incomparable Sisters, The Countess of Cleaveland, AND Mistress SICILY KILLEGRVE, Daughters of Sir JOHN CROFTS Knight Of Saxom Hall, in the County of Suffolk Deceased, And his Noble Lady now living. Breathed forth by F. Q. LONDON, Printed by Tho. Cotes, for N. Alsop; and are to be sold at the Angel in Pope's head Alley. 1640. TO THE HONOURABLE LADY, The Lady CROFTS. Madam, EArth is a mixture of Heaven and Hell: In heaven is all happiness, and no misery: in Hell, is all misery, and no happiness: In earth, both happiness, and misery, The grave is the common Rest from both. If our happiness had no misery to sharpen it, we should expect no other Heaven; if our misery had no happiness to sweeten it, we should fear no other Hell. But God hath dealt us both, that in adversity, we may hope better, and in Prosperity, fear worse. Not many Ladies in this Land, could show a fairer Inventory of God's favour than yourself; either as single, in your own person; or as multiplied, in your children; yet could not all this raise you a perfect happiness, here. All earthly happiness is like earth, alterable; always meeting with an alterable subject; in so much, that if it could abide with us, we could not stay with it: We must shake hands and part. Madame, our lives are but Lamps, to light us in this dark Vale, to find that Jewel we lost in Paradise, If we had never lost that jewel, we had never left that Paradise: These your two daughters found it in their Saviour's birth, and were straight invited to the feast of his Circumcision, and shall we be sad? Dressed in those jewels, they were called to the Lamb's Marriage, and shall we mourn? They changed an earthly Hadradrimmon for a heavenly jerusalem, and shall we lament? Madam, I know Flesh and Blood (which is made of nothing but a little dust tempered with a few tears) would repined at this. But your Ladyship is instructed in a better School, and hath attained to a higher Form than Sense. 'Tis true, Natural affection hath much to pled against the extremes of Stoicism: but Religion hath more to pled against the excess of Natural affection. Rough Stoicism denies all sorrow: Soft affection excluds all comfort; Religion moderates, and with the surplusage of Nature's tears, mollifies the Stoics heart. Madam, I beseech Almighty God to comfort you in all your griefs, and direct them to their right Object; So shall your sadness be momentary, and your joys eternal, According to the Wishes of Your ladyships humble Servant, FRA▪ QVARLES. Sighs. 1. If our Sad eyes could rain For every drop, a Shower, Our needless Quill might then refrain This heavy task: But since our tears are penned Within our straightened eyes, our Pen must give them vent▪ 2. Blunt Quill, And dost thou think To glorify thy Skill In Sooty Characters of Ink? Or that thy easy Language can proclaim An Accent half so shrill, as the loud Trump of Fame▪ 3. But tell, O tell me why Should our sad lines compel A tear, or force a trickling eye? We beg it not: What gentle eye embalmes The precious dust of Saints, brings Offerings, and not Alms▪ 4. You whom Victorious Passion Hath foiled and over come With sighs and tears, not wept for fashion, Come bear a part: These Obsequys do sue To entertain such Guests, such Guests alone as you. 5. Rash Fates! Were you advised At how extreme great Rates True Honour and Perfection's prized, When you in twice two days, surprised more, Then Ages can prescribe, than Ages can restore. 6. Repose, O gentle earth, This sacred Dust, kept close, As Relics of our buried Mirth: Let Time preserve your holy Turfts unstirred: This Age will scarce unlock your Gates for such a third. 7. In this Cold bed of Clay, Unstained perfection is Laid down to sleep, till break a day; Which, when the early morning Trump shall so●nd, With joy, with Robes, with Crowns shall wake, be clothed, be crowned▪ 8. Sad Tomb! Hadst thou the might To understand for whom Thy marble Curtains make this night, Thou'dst vie with Mahomet'S (if such there be) Two stones support but his; two Saints are propts to thee. 9 We should Invoke to aid, And challenge (if we would) Assistance from the heavenly Maid; But we forbear: The Spirit of grief infuses Moore salt into our Quill, than all the sacred Muses. 10. Provoke Loud storms to blow; Or smothering Flax to smoke; Full seas to swell; Springtides to flow; For us; we need no ay'd, nor will suborn The help of foreign Art. True grief knows how to mourn 11. Hard stones, If hearts should not, Would cleave and split with groans, Ere so much worth should lie forgot: At such a loss, should stones forbear to break Their flinty Silence, stones, the very stones would speak. 12. To speak Bore truth, would try A Faith that were not weak; 'twould seem a rank Hyperbole, To make but half their excellence appear, For whom we mourn, for whom we justify this tear. 13. If not The height of Blood, Virtue without a spot, And all those gifts that earth calls good, May sand some Privilege to life, nor add Some sand to Nature's Glass, what matter good or bad! 14. Persuade, Persuade not me, False earth, to trust thy aid, Or build my hopes on it, or Thee: Give all thou hast, alas, thou canst not make Estates for more than life: Thou dost but give, and take, 15. Stone hearts Let me bespeak You all to play your parts: If you be too too hard to break, Too stout for drops to pierce, yet come; You'll serve for stuff, to build their honourable Tomb 16. To break The Peace of Saints, In taking leave to speak Our real griefs in vain complaints, Is but a trick of earth: Why should, we thus Afflict our souls for them, that find no grief, but us? 17. Attend, You gentle ears A while, and we will end Our sighs, and wipe away your tears: We'll change our Scene, & we'll unsad our Style; We'll teach your sighs to sing; we'll teach your tears to smile. 18. Report. You blessed Peers Of the eternal Court, Your Hallalujahs mixed with theirs: Welcome these Saints to that Celestial Choir, Where griefs do not explore; where joys do not expire. 19 And you, O blessed Pair, That now have interview With Thrones and Syraphims; that share With Powers and Angels: O what Oratory Can colour out your joys? What Pen can chant your Glory? 20. Shall then The puddle tears Of earth-begotten Men Wash your white Names, or cloy your ears? Not, not, 'tis pity tears should intercept The peace of your sweet Rest, where tears are never wept? 21. Shed tears? Had they been tied To serve their weary years At earth's hard Trade, and then denied A common Rest, this had been apt to breed, A thousand, thousand tears: This had been grief indeed? 22. Enough: Let this suffice To show how poor a Puff Is earth, and all that earth can prise: Wealth, honour, beauty, in whose flames we burn, Give warning in the bed, and leave us at the Vrn. ● 23. Without The lest surmise Of unbelief, or doubt, Our mountain faith doth canonize These Saints; whose dying Ashes did confer To their Redeemers Birth, gifts passing gold and Myrrh. 24. My Pen, Thou hast transgressed; Archangels, and not Men Should sing the story of their Rest: But we have done, we leave them to the trust Of heavens eternal Tower, and kiss their sacred Dust. Epitaph. IF our blunt Quill but tell you whom, Rash Fates repose in this sad Tomb; We should provoke hard stones to speak, If not persuade stones hearts to break: Attend report, and you shall, then, Shed tears enough without my Pen. The End.