AN elegy UPON THE Much lamented Death of Mr Luke Fawn, junior, who died the sixth of January, 1650. being Ten Years, six months, and four days old.  

I'M big with Grief, That I can only vent  
My Passion in a sad Astonishment:  
My Sorrows are turned rude, and do dispense  
A Fury greater, than thy Innocence.  
Could there be so great Guilt on such young Years,  
That justly could deserve these pious Tears?  
Did the too partial Heavens but lend Thy Sight,  
Thus to engage us in Eternal Night?  
Did they Thy Life on us at first bestow,  
Only to make thee but a Ten Years Show?  
But I have done; Thou wert too good to be  
Continued in a Land of misery.  
We grieve Our Loss, not Thine; for we're left here  
To the sad Comfort of a sadder Tear.  
See how each Forehead's furrowed to a Frown,  
And every Eye its willing Tears drops down;  
Mourning Thy Loss, as if the World and all  
Its Creatures suffered in Thy untimely Fall.  
Thy Loss is fatal to the World; in Thee  
Nature has lost her highest bravery.  
Thy Parts in so young Years did strongly prove  
Thou wert her only Darling, and her Love.  
How did Thy Sweetness ecstasy our Sense  
Into a wonder of Thy Excellence!  
Thy virtues were too great for to have grown  
In any clay besides what was Thine own.  
Thou wert the purest Dust, that e'er was made  
T'enclose so bright a Soul within a Shade.  
— But Oh! it's gone  
T' its last and greatest Dissolution.  
And our full Tears, at best, will prove to be  
But faint Drops of a Pious ecstasy.   

Look back to th' Spring, and if you ere have seen  
untimely winds blast Trees scarce fully green,  
Know that our Loss is such, since He hath shown,  
ere a ripe Spring, such blossoms of his own.   

Fate sure past o'er his years, and viewed his parts  
arraigned to th' Bar, not for his age, but arts.  
Whoever saw a loaded ear of Corn  
Not Earth-wards tend? the empty upwards born:  
e'er life they die; e'er death thou life didst scorn.   
Piaetatis Ergò, sic cecinit, Robertus Tutchein.