MEMENTO MORI   skull and crossbones, hourglasses  
On the Lamentable Death of the LADY LEE, Younger: Who departed this Life, February 28. 1686.  
A Funeral Elegy.  
WHat is this World? but endless Toil and Strife  
Tumults, & Toys, that wastes our wretched Life:  
Distempered Mutinies, Uproars, and Factions,  
At best, the Pomp's and Triumphs of vile Actions.  
In which we have to'r Burial, from our Birth,  
A Months Mourning, for a Moment's Mirth.  
That which presents Delight in fullest measure,  
Tickling the Fancy, with deluding Pleasure,  
It is as transitory, as a Flower  
That blooms and blasted is, both in an Hour.  
Lo here an instance, in a sprightly Maid,  
In Courtly France, and Generous England bred.  
Who could set forth both Nations in their dress;  
Their Ceremony, or their State express.  
Blessed with the Honour of a glorious Birth,  
The greatest Happiness, we have on Earth.  
Her Ancestors enjoyed all Earthly Pleasures,  
Being Men of Myriad, and massy Treasures.  
Whose Valour, and sage Prudence, did advance  
Some of them to an Embassy for France.  
Fortunes, and Honours Minions; who by far  
Outstripped Competitors in Peace and War;  
To a Descent so high, and honoured,  
She did obtain, an equal Nuptial Bed;  
Matched with the LOCKHARTS, who in Deed & Word,  
Second to none are, for the Gown, or Sword.  
Scotland (for both) in an Immortal Fame,  
Beyond their worth, shall never sound a Name.  
Being matched so; disdaining to be coy,  
She loosed her Self in labyrinths of joy.  
And lived as merry, as the Youths of Greece,  
When they from Colchos brought the Golden Fleece,  
No Erisycthous Miser, Beggar rich,  
Who have, and have not; cursed with Midas itch.  
Her Heart was satisfied with her Store;  
And did not wretchedly gape, and pine for more.  
A Princess Tongue, and Hand, and Heart had she,  
Harmonious, large, and liberal, and free.  
No Rumour vexed her, she was ne'er so low,  
Nor did she care, what Storms of State could blow.  
Court was her Crime, if any such there be,  
Not being possessed with barbarous Chastity;  
Like that coy, peevish Plant Pudesetan,  
That shrinks at the approach of every Man.  
No, no, no time that Goddess doth record  
That burned the Temple where she was adored.  
Yet all these sugared Pleasure's period have  
In this sad seizure of the loathsome Grave.  
Their Plenty passed reach of Pen, or Tongue,  
And were too great, to have continued long.  
All which upon review, give us to know,  
All Pleasures here have but a painted show.  
N. PATERSON.  
Immodicis brevis est aetas, & rara senectus.  Mart: 
Vsque adeo nulla est sincera voluptas  
Solicitumque aliquid laetis intervenit.  Ovid. 
— Medio de fonte leporum  
Surgit amari aliquid.  Lucret. 
Laetus in praesens animus, quod ultra est  
Oderit curare: & amara laeto  
Temperet risu, nihil est ab omni  
parte beatum.  Horat. 

MEMENTO MORI   skull and crossbones, hourglasses