| |
| THIS rich marble doth inter | |
| The honoured wife of Winchester, | |
| A viscount’s daughter, an earl’s heir, | |
| Besides what her virtues fair | |
| Added to her noble birth, | 5 |
| More than she could own from earth. | |
| Summers three times eight save one | |
| She had told; alas! too soon, | |
| After so short time of breath, | |
| To house with darkness and with death! | 10 |
| Yet, had the number of her days | |
| Been as complete as was her praise, | |
| Nature and Fate had had no strife | |
| In giving limit to her life. | |
| Her high birth and her graces sweet | 15 |
| Quickly found a lover meet; | |
| The virgin quire for her request | |
| The god that sits at marriage-feast; | |
| He at their invoking came, | |
| But with a scarce well-lighted flame; | 20 |
| And in his garland, as he stood, | |
| Ye might discern a cypress-bud. | |
| Once had the early Matrons run | |
| To greet her of a lovely son, | |
| And now with second hope she goes, | 25 |
| And calls Lucina to her throes; | |
| But, whether by mischance or blame, | |
| Atropos for Lucina came, | |
| And with remorseless cruelty | |
| Spoiled at once both fruit and tree. | 30 |
| The hapless babe before his birth | |
| Had burial, yet not laid in earth; | |
| And the languished mother’s womb | |
| Was not long a living tomb. | |
| So have I seen some tender slip, | 35 |
| Saved with care from Winter’s nip, | |
| The pride of her carnation train, | |
| Plucked up by some unheedy swain, | |
| Who only thought to crop the flower | |
| New shot up from vernal shower; | 40 |
| But the fair blossom hangs the head | |
| Sideways, as on a dying bed, | |
| And those pearls of dew she wears | |
| Prove to be presaging tears | |
| Which the sad morn had let fall | 45 |
| On her hastening funeral. | |
| Gentle Lady, may thy grave | |
| Peace and quiet ever have! | |
| After this thy travail sore, | |
| Sweet rest seize thee evermore, | 50 |
| That, to give the world encrease, | |
| Shortened hast thy own life’s lease! | |
| Here, besides the sorrowing | |
| That thy noble House doth bring, | |
| Here be tears of perfect moan | 55 |
| Wept for thee in Helicon; | |
| And some flowers and some bays | |
| For thy hearse, to strew the ways, | |
| Sent thee from the banks of Came, | |
| Devoted to thy virtuous name; | 60 |
| Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt’st in glory, | |
| Next her, much like to thee in story, | |
| That fair Syrian Shepherdess, | |
| Who, after years of barrenness, | |
| The highly-favoured Joseph bore | 65 |
| To him that served for her before, | |
| And at her next birth, much like thee, | |
| Through pangs fled to felicity, | |
| Far within the bosom bright | |
| Of blazing Majesty and Light: | 70 |
| There with thee, new-welcome Saint, | |
| Like fortunes may her soul acquaint, | |
| With thee there clad in radiant sheen, | |
| No Marchioness, but now a Queen. | |
| |
