But oh, how woeful, oh, how woeful now,
Will they be made through these sad Funerals!
All pleasing parlies that betwixt you two,
Public or private, have exchanged been,
All thou hast heard him promise for to do,
Or by him in his life performed seen,
Calls on remembrance: the sweet name of Sister,
So oft pronounc'd by him, seems to take place
Of Queen and Empress; now my thoughts do whisper,
Those titles one day shall thy virtues grace.
If I speak true, for his sweet sake that's dead,
Seek how to raise dejected Britain's head.
Thy brother's well, and would not change estates
With any Prince that reigns beneath the sky ;
No, not with all the world's great Potentates:
His plumes have borne him to Eternity.
He reigns o'er *Saturn now, that reign'd o'er him:
He fears no Planet's dangerous aspect,
But doth above their constellations climb,
And earthly joys and sorrows both neglect.
We saw he had his Spring amongst us here;
He saw his Summer, but he skipt it over,
Saturn ruled in the hour of his death.
And Autumn now hath ta'en away our dear; The reason's this, which we may plain discover, He shall escape (for so th' Almighty wills) The stormy Winter of ensuing ills.
I grieve to see the woeful face o' th' Court,
And for each grieved member of the land;
I grieve for those that make these griefs their sport,
And cannot their own evil understand.
I also grieve to see how vices swarm,
And Virtue, as despis'd, grow out of date;
How they receive most hurt that do least harm,
And how poor honest Truth incurreth hate.
But more, much more I grieve that we do miss
The joy we lately had, and that he's gone,
Whose living presence might have helpt all this:
His everlasting absence makes me moan.
Yea, most I grieve that Britain's Hope is fled,
And that her darling, brave Prince Henry's dead.
Prince Henry dead! what voice is that we hear?
Am I awake, or dream I, tell me whether?
If this be true, if this be true, my dear,
Why do I stay behind thee to do either?
Alas! my fate compels me; I must 'bide
To share the mischiefs of this present age:
I am ordain'd to live till I have tried
The very worst and utmost of their rage.
But then, why mourn I not to open view,
In sable robes, according to the rites?
Why is my hat without a branch of yew?
Alas! my mind no compliment delights,
Because my grief, that Ceremony lothes,
Had rather be in heart, than seem in clothes.
Thrice happy had I been, if I had kept
Within the circuit of some little Village,
In ignorance of Courts and Princes slept,
Manuring of an honest half-plough tillage;
Or else I would I were as young again
As when ELIZA, our last Phoenix, died;
My childish years had not conceived then
What 'twas to lose a Prince so dignified.
But now I know ; and what now doth't avail ?
Alas! whilst others, merry, feel no pain,
I melancholy sit alone and wail:
Thus sweetest profit yields the bitter'st gain.
By disobedience we did knowledge get,
And sorrow, ever since, hath follow'd it.
When as the first sad rumour fill'd my ear
Of Henry's sickness, an amazing terror
Struck through my body, with a shuddering fear,
Which I expounded but my frailty's error.
For though a quick misdoubting of the worst
Seem'd to foretel my soul what would ensue,
God will forbid, thought I, that such a curst
Or ill presaging thought should fall out true :
It cannot sink into imagination,
That He whose future glories we may see
To be at least all Europe's expectation,
Should in the prime of age despoiled be;
For if a hope so likely nought avail us,
It is no wonder if all other fail us.
Again, when one had forc'd unto
my ear My Prince was dead; although he much protested, I could not with belief his sad news hear,
But would have sworn and sworn again he jested. At such a word, methought, the town should sink, The earth should down unto the centre cleave, Devouring all in her hell-gaping chink,
And not so much as sea or island leave.
Some comet, or some monstrous blazing star Should have appear'd, or some strange prodigy; Death might have shown't us, though't had been afar, That he intended some such tyranny.
But God (it seemeth) did thereof dislike,
To shew that he will on a sudden strike.
Thus unbelieving, I did oft enquire
Of one, of two, of three, and so of many;
And still I heard what I did least desire,
Yet grounded Hope would give no faith to any.
Then at the last my heart began to fear;
But as I credence to my fears was giving,
A voice of comfort I began to hear,
Which to my fruitless Joy said, Henry's living!
At that same word, my Hope, that was forsaking
My heart, and yielding wholly to despair,
Revived straight, and better courage taking,
Her crazed parts so strongly did repair,
I thought she would have held it out; but vain:
For oh! e'er long, she lost it quite again.
O cruel and insatiable Death!
Would none suffice, would none suffice but he?
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