AT A

SOLEMN MUSICK.

BLEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heaven's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce;
And to our high-rais'd phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne
To him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee;
Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row,
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow;
And the cherubick host, in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly :

That we on earth, with undiscording voice,
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din

Broke the fair musick that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To his celestial consort us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light!

AN

EPITAPHI

ON THE

MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

THIS rich marble doth inter
The honour'd wife of Winchester,

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,

Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

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.
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,

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;
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
And calls Lucina to her throes;

goes,

But, whether by mischance or blame, Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree: The hapless babe, before his birth, Had burial, yet not laid in earth; And the languish'd mother's womb Was not long a living tomb.

So have I seen some tender slip,
Sav'd with care from winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain,
Who only thought to crop the flower
New shot up from vernal shower;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew, she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears,

Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hastening funeral.

AN

EPITAPHI

ON THE

MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

THIS rich marble doth inter
The honour'd wife of Winchester,

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

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.

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,

Quickly found a lover meet;

The virgin quire for her request

The God that sits at marriage feast;