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And in his Garland as he stood,
A pesar sd 373H
sit To greet her of a lovely Son, And now with second hope the goes, And calls Lucing to her throws; But whether by mischance or blame Apropos for Lucina came; And with remorseless cruelty Spoii'd at once both fruit and tree: The haplefs Babe before his birth Had burial, yet not laid in earth, And the languifht Mother's Womb Was not long a living Tomb. So have I seen some tender lip Sav'd with care from Winter's nip, The pride of her carnation train, Pluck'd up by some unheedy (wain, who only thought to crop the flow's New shot up from vernal fow'r; But the fair bloffom hangs the head Side-ways, as on a dying bed, And those Pearls of dew he wears, Trove to be presaging tears Which the sad morn had let fall On her haft’ning Funeral. Gentle Lady, may thy grave Peace and quiet ever have; After this thy travel sore Sweet rest seise thee evermore,
That to give the World encrease,
se Shortned hast thy own life's lease; nuit. 9.3.2013 Here, besides the sorrowing That thy noble House doth bring, Here be tears of perfect moan Wept for thee in Helicon, And some Flowers, and some Bays, For thy Herse, to strew the ways, Toy for Sent thee from the banks of Came, Devoted to thy virtuous name; Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fit'& in glory, Next her much like to thee in story, That fair Syrian Shepherdess, Who after years of barrenness. The highly favour'd 7oseph, bore To him that serv'd for her before, And at her next birth, much like thee, Through pangs Aed to felicity, Far within the boosom bright Of blazing Majesty and Light, There with thee, new welcom Saint, Like fortunes may her foul acquaint, With thee there clad in radiant fheen, No Marchioness, but now a Queen.
SON G. On May Morning. Now. the bright morning Star, Day's
The Flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
Hail' bounteous May that doft inspire
Hill and Dale doth boaft thy blessing.
On SHAKESPEAR. 1630.
The labour of an age in piled Stones, [Benes; Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid ? Dear Son of memory, great heir of Fame, What need’It thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Haft built thy self a live-long Monument. For whilft to th' Mame of low-endeavouring art Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Book, Those Delphick lines with deep impreson took, Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving, Doft make us Marble with too much conceiving; And fo Sepulcher'd in such pomp doft lie, That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.