I What doleful crys are these that fright my sence, Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence? The killing Accents now more near Aproach, And the Infectious Sound, 5 Spreads and Inlarges all around; And does all Hearts with Grief and Wonder touch. The famous Grinhil dead! even he, That cou’d to us give Immortalitie; Is to the Eternal silent Groves withdrawn, 10 Those sullen Groves of Everlasting Dawn; Youthful as Flowers, scarce blown, whose opening Leaves, A wond’rous and a fragrant Prospect gives, Of what it’s Elder Beauties wou’d display, When they should flourish up to ripning May. 15 Witty as Poets, warm’d with Love and Wine, Yet still spar’d Heaven and his Friend, For both to him were Sacred and Divine: Nor could he this no more then that offend. Fixt as a Martyr where he friendship paid, 20 And Generous as a God, Distributing his Bounties all abroad; And soft and gentle as a Love-sick Maid. II Great Master of the Noblest Mysterie, That ever happy Knowledge did inspire; 25 Sacred as that of Poetry, And which the wond’ring World does equally admire. Great Natures work we do contemn, 43 When on his Glorious Births we meditate: The Face and Eies, more Darts receiv’d from him, 30 Then all the Charms she can create. The Difference is, his Beauties do beget In the inamour’d Soul a Vertuous Heat: While Natures Grosser Pieces move, In the course road of Common Love: 35 So bold, yet soft, his touches were; So round each [part,] so sweet and fair. That as his Pencil mov’d men thought it prest, The Lively imitating rising Breast, Which yield like Clouds, where little Angels rest: 40 The Limbs all easy as his Temper was; Strong as his Mind, and manly too; Large as his Soul his fancy was, and new: And from himself he copyed every Grace, For he had all that cou’d adorn a Face, 45 All that cou’d either Sex subdue. III Each Excellence he had that Youth has in its Pride, And all Experienc’d Age cou’d teach, At once the vigorous fire of this, And every vertue which that cou’d Express. 50 In all the heights that both could reach; And yet alas, in this Perfection di’d. Dropt like a Blossom with the Northern blast, (When all the scatter’d Leaves abroad were cast;) As quick as if his fate had been in hast: 55 So have I seen an unfixt Star, Out-shine the rest of all the Numerous Train, As bright as that which Guides the Marriner, Dart swiftly from its darken’d Sphere: And nere shall sight the World again. IV 60 Ah why shou’d so much knowledge die! Or with his last kind breath, Why cou’d he not to some one friend bequeath The Mighty Legacie! But ’twas a knowledge given to him alone, 4465 That his eternis’d Name might be Admir’d to all Posteritie, By all to whom his grateful Name was known. Come all ye softer Beauties, come; Bring Wreaths of Flowers to deck his tomb; 70 Mixt with the dismal Cypress and the Yew, For he still gave your Charmes their due: And from the injuries of Age and Time, Preserv’d the sweetness of your Prime: And best knew how t’ adore that Sweetness too; 75 Bring all your Mournful Tributes here, And let your Eyes a silent sorrow wear, Till every Virgin for a while become; Sad as his Fate, and like his Picture’s Dumb.