FUNERAL ELEGIES.

ANATOMY OF THE WORLD.

Wherein, by occasion of the untimely death of Mrs. Elizabeth Drury, the frailty and the decay of this whole world is represented.

THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY, ..

To the Praise of the Dead, and the Anatomy.

WELL died the world, that we might live to see

This world of wit in his Anatomie :

No evil wants his good; so wilder heirs

Bedew their fathers' tombs with forced tears,

Whose 'state requites their loss. While thus we gain, Well may we walk in blacks, but not complain.

Yet how can I consent; the world is dead

While this Muse lives? which in his spirit's stead
Seems to inform a world, and bids it be,

In spite of loss or frail mortality.

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And thou the subject of this well-born thought,
Thrice noble Maid! could t not have found nor sought
A fitter time to yield to thy sad fate

Than while this spirit lives that can relate
Thy worth so well to our last nephew's eyne,
That they shall wonder both at his and thine..

Admired match! where strives in mutual grace 2
The cunning pencil and the comely face; voi vdT
A task which thy fair goodness made too muchov
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch, 20
Enough it is to praise them that praise thee,
And say that but enough those praises be,
Which, hadst thou liv'd, had hid their fearful head
From th' angry checkings of thy modest red.
Death bars reward and shame; when envy 's gone
And gain, 'tis safe to give the dead their own.
As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay
More on their tombs than houses, these of clay,
But those of brass or marble were; so we
Give more unto thy ghost than unto thee.
Yet what we give to thee thou gav'st to us,
And may'st but thank thyself for being thus:
Yet what thou gav'st and wert, O happy maid!
Thy grace profess'd all due where 'tis repaid.
So these high songs that to thee suited bin,
Serve but to sound thy Maker's praise and thine,
Which thy dear soul as sweetly sings to him,
Amid the choir of saints and seraphim,
As any angel's tongue can sing of thee;
The subjects differ, tho' the skill agree;
For as by infant years men judge of age,
Thy early love thy virtues did presage

What high part thou bear'st in those best of songs,
Whereto no burden nor no end belongs.

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Sing on, thou virgin soul! whose lossful gain
Thy love-sick parents have bewail'd in vain ;
Never may thy name be in songs forgot
Till we shall sing thy ditty and thy note.

AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD.

THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY.

WHEN that rich soul, which to her heav'n is gone,
Whom all do celebrate who know they 'ave one,
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless

It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,

And by deeds praise it? he who doth not this
May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his)
When that queen ended here her progress time,
And as t' her standing house to heav'n did climb,
Where, loth to make the saints attend her long,
She's now a part both of the choir and song:
This world in that great earthquake languished,
For in a common bath of tears it bled,
Which drew the strongest vital spirits out,
But succour'd them with a perplexed doubt
Whether the world did lose or gain in this;
(Because since now no other way there is
But goodness, to see her whom all would see,
All must endeavour to be good as she), né a
This great consumption to a fever turn'd,
And so the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd;
Volume III.

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And as men think that agues phthysic are,
And th' ague being spent give over care;
So thou, sick world! mistak'st thyself to be
Well, when, alas! thou'rt in a lethargie. V

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Her death did wound and tame thee then, and then “11
Thou migh'st have better spar'd the sun or man. *
That wound was deep; but 'tis more misery
That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.
'Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan;
But this is worse that thou art speechless grown.
Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast
Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast;"
For as a child kept from the font until
A prince, expected long, come to fulfil
The ceremonies, thou unnam'd hadst laid,
Had not her coming thee her palace made:
Her name defin'd thee, gave thee form and frame,
And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name.

Some months she hath been dead, (but being dead,
Measures of time are all determined)

But long she' hath been away, long, long; yet none
Offers to tell us who it is that 's gone.

But as in states doubtful of future heirs,
When sickness without remedy impairs

The present prince, they 're loth it should be said
The prince doth languish, or the prince is dead;
So mankind, feeling now a general thaw,
A strong example gene, equal to law,

The cement, which did faithfully compact

And give all virtues, now resolv'd and slack'd,
Thought it some blasphemy' to say she was dead,
Or that our weakness was discovered

In that confession; therefore spoke no more
Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore.
But tho it be too late to succour thee,

Sick World yea dead, yea putrified; since she,
Thy intrinsic balm and thy preservative,

Can never be renew'd, thou never live;

I (since no man can make thee live ;) will try
What we may gain by thy Anatomy.

Her death hath taught us, dearly, that thou art
Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part,
Let no man say, the world itself being dead,
'Tis labour lost to have discovered

The world's infirmities, since there is none
Alive to study this dissection:

For there's a kind of world remaining still,
Tho' she, which did inanimate and fill

The world, be gone, yet in this last long night

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Her ghost doth walk, that is, a glimmering light, n.70 A faint weak love of virtue and of good

Reflects from her on them which understood

Her worth; and tho' she have shut in

all day,

The twilight of her memory doth stay,
2009 T
Which, from the carcass of the old world free,e
Creates a new world, and new creatures be
Donne.]

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