But 'tis no matter; we may well allownork buen volk
Verse to live so long as the world will now,

For her death wounded it. The world containsid
Princes for arms, and counsellors for brains; 16 52
Lawyers for tongues, divines for hearts, and more;"
The rich for stomachs, and for back's the poor;
The officers for hands; merchants for feet,
By which remote and distant countries meet:
But those fine spirits which do tune and set
This organ, are those pieces which beget
Wonder and love, and these were she; and she
Being spent, the world must needs decrepit be:
For since Death will proceed to triumph still,
He can find nothing after her to kill,
Except the world itself; so great was she,
Thus brave and confident may Nature be;
Death cannot give her such another blow,
Because she cannot such another show.

30

But must we say she's dead? May 't not be said, ཝོ ། ཏཉྩ ཙི ཙ
That as a sunder'd clock is piece-meallaid, Textov NĂ
Not to be lost, but by the maker's hand
Repolish'd, without error then to stand

Or as the Afric Niger stream enwombs via Apeis

Itself into the earth, and after comes

(Having first made a natural bridge, to pass For many leagues) far greater than it was,

May 't not be said that her grave shall restore #nga!
Her greater, purer,` firmer, than be

before

we.

Heav'n may say this, and joy in't; but can Wiso15

Vuoda

ri wok

60

Who live and lack her here, this 'vantage see? 10
What is't to us, alas! if there have
An angel made a throne or cherubin ?
nwnda nemo 59
We lose by't; and as aged men are glad,
Being tasteless grown, to joy in joys they had,
So now the sick-stary'd world must feed upon
This joy, that we had her who now is gone.
Rejoice then, Nature and this world, that you,
Fearing the last fire's hast'ning to subdue
Your force and vigour ere it were near gone,
Wisely bestow'd and laid it all on one;
One whose clear body was so pure and thin,
Because it need disguise no thought within,
'Twas but a thro'-light scarf her mind t'enroll
Or exhalation breath'd out from her soul;
One whom all men, who durst no more, admir'd,
And whom whoe'er had worth enough desir'd.
As when a temple's built saints emulate
To which of them it shall be consecrate:
But as when heav'n looks on us with new eyes,
Those new stars every artist exercise;
What place they should assign to them they doubt,
Argue, and agree not, till those stars go out;
So the world study'd whose this piece should be,
Till she can be no body's else, nor she;
But like a lamp of balsamum, desir'd
Rather t t'adorn than last, she soon expir'd,

23 78

70

Cloath'd in her virgin-white integrity;
For marriage, tho' it doth not stain, doth die."
To 'scape the infirmities which wait upon
Woman, she went away before she was one;"
And the world's busy noise to overcome,
Took so much death as serv'd for opium;
For tho' she could not, nor could chuse to die,
She' hath yielded to too long an ecstasy.

He which, not knowing her sad history,
Should come to read the book of Destiny,
How fair and chaste, humble and high, she' had been
Much promis'd, much perform'd, at not fifteen;
And measuring future things by things before,
Should turn the leaf to read, and read no more,
Would think that either Destiny mistook,
Or that some leaves were torn out of the book:
But 'tis not so: Fate did but usher her

To years of reason's use, and then infer
Her destiny to' herself, which liberty

She took, but for thus much, thus much to die :
Her modesty not suffering her to be
Fellow-commissioner with Destinie,

She did no more but die. If after her
Any shall live which dare true good prefer,
Every such person is her delegate,

90

99

T'accomplish that which should have been her fate;
They shall make up that book, and shall have thanks
Of Fate and her for filling up their blanks;

we.

you,

Heav'n may say this, and joy in't; but can wo
Who live and lack her here, this 'vantage see is 10
What is't to us, alas! if there have been
An angel made a throne or cherubin ?a
We lose by't; and as aged men are glad,
Being tasteless grown, to joy in joys they had
So now the sick-stary'd world must feed upon
This joy, that we had her who now is gone.
Rejoice then, Nature and this world, that y
Fearing the last fire's hast'ning to subdue
Your force and vigour ere it were near gone,
Wisely bestow'd and laid it all on one;
One whose clear body was so pure and thin,
Because it need disguise no thought within,
'Twas but a thro'-light scarf her mind t'enroll W
Or exhalation breath'd out from her soul;
One whom all men, who durst no more, admir'd,
And whom whoe'er had worth enough desir'd.
As when a temple's built saints emulate

To which of them it shall be consecrate:

60

But as when heav'n looks on us with new eyes,:
Those new stars every artist exercise;

What place they should assign to them they doubt,
Argue, and agree not, till those stars go out;
So the world study'd whose this piece should be,

Till she can be no body's else, nor she;

But like a lamp of balsamum, desir'd

Raiher t'adorn, than last, she soon expir'd,

70

Cloath'd in her virgin-white integrity;

For marriage, tho' it doth not stain, doth die, o
To 'scape the infirmities which wait upon

Woman, she went away before she was one;
And the world's busy noise to overcome,
Took so much death as serv'd for opium;
For tho' she could not, nor could chuse to die,
She' hath yielded to too long an ecstasy.

He which, not knowing her sad history,
Should come to read the book of Destiny,

80

How fair and chaste, humble and high, she' had been
Much promis'd, much perform'd, at not fifteen;
And measuring future things by things before,
Should turn the leaf to read, and read no more,
Would think that either Destiny mistook,
Or that some leaves were torn out of the book;
But 'tis not so; Fate did but usher her
To years of reason's use, and then infer
Her destiny to herself, which liberty

She took, but for thus much, thus much to die :
Her modesty not suffering her to be
Fellow-commissioner with Destinie,

She did no more but die. If after her
Any shall live which dare true good prefer,
Every such person is her delegate,

90

99

T'accomplish that which should have been her fate; They shall make up that book, and shall have thanks Of Fate and her för filling up their blanks;