Advice to Mourners Under the Loss of Dear Relations, Elegy 1 – Epitaph
A Pindarique Ode, to the ever glorious Memory of my honoured Aunt, Mrs. Ann Terry, who put on her Immortal Robes, and Incorruptible Crown, March the 16th, 1689. in the 36th Year of her Age.
Stat sua cuique dies: Breve, & irreparabile tempus
Omnibus est Vitae; sed, famam extendere factis,
Hoc Virtutis opus.————Virgil.
Stanza I.
MY melancholy Muse, so ost imploy'd
On the ungrateful Themes of Death,
Hop'd now a Vacancy to have injoy'd,
And for a while t' suspend her mournful Breath.
But, lo! a recent Scene of Grief appears,
Ponderous, overwhelming Grief,
Without Allay, without Relief,
Too great to be express'd by any Poets Tears.
For who amongst the Sons of Harmony
Can give due Praises unto thee?
Or can sufficiently deplore
The Loss of such in vulgar Excellence,
As took its Flight, in thee, from hence,
And will (perhaps) bless the unworthy World no more.
II.
Ah! how unequally does Heaven bestow
Its Favours on poor Mortals here below?
Sometimes it suffers us to be
O'recharg'd with surfeiting Felicity.
Grown big with Ioy, we think our selves secure
Of the much-wish'd-for Blessing; but alas!
We little know how soon from us 'twill pass:
A sudden Metamorphosis
Deprives us of our charming Bliss;
Bliss too Soul-ravishing long to endure:
Else had we not been summoned now by Fate
(With overflowing Eyes)
To sing thy much too early Obsequies,
And Godlike Vertues to commemorate.
III.
From the Illustrious Manton sprung,
(Too great a Theme for my mean Song)
And fit alone for his, who David's glorious Actions so di-
In whom the Graces all conspir'd (vinely sung:
To render him belov'd, admir'd;
Who firmly has enroll'd his Name
In the most durable Records of Fame;
Who with such wondrous Art conjoins
Solidity and Sweetness in his Lines.
Great by thy Birth, yet greater by thy Merit;
Thou didst more of his Worth than Wealth inherit.
Such was thy generous St…k!
Nor didst thou any Lustre thence derive,
Thou didst not back again (wich greater Int…rest) give.
IV.
Thy Spring with Beauties did abound,
With them thy riper Years were crown'd:
Thou all Perfections hadst, and more
Than any of thy Sex before.
The Composition of thy Heavenly Mind,
In which Iudgment, Fancy, and Wit,
Did every one enthroned sit,
Was fra…'d to Vertue, and from Vice refin'd.
A kinder Wife no Husband e're cou'd boast;
A more indulgent Mother never Children lost.
Tender thou wast, to an Hyperbole,
To all thou knew'st in Misery:
So very ready to relieve,
They scarce could ask faster than thou didst give.
Friendship in others but a Name,
A mere Pretence, an empty Sound,
In thee Reality became;
In thee (and scarce in any else) was sound.
Many of Wisdom's Daughters have done well;
But thou (Great Heroine!) didst all excel.
V.
By sharp and long continu'd Pains
To thee this World embitter'd was:
That Chear with which God entertains
Those whom he has appointed to a better Place.
Thither (at length) thou'rt gone; allow'd to be
One of that Heav'nly Royal Society.
Eight lovely Babes before thou sentst from hence,
To take Possession for thee, of thy Bless'd Inheritance.
There dost thou shine in Robes of uncreated Light,
Whose dazling Lustre than the Sun's more bright.
There dost thou with a tuneful Voice,
And more melodious Heart, rejoice:
For ever love, for ever sing
The Praises of thy glorious King.
Yet give us leave, though we congratulate
Thy never-fading Happiness,
And Scenes of unpoluted Bliss,
Our own Loss to regret.
Thou wast so well belov'd, Death's fatal Dart
Wounded ten thousand others when it pierc'd thy Heart.
VI.
Heaven knew thy Worth, and call'd thee hence, lest we
(Too ready to commit Idolatry)
At thy Vertues amaz'd should prostrate fall,
Court the Idea, and contemn the great Original.
Let those aspiring Ones erect a Tomb,
And with a fruitless Cost adorn
Some stately, though decaying, Urn;
Who only great by being buried would become.
Thy Fame, by pure Desert, is rais'd so high,
That 'spight of Time and Fate it shall not die;
But (as it well deserves) live to Eternity.
Sic raptim cecinit. HEN. CUTTS.
Her EPITAPH.
HERE lies (or rather lives) a Saint, whose Worth
No Heraldry's able to blazon forth:
Perfectly fair, as to her outward Form,
But greater Beauties did her Soul adorn:
Good to a Miracle; in Temper even,
Always submissive to the Will of Heaven.
By her own Deeds she most her self commends:
The best of Wives, of Mothers, and of Friends.
Precious in ours, but in her Maker's Eyes
A Pearl of most inestimable Price:
Much too Angelick long on Earth to stay,
To Heaven (her blessed Home) she's flow'n away,
There's her immortal Part; her frailer Dust
Shall have the Resurrection of the Just.
To sum up all her Vertues, this is she
That was what others should, but cannot be.
HENRY CUTTS.