MEMENTO MORI
AN ELEGIE On that great Example of Charity and Vertue, The Right Honourable The Countess Dowager of Thanet: Who died on Monday the 14th of August Instant, At the House belonging to that Noble Family in Aldersgate-street.
AS t'other
night perplex'd with
Cares I lay
Wishing th'
arrival of expected day,
I saw the
Stars grown on a sudden
pale,
Heaven
doubly shrouded with a
Mourning-vail;
A doleful
Shreek invaded streight mine ear,
And fill'd my mind with
horrour and with
fear.
Frighted I
rise, and trembling reach the
street,
Where
Throngs of
Poor and
Needy Souls I meet,
Whose
deep-fetch'd Sighs and Joynt-united Cries
Pierced at once my
Heart, and rent the
Skies.
In every Look Symptoms of
Grief I spy,
Too great at first to speak the reason
why.
But when an
Ebb of Sighs allow'd them breath,
They
sadly told me this
Good Lady's Death,
Thanet! whose
liberal Hand and
open Door
Has long time been th'
Exchequer of the
Poor,
The
Publick Ord'nary of helpless Guests,
For whom her Bounty every day made
Feasts:
She! She! is snatch'd away, and we have none
To keep us now, our great
Reliever's gone,
Gone as a-
Pearl drop in the
Main, to get
Which, we may
sink, but not
recover it.
I griev'd to hear the News, and their
Complaint,
And sat me down in Tears my Grief to vent.
For such a worthy Gause there's no excuse,
Sorrow can make a
Verse without a
Muse.
What she did here, by great
Example, well
T'inlive Posterity, her Fame may tell.
Her sweet
obliging Charms, her Courtesie,
Her wary Guards, her wise Simplicity,
Were like a
Ring of Vertues 'bout her set,
And Piety the
Centre where all met.
Though Streams of
Grandeur flow'd in her high
blood,
She before
Great, preferr'd the name of
Good;
Her Life so
Regular, her Vertue such,
Some
commenc'd Saints of old with half so much.
She had a mind as
calm as she was fair,
Not tost or troubled with
fantastick Air.
A
Curl disorder'd, or a
Pin misplac'd,
Could not
disturb the serene Peace that grac'd
Her Soul; nor would she suffer thoughts to fly
Out after
gawdy Toys of Vanity;
But by a solid course, this Conquest got,
To use the world as though she us'd it not.
To say she's now an
Augel, is scarce more
Praise than she
had, for she
seem'd such before.
Whilst
Pilgrimaging here, she stood possest
Of
Heaven in part; for her rich furnisht
breast
Was a fair
Temple, and her
Heart a shrine,
So
purg'd, that she appeared
All-Divine.
You that the World with
Panacaea's vex,
Knew you no succour 'gainst an
Apoplex?
How happens it, that every day we meet
The looser sort of people in the street
From desperate Diseases freed? And why
Can you help them, and suffer her to dy?
Who was all Vertues in
Epitomy.
She in whose Fate the fainting
World sustain'd
A
general Loss, too great to be
regain'd
In after-times: For her
Example wrought
Through each
Degree, and glorious Actions taught
To
all mankinde, whilst they by
Copying her
In each
Relation, learn'd their own
[...].
Beauty and
Modesty mix'd in her
Youth,
And in her
Age D
[...]scretion, Grace, and
Truth.
Her
H
[...] dictated
Humility,
And
Riches did but
feed her
Charity.
How
nobly she dispatch'd each
Scene of Life!
A tender
Mother! a most loving
Wife!
A gracious
Mistriss, an unwearied
Friend!
Whose Love on Fortune's
Smiles did ne're
depend.
Truly
Religious, and in every thing
Fast to the
Church, and
Loyal to her
King.
She having thus
tutor'd the Standers by
So well to
live, now teaches them to
dye.
Nor need we bid her
sleep secure, who know
That
God himself
rock'd her to
sleep below.
Her Soul being sweetly
snatch'd away to Bliss,
As if some
Angel stole it in a
Kiss,
There
mounted high, beyond the
shades of Death,
She draws
pure Joys and Everlasting
Breath,
Whilst here a
generous Odor shall be
fann'd
By soft
perfumed Winds throughout the Land;
Which like
Rich Essence in the locks of Fame,
Shall
stick, and there Embalm her
Deathless Name.
FINIS.
With Allowance,
Aug. 17. 1666.
Ro. L'Estrange.
LONDON: Printed for D. M. 1676. 91.