AN ELEGY UPON The most Pious and Incomparable PRINCESS, MARY Queen of ENGLAND, &c. WHO Departed this Mortal Life, on Friday the 28th of December, at Kensington. 1694.
'TIs true—when death, Fate's Minister does call,
Princes and Clowns without distinction fall:
No bribes can make the ravenous Tyrant stay,
Nor both the
Indies purchase one poor Day.
This Weeping
Albion to her Sorrow knows,
And this the present sad Occasion shows;
Mary our Nation's late Delight and Pride,
In whom all Charms triumphantly did ride,
With every Grace, and every Virtue crown'd,
Now mixt Alas! in common Dust is found.
Weep
British Ladies, Weep around her Herse,
And for each Muse attend with tributary Verse;
Let the pale Sun retire behind a Cloud,
And swelling Tides proclaim our Griefs aloud,
For
Mary universal Nature Mourn,
And bid the flatt'ring Spring no more return.
Oh! if we might of Heavens Decrees complain,
Why does it suffer
Gallia's Scourge to reign?
Why does it tamely spare that Bird of Prey,
And take its best-lov'd Workmanship away?
What monstrous Crimes has guilty
Britain nurst,
That it is thus emphatically curst?
None sure that ere the Regal Ensigns bore,
Lowd of Perfections claim a greater store.
Amidst the gay Temptations of the Court,
Where gaudy Toys, and Vanities resort,
She between Acts of Charity and Prayer,
The fleeting Minutes equally did share.
Sincere Devotion with her beauteous Train,
Fill'd all her Heart, and in her Breast did reign;
No vain Desires, nor guilty Thoughts prest in,
All was Serene without, and Calm within,
While Mighty
Nassau yearly crost the Seas,
To purchase
Europe's Liberty and Ease,
While He his Sacred Person did expose
To treacherous Bullets, and more treacherous Foes.
Mary at home the gentle Scepter sway'd,
Her mild Commands the Factious Herd obey'd,
And Homage to her Conquering Goodness pay'd.
Men by Her Looks, and by Her Virtues charm'd
The
Hydra of its
Sting was soon disarm'd.
Affrighted Vice retir'd at Her Command,
Sunk to the Shades below, and left the Land.
A golden Race of Years began to smile
And Peace and Plenty crown'd our happy Isle.
Oh, who would not dissolve away in Tears,
To lose the Partner of his Joys and Cares,
In Youth's gay Pride, and in Her Blooming Years,
But
William don't too long indulge thy Grief,
But from thy Faithful Senate take relief;
By the whole Isle Thy Cause will be embrac'd,
For Thy own sake, and for the Saint deceas'd.
EPITAPH.
UNder this Marble Urn a Princess lies,
Gracious and Good, Chast, Merciful and Wise.
Since Great
Eliza. left the
British Throne,
No
Queen did e'er such great Perfections own;
England and
Holland she by turns did grace,
The Joy, Delight and Soul of every place
To Her for refuge Wretches did resort,
In her fair Breast the Graces kept their Court:
Her Sexes Pattern, Ornament and Pride,
In Pious Acts each precious Hour employ'd,
The City's sole Delight, the Country's Care
Her Royal
Hero's burthen helpt to bear,
Humble tho' Great, and Innocent tho' Fair:
The Church's Pillar, and the Poor's Relief,
Britain's late Pride, but now her only Grief.
LONDON: Printed by Richard Smith, at the Blue-Ball in Thames-street, over against Baynard's-Castle. 1694.