A consolatory poem to the Right Honourable John, Lord Cutts, upon the death of his most accomplish'd lady by N. Tate ... Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715. 1698 Approx. 12 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 6 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A62857 Wing T179 ESTC R10301 13558559 ocm 13558559 100276 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A62857) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 100276) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 803:4) A consolatory poem to the Right Honourable John, Lord Cutts, upon the death of his most accomplish'd lady by N. Tate ... Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715. [2], 9 p. Printed by R.R. for Henry Playford ..., London : 1698. First edition. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Cutts, Elizabeth Pickering Cutts, -- Baroness, 1678 or 9-1697 -- Poetry. 2002-02 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-02 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-03 TCP Staff (Michigan) Sampled and proofread 2002-03 John Latta Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-04 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A Consolatory Poem To the Right Honourable JOHN Lord Cutts , UPON THE DEATH OF HIS Most Accomplish'd LADY . By N. TATE , Servant to His MAJESTY . Requies quondàm Spesque unica Vitae , Nunc Dolor , aeternusque imo sub Pectore Luctus . Sanaz. Pisc. Ecl. 1. LONDON : Printed by R. R. for Henry Playford in the Temple-Change . MDCXC VIII . A Consolatory Poem To the Right Honourable JOHN Lord Cutts , &c. STretch'd in a lonesome Vale ( where Spring decays , And Nature with Affright her Self surveys ) LYSANDER grieving lay — the Earth his Bed ! Against a mossy Stone he lean'd his Head ; His thoughtful Head , that no Repose admits : Close at his Feet a sighing Cupid sits . Wreaths , Chaplets , Trophies , ( Once the Hero's Care ) With all the glitt'ring Furniture of War , To rust and tarnish on the Ground are left , Beneath a Leafless Oak by Thunder cleft . A pompous Cloud descending from the Hills Like some huge Pageant the broad Valley fills . But now ( with Drums and Trumpets awful Sound The vast Machine unfolding all around ) Behold what glorious Objects are disclos'd ! Celestial Forms to Human View expos'd . Lo ! first the GOD of WAR , with dreadful Grace , As when he thunders on the Plains of Thrace : The blue-ey'd PALLAS leans upon his Arm , And , fiercely Beautiful , makes Terror Charm. The dusky Groves with sudden Lustre shine ; Hark! how the Pow'rs of Harmony combine — 'T is bright APOLLO , with the Tuneful NINE . More Heav'nly Figures still adorn the Plain , The GRACES Mild and VIRTUES Awful Train . BRITANNIA too — On whose Majestick State PEACE , Wreath'd in Palms , and Lawrell'd CONQUEST wait . These Noble Visitants , by IOVE's Command , Condoling round the Mourning Lover stand . Thus ( sternly ) MARS the pensive Silence breaks — ( And shakes the Ground beneath him while he speaks . ) O Fate ! O dismal Change ! who now can trace One Feature of the Warrior in that Face ! Where 's now the sprightly Air , whose radiant Light Through Clouds of Smoke distinguish'd Him in Fight ? Or when , in desp'rate Siege , o'er Bodies pil'd , He brav'd Destruction and on Danger smil'd ? Look up , my Son , see how with Skill Divine Emblazon'd on my Shield , your Actions shine ! Your Hazards , Hardships , Honourable Wounds , With wond'rous Art express'd in narrow Bounds . Death in All Shapes , with still Undaunted Brow , You There Confront — And shall He Triumph Now ? To flitting Winds this killing Sorrow give , And O! for Glory's sake , consent to Live. Resume your Courage , your Heroick Flame , And listen to the chearful Voice of FAME . MINERVA next with stately Mien advanc'd , ( Her Crested Plume in waving Lustre danc'd , And Lightning from her burnish'd Helmet glanc'd . ) While thus the Goddess — — Why this wild Despair ? For short-liv'd Comfort why such endless Care ? Nature sets Limits to the swelling Main , And Sorrow's Tide , at Height , should Ebb again , You have the Tribute of your Tears bestow'd , Whate'er the Husband , Friend , or Lover ow'd . But now , unjustly to your self engross A Grief that shou'd be Publick as the Loss . For Mortals and Immortals , Earth and Skies , Are Sufferers All when Sacred Virtue Dies ! That Heav'nly Worth shou'd have so short a Date , Does just Concern in Deities create , Who therefore mourn your Nymphs untimely Fate . Large was their Int'rest in her Precious Life , But I a Daughter lost , as You a Wife . Said I a Daughter ? — Envy knows 't is True ! Nor only That — She was my Darling too ! To Her my best Endowments I assign'd , And crown'd her Beauty with as Fair a Mind : That Youth's Allurements cou'd , in Youth , despise ; And only Wisdom's Sacred Treasure prize : And reach a Sphere of Knowledge , too sublime For Vanity's Fantastick Wings to climb . Her sparkling Wit , that like her Eyes cou'd shine , Like them did modestly its Beams confine . The Bounds of Decency she ne'er transgress'd ; Yet no Reluctance , no Constraint express'd . To Caution's Self she gave a pleasing Air ; Reserv'd , without the sullen Look of Care. Her temper'd Mirth was like a Morning-Ray , All Mildly Bright , and Innocently Gay . Then what her Serious , what her Sacred Hours ? The Joy and Wonder of Celestial Pow'rs . We charge Thee , Fame , to her Deserts be just , And piously perform the mighty Trust : Let Future Ages read what This admir'd , But never know how Early She expir'd ! For such Perfections in the Bloom of Youth , Will stagger Faith , and cast a Veil on Truth . Thus PALLAS — next , in Accents sweetly faint , The God of Verse address'd his kind Complaint . When Mars and War's lov'd Goddess sue in vain , What can Apollo , and his slighted Train ? Yet , Warrior , call to mind you once were ours : By me conducted to Inspiring Bow'rs ; The Seats of Fancy , and harmonious Pow'rs . To You our Helicon was all expos'd ; The Fields of Wit , without Reserve , disclos'd . But ( more enamour'd on advent'rous Fame ) For Martial Wreaths you did my Bays disclaim ! Yet ( fond her past Endearments to renew ) The Daphne , who from my Embraces flew , To distant Camps and Sieges follow'd You. Ah too unkind — yet still the Muses Care ; Who hither from their blissful Seats repair , Your Griefs to comfort , or at least to share . To share his Griefs indeed , URANIA cries , ( Nor Destiny that wretched Help denies . ) For what can Numbers or melodious Breath , When Harmony it self 's untun'd by Death ! When the sweet Charmer of the Plains is made The Grave's mute Pris'ner , and a silent Shade ! Tyrannick Fates , ingloriously you boast A Conquest , where you have the Triumph lost ; Your Pride must own that with Unvanquish'd Mind Life's dearest Hopes and Blessings she resign'd . Her only Care — No more ! — The Last Farewell Of Dying LOVE no gentle Muse may tell ! Tempestuous Winds that Doleful Tale shou'd bear Far hence , where only Salvages may hear , Far distant from her grieving LOVER's Ear. Let Musick yet her Obsequies deplore ; Perform that Task , and then be heard no more . Pleas'd with the Hint , APOLLO strikes his Lyre , While Thus , in Consort , sung the Tuneful Quire , As Fancy , Grief , and Phoebus did Inspire . Ye Nymphs that in the Groves reside , Or reap the Meadows early Pride , To deck LAURINDA's Marble , bring The Virgin-Beauties of the Spring . Nereids offer There your Shells , Dismantle all your Gawdy Cells , A Tribute to LAURINDA's Shrine ; Your Gems alas too dimly shine ! The Shrine is brighter far than They ; Therefore , Nereids , steal away The Glances of Aurora's Beams , Reflected on the Silver Streams . Holy Vows and chaste Desires Feed the Lamp with Lambent Fires ; Flames that Shine and never Burn , Shou'd only Crown LAURINDA's Urn. Tuneful Sighs , harmonious Groans , Halcyon-Songs , and Turtle-Moans , Only from the Bow'r be heard Where LAURINDA lies Interr'd . Soft as Ev'ning Zephyrs call , Soft as shedding Roses fall . Lo where Hymen's Self appears ! His Nuptial Taper quench'd in Tears , His wither'd Wreath beside him flung : See Cupid too ( his Bow unstrung ) Engraving with a broken Dart ( In Characters of wondrous Art ) The FAIR , the WISE , the VIRTUOUS , and the YOUNG . While thus Enshrin'd her Ashes lye , Her deathless Spirit mounts the Sky ; And has , in solemn State , presented There Ariadne's Crown and Cassiopeia's Chair . Too low , your Heav'n's too low , BRITANNIA cries , My Saint is tow'r'd where never Muse cou'd rise ; And blest with Raptures , more Divine and True Than your Apollo ever gave or knew . Ye Realms of Bliss ( enrich'd at Britain's Cost ) While Gainers There , think what on Earth you lost ! Since Death's rude Hand demolish'd that fair Shrine , See how the VIRTUES and the GRACES pine . O Heav'n-born Piety ! what tender Breast ( Like Her 's ) will make thee now its early Guest ; That Mansion fall'n , ah ! whither wilt thou stray ? Devotion , who shall teach thee now to Pray ? To whom shall Meekness for Protection fly ? To whom shall shiv'ring Charity apply ? To whom shall now her Infant Orphans cry ? See how around her Tomb they take their Stands , And wail , and sob , and wring their little Hands ! Yet Fate this Prospect still of Comfort gives , Their Patroness's bright EXAMPLE lives . This Thought , LYSANDER , shou'd your Griefs subdue , And make your blasted Hopes to bloom anew . Celestial Pow'rs , when your accomplish'd Fair They form'd and finish'd with so nice a Care , To Earth so rich a Treasure never gave For Fates to hoard it in a thankless Grave . Believe not then your Beauteous Saint expir'd , But only to her Native Heav'n retir'd . Mistake not Courtesy for Disregard ; If Life 's a Toil , and Death is Life's Reward , Sure , Nature's Tenderness is most express'd To Those whom Soonest she admits to Rest. I know the Genius of excessive Grief Is to indulge Despair , and shun Relief ; But Heroes from such Frailty shou'd be free ; Have Pity on your Self ; — at least , on Me. Behold how TRIUMPH drops his flagging Wings ; Nor PEACE can taste the Blessings that she brings . You waste My Hours in Sorrow , while on You My Senate calls — My Royal Guardian too ! In WILLIAM's Name our Visit is addrest , His Summons hear , and charm your Griefs to Rest. So Pow'rful , so Inspiring was the Sound Of WILLIAM's Name , it shook the Hills around , And rais'd the Mourning Hero from the Ground . Who now the Bright Assembly did survey With such submissive Looks as seem'd to say — In Duty He his lov'd Despair wou'd quit , And to the Toils of Ioyless Life submit . FINIS .