An Epitaph On The Marchioness Of Winchester
This
rich
Marble
doth
enterr
The
honour'd
Wife
of
Winchester,
A
Vicounts
daughter,
an
Earls
heir,
Besides
what
her
vertues
fair
Added
to
her
noble
birth,
More
then
she
could
own
from
Earth.
Summers
three
times
eight
save
one
She
had
told,
alas
too
soon,
After
so
short
time
of
breath,
To
house
with
darknes,
and
with
death.
Yet
had
the
number
of
her
days
Bin
as
compleat
as
was
her
praise,
Nature
and
fate
had
had
no
strife
In
giving
limit
to
her
life.
Her
high
birth,
and
her
graces
sweet,
Quickly
found
a
lover
meet;
The
Virgin
quire
for
her
request
The
God
that
sits
at
marriage
feast;
He
at
their
invoking
came
But
with
a
scarce-wel-lighted
flame;
And
in
his
Garland
as
he
stood,
Ye
might
discern
a
Cipress
bud.
Once
had
the
early
Matrons
run
To
greet
her
of
a
lovely
son,
And
now
with
second
hope
she
goes,
And
calls
Lucina
to
her
throws;
But
whether
by
mischance
or
blame
Atropos
for
Lucina
came;
And
with
remorsles
cruelty,
Spoil'd
at
once
both
fruit
and
tree:
The
haples
Babe
before
his
birth
Had
burial,
yet
not
laid
in
earth,
And
the
languisht
Mothers
Womb
Was
not
long
a
living
Tomb.
So
have
I
seen
som
tender
slip
Sav'd
with
care
from
Winters
nip,
The
pride
of
her
carnation
train,
Pluck't
up
by
som
unheedy
swain,
Who
onely
thought
to
crop
the
flowr
New
shot
up
from
vernall
showr;
But
the
fair
blossom
hangs
the
head
Side-ways
as
on
a
dying
bed,
And
those
Pearls
of
dew
she
wears,
Prove
to
be
presaging
tears
Which
the
sad
morn
had
let
fall
On
her
hast'ning
funerall.
Gentle
Lady
may
thy
grave
Peace
and
quiet
ever
have;
After
this
thy
travail
sore
Sweet
rest
sease
thee
evermore,
That
to
give
the
world
encrease,
Shortned
hast
thy
own
lives
lease;
Here
besides
the
sorrowing
That
thy
noble
House
doth
bring,
Here
be
tears
of
perfect
moan
Weept
for
thee
in
Helicon,
And
som
Flowers,
and
som
Bays,
For
thy
Hears
to
strew
the
ways,
Sent
thee
from
the
banks
of
Came,
Devoted
to
thy
vertuous
name;
Whilst
thou
bright
Saint
high
sit'st
in
glory,
Next
her
much
like
to
thee
in
story,
That
fair
Syrian
Shepherdess,
Who
after
yeers
of
barrennes,
The
highly
favour'd
Joseph
bore
To
him
that
serv'd
for
her
before,
And
at
her
next
birth
much
like
thee,
Through
pangs
fled
to
felicity,
Far
within
the
boosom
bright
of
blazing
Majesty
and
Light,
There
with
thee,
new
welcom
Saint,
Like
fortunes
may
her
soul
acquaint,
With
thee
there
clad
in
radiant
sheen,
No
Marchioness,
but
now
a
Queen.
