Madagascar; with Other Poems/To the Countesse of Carlile, on the death of the Earle her Husband

by William Davenant

 

To the Countesse of
Carlile, on the death of
the Earle her Husband.

This Cypresse folded here, in steed of Lawne,
These Tapers winking, and these Curtaines drawne;
What may they meane? unlesse to qualifie
And check the lusture of your Eyes, you'll trie
To honour darknesse, and adorne the Night,
So strive, thus with your Lord, to bury Light.
Call back, your absent Beauties to your care,
Though clouded, and conceal'd, wee know you are
The Morning's early'st Beame, life of the Day,
The Ev'ns last comfort, and her parting Ray!
But why these Teares, that give him no reliefe,
For whom you waste the virtue of your griefe?
Such, as might be prescrib'd the Earth, to drinke
For cure of her old Curse; Teares, you would thinke
Too rich to water (if you knew their price)
The chiefest Plant deriv'd from Paradise.
But O! where is a Poets faith? how farre
We are miss-led? how false we Lords of Numbers are?
Our Love, is passion, our Religion, rage!
Since, to secure that mighty heritage
Entail'd upon the Bay, see, how I strive
To keepe the glory of your looks alive;
And to perswade your gloomy Sorrows thence;
As subt'ly knowing, your kind influence
Is all the pretious Stock, left us t'inspire,
And feed the flame, of our eternall fire.
But I recant: 'Tis fit you mourne a while,
And winke, untill you darken all this Isle;
More fit, the Bay should wither too, and be
Quite lost, than he depriv'd your obsequie:
He that was once your Lord; who strove to get
That title, cause nought else, could make him great;
A stile, by which his name he did preferre
To have a day, i'th Poets Kalender.
His youth was gentle, and dispos'd to win,
Had so much courtship in't, 'twas his chiefe sin;
Yet sure, although his courtship knew the way
To conquer Beauty; it did ne're betray.
When wise with yeares, these soft affaires did cease:
He whisper'd War abroad, then brought home Peace.
He was supreme Ambassador, and went
To be that Prince, whom Leigers but present;
And soone with easie ceremonies got,
What they did lose with care, and a deepe plot:
Cheerefull his age; not tedious or severe,
Like those, who being dull, would grave appeare;
Whose guilt, made them the soule of Mirth despise,
And being sullen, hope men thinke them wise:
Yet he that kept his Virtues from decay,
Had that about him needs must weare away:
The daily less'ning of our life, shews by
A little dying, how out-right to die:
Observe the Morning, Noone, and Evening Sunne:
Then (Madam) you that saw his Hou'r-glasse runne,
In wiser faith, will not be more opprest
To see the last sand fall, than all the rest.