COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 57 �By WEYMOUTH, it shou'd be in time possest, 30 �And strove to suit the Mansion to the Guest.) �Nor favour' d, nor disgrac'd, there ESSEX sleeps, �Nor SOMERSET his Master's Sorrows weeps, �Who to the shelter of th' unenvy'd Grave �Convey'd the Monarch, whom he cou'd not save; �Though, Roman-like, his own less-valu'd Head �He proffer'd in that injur'd Martyr's stead. �Nor let that matchless Female 'scape my Pen, �Who their Whole Duty taught to weaker Men, �And of each Sex the Two best Gifts enjoy'd 40 �The Skill to write, the Modesty to hide ; �Whilst none shou'd that Performance disbelieve, �Who led the Life, might the Directions give. �With such as These, whence He deriv'd his Blood, �Great on Record, or eminently Good, �Let Him be laid, till Death's long Night shall cease, �And breaking Glory interrupt the Peace. �Mean-while, ye living Parents, ease your Grief �By Tears, allow'd as Nature's due Relief. �For when we offer to the Pow'rs above, 50 �Like You, the dearest Objects of our Love ; �When, with that patient Saint in Holy Writ, �We've learnt at once to Grieve, and to Submit ; �When contrite Sighs, like hallow'd Incense, rise �Bearing our Anguish to th' appeased Skies ; �Then may those Show'rs, which take from Sorrow birth, �And still are tending tow'rd this baleful Earth, �O'er all our deep and parching Cares diffuse, �Like Eden's Springs, or Hermanns soft'ning Dews. �But lend your Succours, ye Almighty Pow'rs, 60 �For as the Wound, the Balsam too is Yours. �In vain are Numbers, or persuasive Speech, �What Poets write, or what the Pastors teach, ��� �
