Sonnet II (Boothby)
Why died I not before that fatal morn,
That thunder'd in mine ears, "Thy Child is gone;
"Thy Joys are fled to Heaven; thy hope is done;
"And thy few days to come are all forlorn!"
Why, when the stroke, too heavy to be borne,
Had smote affrighted Reason from her throne,
And life's chill power suspended; why, too soon,
Did the warm current to its course return!
Twice twenty summer suns had roll'd away,
And seen my hours a clear smooth surface flow;
Prepared already nature's debt to pay;
Scarce would my head have shrunk beneath the blow.
Why now, in misery, do I lingering stay,
While happiness foregone but mocks my woe?