Poems, &c. By James Shirley.

An Elegie upon the honourable, fair, and vertuous M. Borlase.

COme hither Virgins that are good, and fair, Insteed of flowers, here carelesse strew your hair, Pay down the tribute due from all your eyes, For underneath this dewy Marble lies One, worth you all; although you cannot make Her live again, 'tis justice for her sake To weep your selves blind, for in vain you keep Your eye-sight, while Marya's gone to sleep, That was your path and Leader: but away, You are but common mourners, for this day, Hid in a storm of tears doth wait the name Of great Borlase, wounded, and led by fame. The mist is blown away, I see it come With temper'd hast to look into her Tomb To find an arme, which from his body rent, Does lie enbalmd in this white monument: Forbear chief mourner, and consent to be Without this limb, more must be torne from thee, And kept by death, till the whole body meet, And sleep together in one winding sheet.