Poems: by Francis Beaumont, Gent.: Viz. The hermaphrodite. The remedy of love. Elegies. Sonnets, with other poems.

A Funerall Elogie on the Death of the Lady Penelope Clifton.

SInce thou art dead (Clifton) the world may see A certaine end of flesh and bloud in thee; Till then a way was left for man to cry, Flesh may be made so pure, it cannot dye: But now, thy unexpected death doth strike With griefe the better and the worse alike; The good are sad they are not with thee there, The bad have found they must not tarry here. Death, I confesse, 'tis just in thee to try Thy power on us, for thou thy selfe must dye; Thou pay'st but Wages, Death, yet I would know What strange delight thou tak'st to pay them so; When thou com'st face to face thou strik'st us mute, And all our liberty is to dispute With thee behinde thy back, which I will use; If thou hadst brav'ry in thee thou wouldst chuse (Since thou art absolute, and canst controule All things beneath a reasonable soule,) Some look for way of killing; if her day Had ended in a fire, a sword, or sea, Or hadst thou come hid in a hundred yeares To make an end of all her hopes and feares, Or any other way direct to thee Which Nature might esteeme an Enemy, Who would have chid thee? now it shews thy hand Desires to cosin where it might command:

Thou art not prone to kill, but where th'intent Of those that suffer is their nourishment; If thou canst steale into a dish, and creep, When all is still as though into a sleep, And cover thy dry body with a draught, Whereby some innocent Lady may be caught, And cheated of her life, then thou wilt come And stretch thy selfe upon her early Tombe, And laugh, as pleas'd, to shew thou canst devoure Mortality as well by wit as power. I would thou hadst had eyes, or not a Dart, That yet at least, the cloathing of that heart Thou strook'st so spightfully, might have appear'd To thee, and with a Reverence have been fear'd. But since thou art so blind, receive from me Who 'twas on whom thou wrought'st this Tragedy; She was a Lady, who for publique Fame, Never (since she in thy protection came, Who sett'st all living tongues at large) receiv'd A blemish; with her beauty she deceiv'd No man, when taken with it▪ they agree 'Twas Natures fault, when from 'em 'twas in thee. And such her vertue was, that although she Receive as much joy, having pass'd through thee, As ever any did; yet hath thy hate Made her as little better in her state, As ever it did any being here, Shee liv'd with us as if she had been there. Such Ladies thou canst kill no more, but so I give thee warning here to kill no moe; For if thou dost, my pen shall make the rest Of those that live, especially the best, Whom thou most thirstest for, t' abandon all Those fruitlesse things, which thou wouldst have us call

Preservatives, keeping their diet so, As the long-living poore their neighbours do: Then shall we have them long, and they at last Shall passe from thee to hear, but not so fast.

F. B.