IDENTILIN$$  F14600C|Sorrow|1639|sig.S5v,p.274 (CtY,MH,MiU)
146.00C.0HE  %1Elegie on the L.C.%2 [S5v]
146.00C.001  S%+Orrow, who to this house scarce knew the way:
146.00C.002  Is, Oh, heire of it, our All is his prey,
146.00C.003  This strange chance claims strange wonder, & to us
146.00C.004  Nothing can be so strange, as to weep thus;
146.00C.005  'Tis well his lifes loud speaking workes deserve,
146.00C.006  And give praise too, our cold to%Mgues could not serve:
146.00C.007  'Tis well, he kept teares from our eyes before,
146.00C.008  That to fit this deepe ill, we might have store.
146.00C.009  Oh, if a sweet bryar, climbe up by a tree,
146.00C.010  If to a paradise that transplanted bee,
146.00C.011  Or fell'd, and burnt for holy sacrifice,
146.00C.012  Yet, that must wither, which by it did rise,
146.00C.013  As we for him dead:  though no family
146.00C.014  Ere rigg'd a soule for heavens discoverie
146.00C.015  With whom more Venturers more boldly dare
146.00C.016  Venture their states, with him in joy to share,
146.00C.017  We lose what all friends lov'd, him, he gaines now
146.00C.018  But life by death, which worst foes would allow,
146.00C.019  If he could have foes, in whose practise grew
146.00C.020  All vertues, whose name subtle Schoolemen knew;
146.00C.021  What ease, can hope that we shall see 'him, beget,
146.00C.022  When we must die first, and cannot die yet?
146.00C.023  His children are his pictures, Oh they bee
146.00C.024  Pictures of him dead, senselesse, cold as he,
146.00C.025  Here needs no marble Tombe, since he is gone,
146.00C.026  He, and about him, his, are turn'd to stone.   
146.00C.0SS  %1The end of Funerall Elegies.%2 [CW:L#E#T#T#E#R#S.]
146.00C.0$$