IDENTILIN$$ F14600F|Sorrow|1654|sigs.S3r-v,pp.261-62 (CSmH,CtY) 146.00F.0HE %1Elegie on the L.C.%2 [S3] 146.00F.001 S%+Orrow, that to this house scarce knew the way, 146.00F.002 Is, Oh, heire of it, our All is his prey, 146.00F.003 This strange chance claims strange wonder, & to us 146.00F.004 Nothing can be so strange, as to weep thus; 146.00F.005 'Tis well his lifes loud speaking workes deserve, 146.00F.006 And give praise too, our cold to%Mgues could not serve: 146.00F.007 'Tis well, he kept teares from our eyes before, 146.00F.008 That to fit this deep ill, we might have store. 146.00F.009 Oh, if a sweet bryer climbe up by a tree, 146.00F.010 If to a paradise that transplanted be, 146.00F.011 Or fell'd, and burnt for holy sacrifice, 146.00F.012 Yet, that must wither, which by it did rise, 146.00F.013 As we for him dead: though no family 146.00F.014 Ere rigg'd a soule for heavens discovery 146.00F.015 With whom more Venturers more boldly dare 146.00F.016 Venture their states, with him in joy to share, 146.00F.017 We lose what all friends lov'd, him, he gaines now 146.00F.018 But life by death, which worst foes would allow, 146.00F.019 If he could have foes, in whose practise grew 146.00F.020 All vertues, whose name subtle Schoolemen knew; 146.00F.021 What ease, can hope that we shall see 'him, beget, 146.00F.022 When we must die first, and cannot die yet? 146.00F.023 His children are his pictures, Oh they be 146.00F.024 Pictures of him dead, senselesse, cold as he. [CW:Here] 146.00F.025 Here needs no marble Tombe, since he is gone, [S3v] 146.00F.026 He, and about him, his, are turn'd to stone. 146.00F.0SS om 146.00F.0$$