Poetry Archives

Twice forty months of Wedlock did I stay,
    Then had my vows crown’d with a Lovely boy,
And yet in forty days he dropt away,
    O swift Visissitude of humane joy.

I did but see him and he dis-appear’d,
    I did but pluck the Rose-bud and it fell,
A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely fear’d,
    For ill can mortals their afflictions spell.

And now (sweet Babe) what can my trembling heart
    Suggest to right my doleful fate or thee,
Tears are my Muse and sorrow all my Art,
    So piercing groans must be thy Elogy.

Thus whilst no eye is witness of my mone,
    I grieve thy loss ( Ah boy too dear to live)
And let the unconcerned World alone,
    Who neither will, nor can refreshment give.

An Off’ring too for thy sad Tomb I have,
    Too just a tribute to thy early Herse,
Receive these gasping numbers to thy grave,
    The last of thy unhappy Mothers Verse.