Epistle LV. On the Kings Death

What means this sadness? why does every eye
Wallow in tears? what makes the lowring sky
Look clouded thus with sighs? is it because
The great Defender of the Faith and Laws,
Is sacrificed to the barbarous rage,
Of those prodigious Monsters of our age?
A prey to the insatiate will of those
That are the Kings and Kingdoms cursed foes!
'Tis true, there's cause enough each eye should be
a Torrent, and each man a Niobe,
To see a wise, just, valiant, temperate man
Should leave the World, who either will or can
Abstain from grief? To see a Father dye,
And his half-self, and Orphans weeping by:
To see a Master dye, and leave a State
Unsetled, and Usurpers gape to ha't.
To see a King dissolve to's mother dust,
And leave his headless Kingdome to the lust,
And the ambitious wills of such a rout,
Which work its end, to bring their own about;
'Tis cause of sorrow; but to see thee slain,
Nay murdred too, makes us grive o'r again:
But to be kill'd by Servants, or by Friends;
This will raise such a grief as never ends:
And yet we find he that was all these things,
And more, the best of Christians and of Kings,
Suffer'd all this and more, whose sufferings stood
So much more great then these, as he more good.

Yet 'tis a vain thing to lament our loss;
Continued mourning adds but cross to cross.
What's past can't be recall'd; our sadness may
Drive us to him, but can't bring him away;
Nor can a Kingdomes cries re-state the Crown
Upon his head, which their sins tumbled down.
Rest then my soul, and be contented in
Thy share of sufferings, as well as sin:
I see no cause of wonder in all this,
But still expect such fruits of wickedness.
Kings are but Earth refin'd; and he that wears
A Crown, but loads himself with griefs and fears:
The World it self to its first nothing tends;
And things that had beginnings, must have ends.
Those glorious lamps of Heav'n, that give us light,
Must at the last dissolve to darkness quite.
If the Coelestial Architectures go
To dissolution, so must earthy too.
If ruine seize on the vast frame of nature,
The little World must imitate the greater:
I'll put no trust in wealth, for I do see
Fate can take me from it, or it from me:
Trust not in honour, 'tis but peoples cry,
Who'll soon throw down what e'r they mounted high:
Nor trust in friends; he that's now hedg'd about,
In time of need can hardly find one out:
Nor yet in strength or power; for sin will be
The desolation of my strength and me:
Nor yet in Crowns and Kingdomes; who has all,
's expos'd to a heavy though a royal fall.
Nor yet in wisdome, policy, or wit;
It cannot keep me harmless, or I it:
He that had all man could attain unto,
He that did all that wit or power could do;
Or grace or virtue prompt, could not avoid
That sad and heavy load our sins have laid
Upon his innocent and sacred Head, but must
Submit his person to bould Rebels lust;
And their insatiate rage, who did condemn
And kill him, while he pray'd and dy'd for them.
Our only trust is in the King of Kings,
To wait with patience the event of things;
He that permits the Fathers tumbling down,
Can raise, and will, the Son up to the Crown:
He that permits those traytors impious hands,
To murther his anointed, and his Lands
To be usurp'd, can when he sees it fit,
Destroy those Monsters which he did permit;
And by their head-long and unpitied fall,
Make the Realms Nuptial of their Funeral.
Mean time that Sainted Martyr from his throne,
See's how these laugh, and his good subjects groan;
And hugs his blessed change, whereby he is
Rob'd int' a Crown, and murther'd into a bliss.