Stanzes upon the Death of Cleon — Out of Astrea

The Beauty which so soon to Cinders turn'd,
By Death of her Humanity depriv'd,
Like Light'ning vanisht, like the Bolt it burn'd:
So great this Beauty was, and so short liv'd.

Those Eyes so practis'd once in all the Arts,
That loyal Love attempted; or e'er knew:
Those fair Eyes now are shut, that once the hearts
Of all that saw their lustre, did subdue.

If this be true, Beauty is ravisht. hence,
Love vanquisht droops, that ever conquered,
And she who gave Life by her influence,
Is, if she live not in my Bosom, dead.

Henceforth what happiness can Fortune send,
Since Death, this abstract of all Joy has won;
Since Shadows do the Substance still attend,
And that our good does but our ill fore-run?

It seems (my Cleon) in thy rising morn,
That Destiny thy whole Days course had
bound,
And that, thy Beauty, dead, as soon as born,
Its fatal Hearse, has in its Cradle found.

No, no, thou shalt not die, I Death will prove,
Who Life by thy sweet Inspiration drew;
If Lovers live in that which doth them love;
Thou liv'st in me, who ever lov'd most true.

If I do live, Love then will have it known,
That even Death it self he can controul,
Or, as a God, to have his Power shown,
Will that I live without of Heart, or Soul.

But, Cleon, if Heav'ns unresisted will
'Point thee, of Death th' inhumane Fate to try,
Love to that Fate equals my Fortune still,
Thou by my mourning, by the Death I dye.

Thus did I my immortal Sorrows Breath,
Mine Eyes to Fountains turn'd of springing Woe;
But could not stay the wounding Hand of Death,
Lament; but not lessen misfortune so.

When Love with me having bewail'd the loss
Of this sweet Beauty, thus much did express,
Cease, cease to weep, this mourning is too gross,
Our Tears are still than our misfortune less.