On the Report of Clarastella's death

Shee dead? forgive me Heav'n! I'ad almost swore
That she 'bout her had nothing mortal wore:
Her soul's immortal, and her body too
Since't knew no actual sin, must needs be so.
Our sins do drag us to our graves, but she
Had no such harbingers; her Pietie
Made her a Monarch in Divinitie,
And taught her how to live eternally.
It is not likely, guilty death shou'd take
Such Innocence away from us, or make
Immortal Virtue die: old Adam sure
Had liv'd til now, could he have liv'd as pure
And free from either act or thought of vice,
Hee had surviv'd this age in Paradice.
Our sins are our diseases; onely they
Invoke pale death, whom we all must obey
When he arrests us for these debts, we know
Life's the cheap ransome for the sums we owe,
Which she ne'r forfeited 'cause no disease
Upon her body or her soul could seize,
She was so sound and perfect: why should I
Believe that Clarastella then could die?
If wantonnesse durst steal into her mind
'Midst her sweet dreams, leaving a touch behind
Of phansied pleasure, yet she wakt a maid,
And blushing, that she should be thus betrai'd,
By her own guiltlesse thoughts, she feard to tel
Ev'n what her visions were; nor knew she wel
What was their pleasant meaning; or if shee
Did but by chance two Lovers kissing see;
Shee thought they did but imitate the Dove
Thus to affect with chast Platonick love.
Her salutations deckt with modestie,
Did like her smiles expresse humilitie.
Thus was she perfect Virgin, whilst her love
Knew n'other object but the Gods above.
How then durst death, tow'rds her his dart advance,
Whose onely sin was harmless ignorance?
Why should I fondly drooping let mine eies
Yeild at the news, a liquid sacrifice?
Or let her dying rumour wound my years
Whose virtue did deserve a Nestors years?

I'l not believe then she is dead, since I
Know she hath merited Eternitie:
For were't, as envious Fame reports her gone,
'Twere but a happy transmigration,
To Heav'n; where stil she lives a Saint, and we
Do stil adore her living Deitie.