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Elegie on Mistris Boulstred.
Death I recant, and say, Unsaid by me
What ere hath slip'd, that might diminish thee.
Spiritual treason, atheism 'tis, to say,
That any can thy Summons disobey.
Th'earths face is but thy Table; there are set
Plants, cattel, men, dishes for Death to eat.
In a rude hunger now he millions draws
Into his bloody, or plaguy, or sterv'd jaws.
Now he will seem to spare and doth more waste,
Eating the best first, well preserv'd to last.
Now wantonly he spoyls, and eats us not,
But breaks off friends, and lets us piecemeal rot.
Nor will this earth serve him; he sinks the Deep
Where harmless fish Monastique silence keep.
Who (were Death dead) the Rows of living sand
Might spung that element, and make it land.
He rounds the air, and breaks the hymnique notes
In birds, Heavens choristers, organique throats,
Which (if they did not dy) might seem to be
A tenth rank in the heavenly hierarchie.
O strong and long-liv'd Death, how cam'st thou in?
And how without Creation didst begin?
Thou hast, and shalt see dead, before thou dyest,
All the four Monarchies, and Antichrist.
How could I think thee nothing, that see now
In all this All, nothing else is, but thou?
Our births and lives, vices and vertues, be
Wasteful consumptions, and degrees of thee.
For, we to live, our bellows wear, and breath,
Nor are we mortal, dying, dead, but death.

[CW: And]