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An hymn to the Saints, and to Marquess |
Hamylton. |
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Whether that soul which now comes up to you |
Fill any former rank, or make a new, |
Whether it take a name nam'd there before, |
Or be a name it self, and order more |
Than was in heaven till now; (for may not he |
Be so, if every several Angel be |
A kinde alone) What ever order grow |
Greater by him in heaven, we do not so; |
One of your orders grows by his access; |
But, by his loss grow all our orders less; |
The name of Father, Master, Friend, the name |
Of Subject and of Prince, in one is lame; |
Fair mirth is dampt, and conversation black, |
The Houshold widow'd, and the Garter slack; |
The Chappel wants an ear, Councel a tongue; |
Story a theame, and Musick lacks a song. |
Blest order that hath him, the loss of him |
Gangreen'd all Orders here; all lost a limb: |
Never made body such haste to confess |
What a soul was; all former comeliness |
Fled, in a minute, when the soul was gone, |
And having lost that beauty, would have none: |
So fell our Monasteries, in an instant grown |
Not to less houses, but to heaps of stone; |
So sent his body that fair form it wore |
Unto the sphear of forms, and doth (before |
His soul shall fill up his sepulchral stone,) |
Anticipate a Resurrection;
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[CW: For] |