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Elegie. XI. |
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Language thou art too narrow, and too weak |
To ease us now, great sorows cannot speak. |
If we could sigh out accents, and weep words, |
Grief weares, & lessens, that tears breath affords, |
Sad hearts, the less they seem, the more they are, |
(So guiltiest men stand mutest at the bar) |
Not that they know not, feel not their estate, |
But extreme sense hath made them desperate; |
Sorrow to whom we ow all that we be; |
Tyrant in the fifth and greatest Monarchy, |
Was't that she did possess all hearts before, |
Thou hast kill'd her, to make thy Empire more? |
Knew'st thou some would, that knew her not, lament, |
As in a deluge perish th'innocent? |
Was't not enough to have that palace won, |
But thou must raze it too, that was undone? |
Hadst thou staid there, and look't out at her eyes, |
All had ador'd thee, that now from thee flies, |
For they let out more light than they took in, |
They told not when, but did the day begin; |
She was too Saphirine, and clear for thee; |
Clay, flint, and jeat now thy fit dwellings be; |
Alas, she was too pure, but not too weak; |
Who e'r saw Crystal Ordinance but would break? |
And if we be thy conquest, by her fall |
Th'hast lost thy end, in her we perish all: |
Or if we live, we live but to rebell, |
That know her better now, who knew her well. |
If we should vapour out, and pine and dy; |
Since she first went that were not misery:
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[CW: She] |