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Elegie. XI.
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:

[CW: She]