AN ELEGY Upon S W R

I will not weep, for 'twere as great a sin

To shed a tear for thee, as to have bin

An Actor in thy death. Thy life and age

Was but a various Scene on fortunes Stage,

With whom thou tugg'st & strov'st ev'n out of breath

In thy long toil: nere master'd till thy death;

And then despight of trains and cruell wit,

Thou did'st at once subdue malice and it.

I dare not then so blast thy memory

As say I do lament or pity thee.

Were I to choose a subject to bestow

My pity on, he should be one as low

In spirit as desert. That durst not dy

But rather were content by slavery

To purchase life: or I would pity those

Thy most industrious and friendly foes:

Who when they thought to make thee scandals story

Lent thee a swifter flight to Heav'n and glory.

That thought by cutting off some wither'd dayes,

(Which thou could'st spare them) to eclipse thy praise;

Yet gave it brighter foil, made thy ag'd fame

Appear more white and fair, then foul their shame:

And did promote an Execution

Which (but for them) Nature and Age had done.

Such worthless things as these were onely born

To live on Pities almes (too mean for scorn.)

Thou dy'dst an envious wonder, whose high fate

The world must still admire, scarce imitate.