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         R. Philopolymathes.
      
       
         
           1670
        
      
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         B03274
         Wing E474
         Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.3[114]
         99885213
         ocm99885213
         182598
         
           
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             An elegy upon the death of the most illustrious princess Heneretta. Dutchess of Orleance, Maddam of France, &c.
             R. Philopolymathes.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.).
           
             Printed for John Clark at the Harp and Bible in West-smith-field.,
             [London] :
             [1670]
          
           
             Signed: R. Philopolymathes.
             Place and date of publication suggested by Wing.
             Verse: "OUR day's o'recast Melpomine come on ..."
             Despite the title, this is an elegy to Henrietta Anne, daughter of Henrietta Maria.
             Reproduction of original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Orléans, Henriette-Anne, -- duchesse d', 1644-1670 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Elegiac poetry, English -- 17th century.
        
      
    
     
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           An
           Elegy
           Upon
           the
           Death
           of
           the
           Most
           Illustrious
           Princess
           HENERETTA
           .
           Dutchess
           of
           ORLEANCE
           ,
           Maddam
           of
           FRANCE
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           
             OUR
             day's
             o'recast
             Melpomine
             come
             on
          
           
             Assist
             my
             Fancy
             ,
             now
             I
             am
             alone
             ,
          
           
             Disturbed
             Spirits
             come
             my
             Soul
             affright
             ,
          
           
             Your
             doleful
             presence
             fits
             my
             Fancy
             right
             ,
          
           
             T'
             Express
             this
             Tragedy
             then
             let
             me
             choose
          
           
             The
             saddest
             of
             the
             Nine
             to
             be
             my
             Muse
             ,
          
           
             So
             shall
             my
             Verse
             with
             sighs
             and
             growns
             be
             full
             ,
          
           
             Fitting
             th'
             occasion
             though
             my
             Fancy's
             dull
             .
          
        
         
           
             I
             be
             who
             t'other
             day
             rejoyc'd
             to
             hear
             ,
          
           
             Our
             Royal
             Princess
             came
             to
             Dover
             Peer
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Roaring
             Guns
             their
             Martial
             tune
             did
             sound
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             Neptunes
             subjects
             danced
             all
             a
             round
             ,
          
           
             And
             Barges
             keeping
             time
             (
             scarce
             known
             before
          
           
             Danc'd
             a
             Curranto
             with
             her
             to
             the
             shore
             .
          
           
             Where
             she
             her
             welcome
             by
             that
             hollow
             sound
          
           
             That
             chears
             the
             English
             ,
             but
             the
             French
             doth
             stound
             ,
          
           
             Each
             Man
             more
             breath
             there
             from
             the
             Air
             did
             borrow
          
           
             T'
             Express
             their
             Joy
             but
             soon
             't
             was
             turn'd
             to
             sorrow
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             come
             sad
             Muse
             and
             briney
             tears
             distill
          
           
             Instead
             of
             Hellicon
             into
             my
             Quill
             ,
          
           
             Our
             sudden
             Joy
             ,
             soon
             into
             grief
             was
             hurl'd
          
           
             Heneretta
             leaving
             England
             ,
             left
             the
             World
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             ne're
             't
             was
             known
             before
             the
             Brittish
             Main
             ,
          
           
             Was
             the
             blest
             Currant
             to
             the
             Eliazin
             ,
          
           
             Such
             Happiness
             she
             injoy'd
             in
             English
             ground
             ,
          
           
             As
             in
             the
             Gallick
             Court
             could
             not
             be
             found
             ,
          
           
             She
             sought
             but
             found
             nothing
             there
             worth
             her
             stay
          
           
             She
             therefore
             broke
             her
             Fast
             ,
             and
             fled
             away
          
           
             Unto
             those
             blessed
             mansions
             ,
             where
             all
             cares
          
           
             Are
             ta'ne
             away
             ,
             ther
             's
             no
             such
             thing
             as
             tears
             ,
          
           
             She
             bears
             a
             part
             with
             Saints
             in
             Heavens
             blest
             Quire
          
           
             Where
             we
             by
             her
             example
             may
             aspire
             .
          
        
         
           
             We
             live
             to
             dye
             strange
             Paradox
             yet
             true
          
           
             Since
             we
             're
             but
             strangers
             we
             must
             bid
             adieu
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             Heavens
             we
             must
             complain
             that
             you
             'r
             unkind
          
           
             Thus
             to
             surprize
             us
             ,
             and
             ne'r
             put
             's
             in
             mind
          
           
             By
             Comets
             ,
             Meteors
             that
             do
             new
             appear
             ,
          
           
             But
             to
             give
             warning
             Princes
             deaths
             are
             near
             ,
          
           
             Death
             we
             have
             fear'd
             you
             sir
             ,
             since
             you
             began
          
           
             We
             think
             that
             nothing
             satisfie
             you
             can
             ,
          
           
             But
             Princes
             Corps
             ,
             you
             'l
             brook
             no
             common
             Food
             ,
          
           
             Since
             you
             the
             sweetness
             know
             of
             Royal
             Blood
             ,
          
           
             In
             Ten
             Years
             space
             from
             Brittains
             Royal
             Tree
             ,
          
           
             Four
             mighty
             Arms
             are
             broken
             off
             by
             thee
             .
          
           
             Heneretta
             dead
             this
             melts
             us
             all
             to
             tears
             .
          
           
             And
             every
             one
             a
             Niobe
             appears
             ,
          
           
             Each
             Lady
             drowns
             with
             tears
             her
             sparkling
             eyes
             ,
          
           
             Becoming
             Martyrs
             to
             griefs
             cruelties
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             true
             ,
             she
             left
             us
             for
             a
             better
             state
             ,
          
           
             To
             us
             unhappy
             ,
             to
             her
             a
             happy
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             Deatl
             was
             her
             Friend
             ,
             though
             we
             of
             him
             complain
             ,
          
           
             That
             called
             her
             from
             these
             Earthly
             cares
             and
             pain
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             an
             't
             we
             bear
             it
             ,
             thus
             to
             loose
             a
             Friend
             ,
          
           
             W●
             needs
             must
             hate
             what
             to
             our
             Love
             puts
             end
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             heark
             me
             think
             I
             do
             already
             hear
             ,
          
           
             The
             Heavens
             themselves
             with
             most
             meliodious
             cheat
          
           
             Chant
             sacred
             Anthems
             ,
             heark
             sweet
             mellody
          
           
             Princes
             souls
             compose
             this
             Harmony
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             Mortalls
             here
             below
             do
             weeping
             cry
          
           
             Our
             Joy
             is
             fled
             unto
             Eternity
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           An
           Epitaph
           .
        
         
           
             ●tay
             Traveller
             and
             thou
             shalt
             see
             ,
          
           
             Mortal
             yet
             a
             Diety
             ,
          
           
             Princes
             are
             Gods
             ,
             his
             word
             doth
             cry
          
           
             Yet
             tells
             them
             they
             like
             men
             must
             dye
             ,
          
           
             Beauties
             Master
             piece
             here
             doth
             lay
             ,
          
           
             What
             silks
             and
             eloath
             ,
             nows
             clad
             in
             clay
             ,
          
           
             The
             Sun
             of
             beauties
             now
             is
             made
          
           
             Dark
             ,
             by
             Deaths
             interposed
             shade
             ,
          
           
             Majesty
             's
             here
             laid
             in
             dust
             ,
          
           
             This
             tells
             you
             Fates
             decrees
             are
             just
             ,
          
           
             All
             must
             obey
             their
             just
             command
          
           
             Death's
             Summons
             no
             man
             dare
             withstand
             ,
          
           
             Though
             many
             from
             him
             fain
             would
             keep
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             Captives
             to
             him
             truly
             creep
             ,
          
           
             Behold
             a
             Princess
             here
             doth
             lye
          
           
             Soon
             snatch'd
             from
             Earths
             Felicity
             ,
          
           
             She
             came
             to
             see
             her
             Native
             Land
             ,
          
           
             Where
             Pleasures
             was
             on
             eve●y
             hand
             ,
          
           
             But
             such
             trifles
             wan't
             her
             Aim
             ,
          
           
             She
             came
             ,
             and
             saw
             ,
             and
             overcame
             ,
          
           
             She
             saw
             Earth's
             joy
             was
             vanity
             ,
          
           
             So
             took
             her
             leave
             ,
             and
             went
             to
             dye
             .
          
        
         
           
             R.
             Philopolymathes
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
           Printed
           for
           
             John
             Clark
          
           at
           the
           
             Harp
             and
             Bible
          
           in
           West-smith-field
           .
        
      
    
  

