







 
   
     
       
         To the memory of the right Honourable Margaret Countess of Weems. Who departed this life at Weems, February 20 1688. A funeral elegie. / N. Paterson.
         Paterson, Ninian, d. 1688.
      
       
         
           1688
        
      
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         B04942
         Wing P706A
         ESTC R187029
         51784604
         ocm 51784604
         175013
         
           
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             To the memory of the right Honourable Margaret Countess of Weems. Who departed this life at Weems, February 20 1688. A funeral elegie. / N. Paterson.
             Paterson, Ninian, d. 1688.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             s.n.,
             [Edinburgh? :
             1688]
          
           
             Caption title.
             Place and date of publication suggested by Wing (2nd ed.).
             Reproduction of original in: National Library of Scotland.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Wemyss, Margaret Leslie, -- Countess of, d. 1688 -- Death and burial -- Poetry.
           Elegiac poetry, Scottish -- Early works to 1800.
           Broadsides -- Scotland -- 17th century
        
      
    
     
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           To
           the
           Memory
           of
           the
           right
           Honourable
           MARGARET
           COUNTESS
           OF
           WEEMS
           .
           
             Who
             departed
             this
             Life
             at
          
           VVeems
           ,
           
             February
             20
             1688.
             
          
        
         
           A
           FVNERAL
           ELEGIE
           .
        
         
           
             LIke
             as
             an
             aged
             lofty-fronted
             Oak
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Verdure
             ,
             Boughs
             ,
             and
             Shelter
             ,
             might
             provock
             ,
          
           
             The
             proudest
             in
             the
             Dodonean
             Grove
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Superstition
             did
             devout
             to
             Jove
             ,
          
           
             Hath
             many
             blasts
             ,
             and
             many
             Sun-shines
             known
             ,
          
           
             At
             last
             unto
             the
             dreadful
             Axe
             falls
             down
             ,
          
           
             So
             Dies
             this
             Lady
             ,
             whom
             the
             Age
             did
             find
             ,
          
           
             Perfections
             Zenith
             to
             all
             Woman-kind
             .
          
           
             But
             as
             when
             thorow
             crouds
             we
             make
             our
             way
             ,
          
           
             It
             falls
             ,
             that
             each
             mans
             haste
             ,
             the
             whole
             doth
             stay
             ,
          
           
             So
             fares
             it
             in
             this
             Subject
             ;
             that
             I
             doubt
          
           
             So
             much
             would
             pass
             ,
             that
             nothing
             can
             get
             out
             .
          
           
             For
             as
             Her
             Birth
             was
             honourable
             ,
             and
             hie
             ,
          
           
             Come
             of
             the
             greatest
             of
             Nobility
             .
          
           
             Her
             Brother
             ,
             the
             Great
             Rothes
             ,
             nothing
             under
          
           
             His
             Princes
             Darling
             ,
             and
             the
             Ages
             wonder
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Worth
             ,
             and
             Wit
             ,
             such
             hight
             of
             Honours
             won
             ,
          
           
             That
             made
             him
             
               Vice
               Roy
            
             ,
             to
             the
             Imperial
             Throne
             .
          
           
             Her self
             by
             Heaven
             ,
             and
             Earth
             so
             honoured
          
           
             She
             heir'd
             three
             Earldoms
             with
             Her
             nuptial
             Bed
          
           
             In
             all
             the
             which
             ,
             either
             for
             Wife
             ,
             or
             Mother
             ,
          
           
             Scotland
             shall
             never
             parallel
             another
             :
          
           
             She
             in
             the
             Floods
             of
             Wealth
             ,
             practis'd
             Austerity
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             a
             throng
             of
             Hypocrites
             ,
             Sincerity
             .
          
           
             When
             crost
             (
             by
             Pious
             Patience
             )
             she
             was
             able
          
           
             To
             make
             misfortunes
             look
             most
             amiable
             .
          
           
             That
             her
             Familiars
             concluded
             all
             ,
          
           
             Dam
             Nature
             ,
             had
             forgot
             to
             give
             her
             gall
             .
          
           
             Her
             Humors
             so
             well
             poised
             all
             did
             see
             ,
          
           
             In
             stead
             of
             〈◊〉
             ,
             she
             got
             Geometrie
             .
          
           
             So
             stedfast
             〈◊〉
             to
             her
             was
             all
             one
             matter
          
           
             If
             smiles
             ,
             〈…〉
             ,
             did
             cause
             the
             eyes
             to
             water
             .
          
           
             Of
             Fortunes
             both
             ,
             she
             still
             such
             measures
             had
             ,
          
           
             The
             hottest
             Sun
             casts
             still
             the
             blackest
             shade
             .
          
           
             Where
             honesty
             is
             fixed
             ,
             there
             no
             wind
          
           
             Can
             blow
             't
             away
             ,
             or
             glittering
             look
             it
             blind
             .
          
           
             She
             knew
             that
             the
             just
             Heavens
             oftimes
             decree
             ,
          
           
             For
             joyes
             uncertain
             ,
             certain
             miserie
             .
          
           
             That
             glorious
             nothing
             ,
             guilded
             emptiness
             ,
          
           
             Honour
             ;
             did
             Her
             great
             Soul
             the
             more
             depress
             .
          
           
             So
             humble
             always
             ,
             that
             Her
             very
             glance
          
           
             Put
             pride
             imperious
             out
             of
             countenance
             .
          
           
             She
             did
             abhor
             the
             world
             ,
             tho
             lodg'd
             therein
             ,
          
           
             As
             fish
             continue
             fresh
             ,
             in
             seas
             of
             brin
             .
          
           
             In
             midst
             of
             Delicats
             she
             was
             content
             ,
          
           
             To
             make
             her
             Feasts
             ,
             but
             hungers
             banishment
             ,
          
           
             To
             Reason
             alwayes
             she
             did
             sense
             submit
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             it
             bridle
             ranging
             appetit
             .
          
           
             She
             neither
             was
             too
             bashful
             ,
             nor
             too
             bold
             ;
          
           
             Patern
             to
             young
             ,
             and
             Patron
             to
             the
             old
             .
          
           
             Her
             Charitie
             ,
             made
             her
             be
             like
             the
             Sun
             ,
          
           
             Extending
             Light
             and
             Heat
             to
             every
             one
             ;
          
           
             That
             with
             the
             rest
             she
             had
             this
             divine
             qualitie
             ,
          
           
             That
             most
             resembleth
             Heaven
             ,
             Liberality
             .
          
           
             She
             of
             all
             ,
             wherewith
             God
             had
             her
             endued
             ,
          
           
             Her self
             a
             Stuard
             ,
             more
             than
             owner
             
               shewed
            
             .
          
           
             None
             of
             this
             ages
             iron-hearted
             wretches
             ,
          
           
             That
             rather
             part
             with
             God
             ,
             then
             Gold
             ,
             or
             riches
             .
          
           
             Who
             to
             Eternity
             ,
             will
             feell
             the
             knell
             ,
          
           
             Wealth
             was
             the
             bridge
             that
             past
             them
             post
             to
             Hell.
          
           
             So
             debonair
             and
             complaisant
             was
             She
             ,
          
           
             Her
             Mind
             and
             Mouth
             had
             still
             a
             Sympathie
             .
          
           
             Nor
             with
             these
             peevish
             Dams
             ,
             could
             she
             complie
             ,
          
           
             Who
             what
             they
             covet
             most
             ,
             do
             most
             deny
          
           
             Truth
             rides
             in
             Triumph
             ,
             when
             Fig-leaves
             do
             fail
             ,
          
           
             Hypocrisie
             it
             is
             but
             Vertues
             Vail
             .
          
           
             But
             She
             excelled
             in
             a
             high
             degree
             ,
          
           
             Both
             in
             Devotion
             ,
             and
             in
             Charitie
             .
          
           
             The
             great
             Examplar
             of
             all
             Good
             ,
             beneath
          
           
             Wee
             'll
             say
             She
             Liv'd
             ,
             while
             others
             only
             Breath
             ,
          
           
             She
             Liv'd
             ,
             and
             Died
             ,
             a
             Lady
             most
             compleat
             ,
          
           
             And
             which
             is
             wonderful
             ,
             as
             Good
             ,
             as
             Great
             .
          
           
             
               To
               Ages
               all
               ,
               then
               Lady
               Weems
               here
               lyes
            
          
           
             
               Justly
               sir
               nam'd
            
             the
             Pious
             ,
             Good
             ,
             and
             Wise
             ,
          
        
         
           
             
               Nunquam
               parca
               minus
               quam
               hic
               ,
               quae
               commaniatoti
            
          
           
             
               Genti
               sceptra
               tenens
               ,
               aternaque
               foeder
               a
               servans
            
          
           
             
               Quae
               magnos
               parvosque
               terit
               ,
               qua
               fortibus
               aquat
            
          
           
             
               Imbelles
               ,
               populisque
               duces
               ,
               seniumque
               juventae
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Si
             frequentius
             de
             morte
             tua
             ,
             quam
             de
             vitae
             longitudine
             cogitares
             ,
             non
             dubium
             est
             ,
             quin
             ardentius
             te
             ipsum
             cirrigeres
             .
          
        
         
           
             N.
             Paterson
             .
          
        
      
    
     
  

