Aphra Behn

“ Amid'st Ten Thousand Griefs, its worst of Foes.
⁠Your Court, what Dismal Majesty it wears,
Infecting all around with Sighs and Tears;
No Soul so dull, so insensible is found,
Without concern to tread the hallowed Ground;
Awful, and silent, all the Rooms of State,
And Emptiness is Solemn there, and great;
No more Recesses of the sprightly Gay,
But a Retreat for Death, from Noise and Day:
Eccho's from Room to Room we may pursue,
Soft sighs may hear, but Nothing is in view;
Like Groves inchanted, where wreck'd Lovers ly,
And breath their Moans to all the Passers-by ”

“ Shou'd all the Nations tenderest griefs combine,
And all our Pangs in one vast body joyn,
They cou'd not sigh with Agonies like Thine.
That You survive, is Heav'ns peculiar care,
To charm our Grief, and heal our wild Despair ”

“ Printed by J. Playford for Henry Playford, near the Temple-Church: 1685.
A
POEM
ON HER
Sacred Majesty
Catherine Queen Dowager.
PArdon! Oh Sacred Mourner! that we paid
Our first sad Tributes to the Royal Dead;
Which did our Souls to rending sighs convert,
Drain'd our fixt eyes, and pierc'd the bleeding heart;
And for a Loss that Heav'n can ne're redress,
Our Raging Griefs were rude in their excess:
Which, while with wild Devotion we pursue
Ev'n Heav'n neglected lay, ev'n Sacred YOU:
Our own dire Fates did all our Tears employ,
Griefs have self-interest too as well as Joy. ”