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Elegie on B. Haselrick,
slaine in's youth, in a Duell.
Now in the blinde, and quiet age of Night,
So dark, as if the funerall of Light
Were celebrated here; whither with slow,
Unwilling feet, sad Virgins doe you goe?
Where have you left your reason, and your feare?
What meane those Violets that downe-ward weare
Their heads, as griev'd, since thus imploy'd they grew?
Lilies, scar'd by your lookes, to their pale hew?
Roses, that lost their blushes on the Bough,
And Laurell stolne from some dead Poets Brow?
These, and your looser Haire, shew that you come
To scatter both, on that relenting Tombe.
But stay! by this moyst pavement it appeares,
Some Ladies have beene earli'r here with Teares
Than I, or you; and wee can guesse no more,
Those that succeed, by these that drop'd before;
So dark, as if the funerall of Light
Were celebrated here; whither with slow,
Unwilling feet, sad Virgins doe you goe?
Where have you left your reason, and your feare?
What meane those Violets that downe-ward weare
Their heads, as griev'd, since thus imploy'd they grew?
Lilies, scar'd by your lookes, to their pale hew?
Roses, that lost their blushes on the Bough,
And Laurell stolne from some dead Poets Brow?
These, and your looser Haire, shew that you come
To scatter both, on that relenting Tombe.
But stay! by this moyst pavement it appeares,
Some Ladies have beene earli'r here with Teares
Than I, or you; and wee can guesse no more,
Those that succeed, by these that drop'd before;
Than
