i8
��But vow, though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,
For one carrier put down to make six bear- ers." 20
Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light.
His leisure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That even to his last breath (there be that say 't),
As he were pressed to death, he cried, " More weight ! "
But, had his doings lasted as they were,
He had been an immortal Carrier.
Obedient to the moon he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate 30
Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas;
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his in- crease.
His letters are delivered all and gone;
Only remains this superscription.
��AN EPITAPH ON THE MAR- CHIONESS OF WINCHESTER
The subject of this epitaph was Jane, wife of John Paulet, fifth Marquis of Winchester, and daughter of Thomas, Viscount Savage. She was noted for her beauty and intelligence ; and her death in childbirth, at the age of twenty-three, evoked besides the present poem an elaborate tribute from the poet-laureate, Ben Jonson. What led Milton to write upon her death is unknown, as no record of any con- nection between him and the Marchioness has reached us. It is possible that the George and Nizell Rivers, addressed in the Vacation Exer- cise, were her relatives, since her mother was a daughter of the Earl of Rivers. If so, Mil- ton's acquaintance with them would perhaps have afforded an adequate incentive.
THIS rich marble doth inter
The honoured wife of Winchester,
A viscount's daughter, an earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More than she could own from earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told; alas ! too soon,
After so short time of breath,
To house with darkness and with death ! 10
��Yet, had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and Fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her request
The god that sits at marriage-feast;
He at their invoking came,
But with a scarce well-lighted flame ; 20
And in his garland, as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress-bud.
Once had the early Matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;
But, whether by mischance or blame,
Atropos for Luciua came,
And with remorseless cruelty
Spoiled at once both fruit and tree. 30
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth;
And the languished mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I seen some tender slip,
Saved with care from Winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Plucked up by some unheedy swain,
Who only thought to crop the flower
New shot up from vernal shower; 40
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Sideways, as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew she wears
Prove to be presaging tears
Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hastening funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have !
After this thy travail sore,
Sweet rest seize thee evermore, 50
That, to give the world encrease,
Shortened hast thy own life's lease !
Here, besides the sorrowing
That thy noble House doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Weept for thee in Helicon;
And some flowers and some bays
For thy hearse, to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name; 60
Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt'st in
glory,
Next her, much like to thee in story, That fair Syrian Shepherdess, Who, after years of barrenness,
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