On the death of Mris Mary Soame wife of Mr. Edmond Soame of Hackney, who departed this life February the 5th, 1669 [i.e. 1670] This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B27609 of text R35079 in the English Short Title Catalog. Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 5KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B27609 Wing O305B ocm 14985242

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this text, in whole or in part. Please contact project staff at eebotcp-info(at)umich.edu for further information or permissions.

 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B27609) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 206152) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1576:5) On the death of Mris Mary Soame wife of Mr. Edmond Soame of Hackney, who departed this life February the 5th, 1669 [i.e. 1670] 1 broadside. s.n., [London : 1670] In verse. Imprint suggest by Wing. Also includes a second poem entitled "Deaths answer." Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.

Header created with script mrcb2eeboutf.xsl on 2016-01-28.

Manually keyed and coded text linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines available at TCP web site (http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/docs/)

 eng Soame, Mary, d. 1670 -- Poetry. eebo On the death of Mris Mary Soame : wife of Mr. Edmond Soame of Hackney, who departed this life February the 5th, 1669 [i.e. 1670] n/a 1670 1 926 2 0 0 0 0 0 21.6 C The rate of 21.6 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2014-05 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-06 Sampled and proofread 2014-06 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
On the Death of Mris MARY SOAME , Wife of Mr. Edmond Soame of Hackney , Who departed this Life , February the 5th , 1669. THe dumb-born Child viewing those hands which were Imbru'd in 's Parents Blood , cry'd out , O spare ! Relation me constrains to sympathize , And though a Corydon-MUSE , to Poetize . Ah spiteful Death ! Of Life to cut the Thread , Before that half the Work was finished . It was thy wont to spare the blooming Rose , And first to fill thy Lap rather with those Which withering dye ; or such as blasted be , And which by Natures Laws are doom'd for thee , But this young Lady scarce was in her prime , Her tender years might well claim longer time : 't is no great Age for Mortals to arrive At fifty years , hers were but twenty five . It is allow'd thee to pluck up the Weeds , Not to destroy the choicest of our Seeds . Alas , what signifies this one poor Lamb , Thine hungry Skelleton to fat or cram ? Thou Tyrant grim ! How couldst thou stop thine Ears , And no Compassion take on Cries and Tears ? Why so inexorable ! Did it raise Thine envy for her , because of that praise Which , as due Tribute , all were bound to pay Her shining Vertues ? Who but knew her way Of acting tow'rd her gracious LORD above , Her Exemplary Duty , and her Love 〈◇〉 her Husband , Parents , Children , and Relations ; Scarce to be parallell'd in all these Nations : And how did her two harmless Babes transgress , That thou shouldst also strike them Motherless ? A goodly Triumph for thee , cruel Death ! In six months time to worry out of breath A tender Lady , yet couldst not provoke Her to impatience by any stroke ; Though with strange fits thou storm'dst her , and with pain Didst rack her , all that while she 'd scarce complain . Thou ne'er could'st make her to unclasp her hold Of CHRIST , being a Lamb of his own Fold , Which in his Bosom he so safely laid , That of the Lyon she was not afraid . Her Heart on him was so intirely bent , That subtile Satan did forbear to tempt ; The worst she spake , midst all extremity , Was , Come , Lord Jesus ; Lo , I dye , I dye . Needs must her End be Peace , who liv'd so well , But I want room and words her Worth to tell : And to trayl all her Vertues , I shall not Attempt , lest flourishing , my Pen should blot . Yet to epit'mize all , rarely did strand A Vessel richer laden on Death's Sand . When the Great Painter would that Grief descry , Which pass'd his Art , he drew a Vail ; So I In silence must adumbrate what my Quill Cannot delineate for want of Skill . Well Death , the Cab'net's thine ; for thee too good : But yet the Jewel's Christs , bought with his Blood : And thee , our En'my , who dost thus anoy All mortal Race , he will at length destroy .
Deaths Answer . WHat murmur's this I hear ? Better be still : I 'm but the Instrument ; It was the Will O' th' Great JEHOVAH : I did but unloose The Snarl of Life , whereby as with a Noose , She was with-held from Him , whom to gain-say Rebellion is ; All Pow'rs must Him obey . What blame's for me , in that I did transpose Out of your Bosom into his , the Rose ? What loss for her , that she is gone before Her Friends to Heav'n , and shall henceforth no more Lie down and wake , as th' Living do , in Sorrow ; Though Creature-Comforts they may steal or borrow . Talk not of Envy , nor my Cruelty ; I must my Office do impartially . If to convey her Home , you call i● wrong ; Well if no worse I deal with you ere long . If I should heed your Cries , to Tears , or Moan , I should let This , and That , and All , alone . If I should yeild to all who do me woo , I should have Little , or Enough to do . If Gold or Silver me could ere have brib'd , The Great Ones , now in Atomes , ne'er had dy'd . I level in the Dust , Mattock and Crown ; Cedars , as well as Shrubs , my Sythe cuts down , But here 's the diff'rence : They who grafted are In the True Vine , though they seem dead and sare In Pruning-time ; yet are they so alive , That when the Sun draws near , they sprout and thrive . Their Rest to them is blest : But it 's far worse With all that are not ransom'd from the Curse : They lie a while intombed in their Urn , And when the Trumpet sounds , must rise to burn . None dye in dying by the stroke of Fate , But who want JESUS for their ADVOCATE .