A Poem upon the death of the Queen This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B28220 of text R35115 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. 3KB 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 B28220 Wing P2714A ESTC R35115 ocm 15020525

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B28220) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 39850) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1576:41 or 1985:16) A Poem upon the death of the Queen 1 broadside. s.n., [London : 1695] In verse. Imprint suggested by Wing and NUC pre-1956 imprints. Reproductions of original in the Harvard University Library.

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 eng Mary -- II, -- Queen of England, 1662-1694 -- Poetry. eebo A Poem upon the death of the Queen n/a 1695 1 414 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2014-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-08 Sampled and proofread 2014-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A POEM UPON THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN . WHEN our admired Queen Mary dies , What Pen can write Her Obsequies ? Snatch me a Quill from Angels Wing , I 'll tune my Voice to a doleful String : Malpomeny shall guide my Hand , And all the Muses round me stand . You nere were needed so before , Your Aid , your Aid I now implore ; Stand near me all the Graces too , I would a Eigure make of you . Queen Mary's Mind to represent , I 'll joyn you all with pure Cement . Yet this pure Dye or Tyrian Paint Will make a Colour far too faint , To Paint Her Body or Her Mind , I must have what is most refin'd . Old Celebrated Poets Graces Had no such Mind , had no such Faces . Such Majesty sat on Her Brow , She made the stubborn Sex to bow . All but Her Conqu'ring William She Did make to bow and bend the Knee . Such comely sweetness in Her Smile , But stay my Muse , and rest a while , To Sigh and Mourn , to Weep and be Like silent weeping Niobe . This Angel now is from us fled , The Consequences most Men dread . Propitious Heaven on us Smile , And Frown no more on this sad Isle . I must return , the Subject's great , My Muse would fain sound a Retreat . Oh , how can I define a Soul ? If swiftly flies from Pole to Pole : Takes all the various Figure in That are throughout this World of sin , And in the curious Brain they dwell ; Have each a Room , have each a Cell . But Her Great Soul mounted much higher , Beyond the Earth , beyond the Fire . There She did fix , there she did find Objects that suited best her Mind . With Angels and Arch-Angels She Did joyn in Love and Harmony . She oft before to Heaven was fled , But now we sadly mourn She 's dead : She will no more to us return , She how the Stars like Torches burn , And strive to light her all they way ; But that the Sun more bright than they , Conveighs her out of Mortals sight , Mingling Her Beams with his own Light . FINIS .