Chast as the Nuns first vow, as fairely bright As when by death her Soule shines in full light Freed from th' Eclipse of earth, each word that came From thee (deare _Talbot_) did beget a flame T' enkindle vertue: which so faire by thee Became, man, that blind mole, her face did see. But now t'our eye she's lost, and if she dwell Yet on the earth; she's coffin'd in the cell Of some cold Hermit; who so keepes her there, As if of her the old man jealous were. Nor ever showes her beauty, but to some _Carthusian_, who even by his vow, is dumbe! So 'mid the yce of the farre Northern sea, A starre about the Articke Circle, may Then ours yeeld clearer light; yet that but shall Serve at the frozen Pilots funerall. Thou (brightest constellation) to this maine Which all we sinners traffique on, didst daigne The bounty of thy fire, which with so cleare And constant beames did our frayle vessels steare, That safely we, what storme so ere bore sway, Past ore the rugged Alpes of th' angry Sea. But now we sayle at randome. Every rocke The folly doth of our ambition mocke And splits our hopes: To every Sirens breath We listen and even court the face of death, If painted ore by pleasure: Every wave Ift hath delight w' embrace though 't prove a grave: So ruinous is the defect of thee, To th' undone world in gen'rall. But to me Who liv'd one life with thine, drew but one breath, Possest with th' same mind and thoughts, 'twas death. And now by fate: I but my selfe survive, To keepe his mem'ry, and my griefes alive. Where shall I then begin to weepe? No grove Silent and darke, but is prophan'd by Love: With his warme whispers, and faint idle feares, His busie hopes, loud sighes, and causelesse teares Each eare is so enchanted; that no breath Is listned to, which mockes report of death. I'le turne my griefe then inward and deplore My ruine to my selfe, repeating ore The story of his vertues; untill I Not write, but am my selfe his Elegie. _Elegie, 6._