And be eclipsèd with an envious shade. Noe 'twas old doting Death, who stealing by, Dragging his crooked burthen, look't awry, And streight his amorous syth (greedy of blisse) Murdred the Earth's just pride with a rude kisse. A wingèd herald, gladd of soe sweet a prey, Snatch't vpp the falling starre, soe richly gay, And plants it in a precious perfum'd bedd, Amongst those lillies, wch his bosome bredd. Where round about hovers with siluer wing A golden Summer, an æternall Spring. Now that his root such fruit againe may beare, Let each eye water't with a courteous teare. UPON THE DEATH OF A FREIND. Hee's dead! Oh what harsh musick's there Vnto a choyce, and curious eare! Wee must that Discord surely call, Since sighs doe rise and teares doe fall. Teares fall too low, sighes rise too high, How then can there be harmony? But who is he? him may wee know That jarres and spoiles sweet consort soe? O Death, 'tis thou: you false time keepe, And stretch'st thy dismall voice too deepe. Long time to quavering Age you giue, But to large Youth, short time to liue. You take vpon you too too much, In striking where you should not touch. How out of tune the world now lies, Since youth must fall, when it should rise! Gone be all consort, since alone He that once bore the best part's gone. Whose whole life, musick was; wherein Each vertue for a part came in. And though that musick of his life be still, The musick of his name yett soundeth shrill. AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF DR. PORTER.[93]