Stay, silver-footed Came, striue not to wed Thy maiden streames soe soone to Neptune's bed; Fixe heere thy wat'ry eyes upon these towers, Vnto whose feet in reuerence of the powers, That there inhabite, thou on euery day With trembling lippes an humble kisse do'st pay. See all in mourning now; the walles are jett, With pearly papers carelesly besett. Whose snowy cheekes, least joy should be exprest, The weeping pen with sable teares hath drest. Their wrongèd beauties speake a tragoedy, Somewhat more horrid than an elegy. Pure, & vnmixèd cruelty they tell, Wch poseth Mischeife's selfe to parallel. Justice hath lost her hand, the law her head; Peace is an orphan now; her father's dead. Honestie's nurse, Vertue's blest guardian, That heauenly mortall, that seraphick man. Enough is said, now, if thou canst crowd on Thy lazy crawling streames, pri'thee be gone, And murmur forth thy woes to euery flower, That on thy bankes sitts in a uerdant bower, And is instructed by thy glassy waue To paint its perfum'd face wth colours braue. In vailes of dust their silken heads they'le hide, As if the oft-departing sunne had dy'd. Goe learne that fatall quire, soe sprucely dight In downy surplisses, & vestments white, To sing their saddest dirges, such as may Make their scar'd soules take wing, & fly away. Lett thy swolne breast discharge thy strugling groanes To th' churlish rocks; & teach the stubborne stones To melt in gentle drops, lett them be heard Of all proud Neptune's siluer-sheilded guard; That greife may crack that string, & now vntie Their shackled tongues to chant an elegie. Whisper thy plaints to th' Ocean's curteous eares, Then weepe thyselfe into a sea of teares. A thousand Helicons the Muses send In a bright christall tide, to thee they send, Leaving those mines of nectar, their sweet fountaines, They force a lilly path through rosy mountaines. Feare not to dy with greife; all bubling eyes Are teeming now with store of fresh supplies. VERSE-LETTER TO THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH (1652). NOTE.