Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/156

  There grave itt deep, alas! 'twill fall to dust, Vrania is no more, to me no more, All these combin'd, can n'er that losse deplore.  THE CONSOLATION

See, Phœbus breaking from the willing skies, See, how the soaring Lark, does with him rise, And through the air, is such a journy borne As if she never thought of a return. Now, to his noon, behold him proudly goe, And look with scorn, on all that's great below. A Monark he, and ruler of the day, A fav'rite She, that in his beams does play. Glorious, and high, but shall they ever bee, Glorious, and high, and fixt where now we see? No, both must fall, nor can their stations keep, She to the Earth, and he below the Deep, At night both fall, but the swift hand of time Renews the morning, and again they climb, Then lett no cloudy change, create my sorrow, I'll think 'tis night, and I may rise to-morrow.  A SONG ON GREIFE Sett by Mr. Estwick Oh greif ! why hast thou so much pow'r, Why doe the ruling Fates decree No state shou'd e're without the[e] be, Why, doest thou Joys, and hopes devour, And cloath ev'n loue him self, in thy dark livery ? Thou, and cold fear, thy close Allie, Do not alone on life attend, Butt following mortalls to their end, Do wrack the wretches, whilst they dye; And to eternal shades, too often, with them flye. 