Sonnet II (Boothby)

Why died I not before that fatal morn, That thunder'd in mine ears, "Thy Child is gone; "Thy Joys are fled to Heaven; thy hope is done; "And thy few days to come are all forlorn!" Why, when the stroke, too heavy to be borne, Had smote affrighted Reason from her throne, And life's chill power suspended; why, too soon, Did the warm current to its course return! Twice twenty summer suns had roll'd away, And seen my hours a clear smooth surface flow; Prepared already nature's debt to pay; Scarce would my head have shrunk beneath the blow. Why now, in misery, do I lingering stay, While happiness foregone but mocks my woe?