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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391867" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Funeral Elegy on the Death of The Lady Penelope Clifton</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since thou art dead, Clifton, the world may see<br>A certain end of flesh and blood in thee;<br>Till then a way was left for man to cry,<br>Flesh may be made so pure it cannot die;<br>But now thy unexpected death doth strike<br>With grief the better and the worse alike;<br>The good are sad they are not with thee there,<br>The bad have found they must not tarry here.<br>Death, I confess, 'tis just in thee to try<br>Thy pow'r on us, for thou thyself must die;<br>Thou pay'st but wages, Death, yet I would know<br>What strange delight thou tak'st to pay them so;<br>When thou com'st face to face thou strik'st us mute<br>And all our liberty is to dispute<br>With thee behind thy back, which I will use:<br>If thou hadst bravery in thee, thou wouldst choose<br>(Since thou art absolute, and canst controul<br>All things beneath a reasonable soul)<br>Some looked for way of killing; if her day<br>Had ended in a fire, a sword, or sea,<br>Or hadst thou come hid in a hundred years<br>To make an end of all her hopes and fears,<br>Or any other way direct to thee<br>Which Nature might esteem an enemy,<br>Who would have chid thee? now it shews thy hand<br>Desires to cozen where it might command:<br>Thou art not prone to kill, but where th' intent<br>Of those that suffer is their nourishment;<br>If thou canst steal into a dish, and creep<br>When all is still as though into a sleep,<br>And cover thy dry body with a draught,<br>Whereby some innocent lady may be caught,<br>And cheated of her life, then thou wilt come<br>And stretch thyself upon her early tomb,<br>And laugh as pleased, to show thou canst devour<br>Mortality as well by wit as pow'r.<br>I would thou hadst had eyes, or not a dart,<br>That yet at least, the clothing of that heart<br>Thou struck'st so spitefully might have appear'd<br>To thee, and with a reverence have been fear'd:<br>But since thou art so blind, receive from me<br>Who 'twas on whom thou wrought'st this tragedy;<br>She was a lady, who for public fame,<br>Never (since she in thy protection came,<br>Who sett'st all living tongues at large) received<br>A blemish; with her beauty she deceived<br>No man; when taken with it, they agree<br>'Twas Nature's fault, when from 'em 'twas in thee.<br>And such her virtue was, that although she<br>Received as much joy, having pass'd through thee,<br>As ever any did; yet hath thy hate<br>Made her as little better in her state,<br>As ever it did any being here;<br>She lived with us as if she had been there.<br>Such ladies thou canst kill no more, but so<br>I give thee warning here to kill no moe;<br>For if thou dost, my pen shall make the rest<br>Of those that live, especially the best,<br>Whom thou most thirstest for, to abandon all<br>Those fruitless things, which thou wouldst have us call<br>Preservatives, keeping, their diet so,<br>As the long-living poor their neighbours do:<br>Then shall we have them long, and they at last<br>Shall pass from thee to her, but not so fast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Francis+Beaumont">Francis Beaumont</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391867" data-title="A Funeral Elegy on the Death of The Lady Penelope Clifton de Francis Beaumont" data-description="Since thou art dead, Clifton, the world may see
A certain end of flesh and blood in thee;
Till then a way was left for man to cry,
Flesh may be made so pure it cannot die;
But now thy unexpected death doth strike
With grief the better and the wors..."></div>
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