On Mrs. Philipps's Death

Why all these looks so solemn and so sad! Who is that one can die, and none be glad! The rich leaves heirs, the great makes room, the wise Pleases the foolish only when he dies. Men so divided are in hopes and fears, That none can live or die with general tears; 'Tis sure some star is fallen, and our hearts Grow heavy as its gentle influence parts. Thus said I, and like others hung my head, When straight 'twas whisper'd, 'tis Orinda's dead: Orinda! what! the glory of our stage! Crown of her sex, and wonder of the age! Graceful and fair in body and in mind, She that taught sullen Virtue to be kind, Youth to be wise, Mirth to be innocent, Fame to be steady, Envy to relent, Love to be cool, and Friendship to be warm, Praise to do good, and Wit to do no harm! Orinda! that was sent the world to give The best example how to write and live! The queen of poets, whosoe'er 's the king, And to whose sceptre all their homage bring! Who more than men conceiv'd and understood, And more than women knew how to be good! Who learnt all young that age could e'er attain, Excepting only to be proud and vain; And made alone so rich amends for all The faults her sex committed since the fall! Can she be dead? Can any thing be great And safe? Can day advance, and not retreat Into the shady night? But she was young; And might have liv'd to tune the world, and sung Us all asleep, that now lament her fall, And Fate unjust, Heaven unrelenting call. Alas! can any fruit grow ripe in spring, And hang till autumn? Nature gives this sting To all below, whatever thrives too fast Decays too soon, late growths may longer last. Orinda could not wait on slow-pac'd Time, Having so far to go, so high to climb; But, like a flash of heavenly fire that falls Into some earthly dwelling, first it calls The neighbours only to admire the light And lustre that surprize their wondering sight, Till, kindling all, it grows a noble flame, Towering and spiring up from whence it came; But, ere arrived at those azure walls, The house that lodg'd it here to ashes falls. Such was Orinda's soul. But hold! I see A troop of mourners in deep elegy: Make room and listen to their charming lays, For they bring cypress here to trade for bays; And he deserves it who of all the rest Praises and imitates Orinda best.