A FUNERAL ELEGIE (Written many years since) On the Death of the Memorable and truly Honourable John Winthrope…

YOu English Mattachusians all Forbear sometime from sleeping, Let every one both great and small Prepare themselves for weeping. For he is gone that was our freind, This Tyrant Death hath wrought his end. Who was the very Chief among The chiefest of our Peers Who hath in peace maintain'd us long The space of nineteen years, And now hee's breathless, lifeless, dead, Cold earth is now become his bed. The Jews did for their Moses weep Who was their Gubernator, Let us for Winthrope do the like, Who was our Conservator With Lines of gold in Marble stone With pens of steel engrave his name O let the Muses every one In prose and Verse extol his Fame, Exceeding far those ancient Sages That ruled Greeks in former Ages. O spightfull Death and also cruel Thou hast quite slain New-Englands Jewel: Shew us vile Tyrant if thou can Tel where to find out such a man? Methinks I hear a spirit breathe Non est inventus here beneath. He was (we surely may say this) Rara avis in terris, Therefore let us give him his due, To him is due this stile, He was an Israelite full true Without all fraud or guile. Let Winthrops name still famous be, With us and our Posterity. What goods he had he did not spare, The Church and Commonwealth Had of his Goods the greatest share, Kept nothing for himself. My tongue, my pen, my rustick art Cannot express his true desert. The nature of the Pelican Read storyes what they say, To her I would compare this man If lawfully I may. To Moses meek, to Abraham, To Joseph and to Jonathan. He was New-Englands Pelican New-Englands Gubernator He was New-Englands Solomon New-Englands Conservator. Time and Experience the best tryal, These two admit of no denial: Let nineteen yeares then witness be Of Wintrops true sincerity. Such gifts of grace from God had he, That more than man he seem'd to be. But now hee's gone and clad in clay, Grim Death hath taken him away. Death like a murth'ring Jesuite Hath rob'd us of our hearts delight. Let's shew our love to him by weeping That car'd for us when we say sleeping. O that our dry eyes fountains were, Our heads a living spring, O that our sighs the clouds could tear, And make an eccho ring: Let us sit down in sorrow fel, And now with tears ring out his knel. Bright shining Phoebus hide thy face Let misty clouds make dark thy sky, Fair Cynthia count it no disgrace To aid us with thy weeping eye. O weep with us for Joshua The Loadstone of America. My sences they are all too weak His praises due to write or speak Now I must leave it to their skill Who can endite and write at will. New-England thou hast cause to mourn, For that thy special friend is gone. Yet see you mourn with moderation, No cause you have of Desparation, They yet survive who may renew Decay'd and dying hopes in you With honour due let us respect them, No cause we have for to reject them, They are to us as true Directors And under God our chief Protectors. Here you have Lowells loyalty, Pend with his slender skill And with it no good poetry, Yet certainly good will. Read these few verses willingly, And view them not with Momus eye, Friendly correct what is amiss, Accept his love that did write this.