arms
  Shall meet with new, with unexperienc’d charms,
  O how I long those dear delights to taste;
  Farewel, farewel, my soul is much in haste. 
  Come death; and give the kind releasing blow,
  I’m tir’d of life, and overcharg’d with woe: 
  In thy cool silent, unmolested shade
  O let me be by their dear relics laid;
  And there with them from all my troubles free,
  Enjoy the blessing of a long tranquillity.

Lucinda.

O thou dear sufferer, on my breast recline Thy drooping head, and mix thy tears with mine:  Here rest awhile, and make a truce with grief:  Consider; sorrow brings you no relief.  In the great play of life, we must not chuse, Nor yet the meanest character refuse.  Like soldiers we our general must obey, Must stand our ground, and not to fear give way, But go undaunted on’till we have won the day.  Honour is ever the reward of pain, A lazy virtue no applause will gain.  All such as to uncommon heights would rise, And on the wings of fame ascend the skies, Must learn the gifts of fortune to despise; They to themselves their bliss must still confine, Must be unmoved, and never once repine:  But few to this perfection can attain, Our passions often will th’ ascendant gain, And reason but alternately does reign; Disguised by pride we sometimes seem to bear A haughty port, and scorn to shed a tear; While grief within still acts a tragic part, And plays the tyrant in the bleeding heart.  Your sorrow is of the severest kind, And can’t be wholly to your soul confin’d, Losses like yours may be allowed to move A gen’rous mind, that knows what ’tis to love.  These afflictions;—­ Will teach you patience, and the careful skill To rule your passions, and command your will; To bear afflictions with a steady mind, Still to be easy, pleas’d, and still resign’d, And look as if you did no inward sorrow find.

Marissa.

  I know Lucinda this I ought to do,
  But oh! ’tis hard my frailties to subdue;
  My headstrong passions will resistance make,
  And all my firmed resolutions make. 
  I for my daughter’s death did long prepare,
  And hop’d I should the stroke with temper bear,
  But when it came grief quickly did prevail,
  And I soon found my boasted courage fail: 
  Yet still I strove, but ’twas alas! in vain,
  My sorrow did at length th’ ascendant gain: 
  But I’m resolv’d I will no longer yield;
  By reason led, I’ll once more take the field,
  And there from my insulting passions try,
  To gain a full, a glorious victory: 
  Which ’till I’ve done, I never will give o’er
  But still fight on, and think of peace no more;
  With an unwearied courage still contend,
  ’Till death, or conquest, doth my labour end.

[Footnote 1:  Preface to her Essays.]

* * * * *

Thomas Creech.