IDENTILIN$$  F146C09|Sorrow|CUL Luttrell MS|f.46v
146.C09.0HE  Elegy funer: [46v]
146.C09.001  Sorrow which to this house scarce knew the way
146.C09.002  Is, oh, heire of it, our all is his pray.
146.C09.003  This strange chance claymes strange wonder, & to vs
146.C09.004  Nothing can be so strange as to weepe thus.
146.C09.005  'Tis well his liues loud speaking workes deserue
146.C09.006  And giue praise too, our cold tongues could not serue.
146.C09.007  'Tis well he kept teares from our eyes before
146.C09.008  That to fitt this deepe ill we might haue store.
146.C09.009  O%C, if a sweet Bryar climb vp by a Tree
146.C09.010  If to a Paradise that transplanted bee
146.C09.011  or fell'd & burnt for holy sacrifice
146.C09.012  Yet that must wither which by it did rise,
146.C09.013  As wee, for him dead: though no familye
146.C09.014  Ere rigg'd a soule for heauens discouerye
146.C09.015  With whom more venturers more boldly dare
146.C09.016  Venture their states with him in ioy to share
146.C09.017  Wee loose what all thinges lou'd, him, he gaines now
146.C09.018  But life by death, which worst foes would allow
146.C09.019  (If he could haue foes, in whose practise grew
146.C09.020  All Virtues whose names subtill Schoolmen knew.)
146.C09.021  What ease can, hope we shall see him, beget
146.C09.022  When wee must dye first, & cannot dye yet?
146.C09.023  His children are his Pictures. oh they bee
146.C09.024  Pictures of him, dead, sencelesse, cold as hee,
146.C09.025  Heere needs no marble Tombe, since he is gonne
146.C09.026  Hee, & about him, His, are turnd to stone [CW:death#I]
146.C09.0SS  om
146.C09.0$$  Lines 25 & 26 ind 5 sp.