Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEATH OF YE LIFE OF LOVE, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DEATH OF YE LIFE OF LOVE, by                
First Line: O mighty love, well may thy glorious throne
Last Line: Trust not my selfe, but hang on thy sweet care.
Subject(s): Funerals; Future Life; Love; Prayer; Burials; Retribution; Eternity; After Life


O MIGHTY LOVE, well may thy Glorious Throne
Be high erected on subdued Hearts;
Whose onely Shade, & faint Reflection,
With Life & Death annoints its mystik Darts!

But yesterday I did attend upon
Its solmne Triumph carryed on an Herse,
As now I second that Procession
By borrowing feet of my Admiring Verse.

Twas ye Unfortunate Body of a Mayd
Whom unsuccessfull Love had slowly slaine:
A generous Soule, & lesse of Death afrayd,
Then of her long Beloved's proud disdaine.

In ye sinceer Munificence of Love
She freely did resigne Him all her Heart:
And He, awhile seem'd not in debt, but strove
To answer Her in Bountie's dearest art.

But afterward cold & disdainfull growne,
Her loyall Heart away He carryed quite;
For Shee would not receive it as Her owne,
Having by deed of gift made His ye right.

And thus deprived of Life's onely Fount
Her owne soft Heart, & allso His, wherin
She hope'd to find Her owne, she well might count
The first part of Her Death did heer begin.

And so it did: for sighing out her dayes
In languishments of unregarded Love,
By secret dainty Torments she decayes
And Death's unwilling Forces doth improve.

She so improves them, that they now befriend
Her wth their finall stroke, & send her hence,
One out of Love wth Life, wch would not lend
Her love againe to quit her Love's expense.

Dear JESU, if these Mortall Loves can be
Stronger then Death, what are ye Powers of Thine;
How shall we measure its immensitie,
Which, like thy selfe, compleatly is Divine!

No wonder that brave Soules of Fire, wch are
Kindled by thy Love's living Flame, can give
Defiance at ye blackest Deaths, & dare
On any termes Venture with Thee to live.

No wonder that those amorous Hearts, wch be
Their owne no longer, but intirely thine,
So pant & gasp, & languish after Thee
Till Thou unto their high desires incline.

The Rose smiles not wth fragrant braverie
On them, but onely Prickles forth doth bring:
They nothing can in ye Hyblean Bee
Discover, but an angry venom'd Sting.

Their Palates relish no such things, as We
Doe Dainties call: No earthly Glorie's blaze
Bears theirs contemptuous Puffe: No Gold can be
So bright, as to allure their eyes to gaze.

Life holds them on ye rack, whilst heer they stay,
Far from ye Life, by wch their Soules doe live:
No Cup of Sweets can their great thirst allay,
But what ye wished hand of Death doth give.

For Thee they thirst, for Thee the Spouse of Hearts,
For Thee all Faire, all Lovely, & all Love;
For Thee, who art not proud, but by these arts
Of kind delayes, their loyalty doth prove.

For Thee they thirst, & burne in this their Thirst,
Till by strong Sighs their Soules exhaled be;
As Clouds of Incense from ye Altar burst
Taking their course towards thy Heavn, & Thee.

Brave lovers these indeed, whose Herses I
Would gladly follow; but doe more desire
To trace their living loving steps, & by
Their Way unto their journeys end aspire.

But for thy Love, Dear Savior could I die?
Me thinks I could, if I but worthy were;
Surely this World's not worth my Love: yet I
Trust not my Selfe, but hang on Thy Sweet Care.





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