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Consolatorium Ad Parentes

Written by: William Strode | Biography
 Lett her parents then confesse
That they beleeve her happinesse,
Which now they question.
Thinke as you Lent her the world, Heaven lent her you: And is it just then to complayne When each hath but his owne againe? Then thinke what both your glories are In her preferment: for tis farre Nobler to gett a Saint, and beare A childe to Heaven than an Heyre To a large Empire.
Thinke beside Shee dyde not yong, but livde a Bride.
Your best wishes for her good Were but to see her well bestowde: Was shee not so? Shee marryed to The heyre of all things: who did owe Her infant Soule, and bought it too.
Nor was shee barren: markt you not Those pretty little Graces, that Play'd round about her sicke bedde; three Th' eldst Faith, Hope, & Charity.
Twere pretty bigge ones, and the same That cryde so on theyr Fathers name.
The yongst is gone with Her: the two Eldest stay to comfort you, And little though they bee, they can Master the biggest foes of man.
Lastly thinke that Hir abode With you was some fewe years boarde; After hir marriage: now shee's gone Home, royally attended on: And if you had Elisha's sight To see the number of her bright Attendants thither; or Paul's rapt sprite To see her Welcome there; why then, Wish if you could Her here agen.
Ime sure you could not: but all passion Would loose itselfe in admiration, And strong longings to be there Where, cause shee is, you mourn for Her



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