An Epitaph Upon The Death Of Elisabeth Brigges, Daughter To The Discreet Matron And Widow, Bettrice Brigges Poem by John Ashmore

Come Virgins, come: Why doe you linger so,
With streams of tears that frō your swoln eys showr?
Her Grave with Roses and with Lillies strowe,
That of your Garland was the fairest Flowr.
Lillies and Roses soon decay and perish,
While bitter Worm-wood and sharp Nettles flourish.
Your Garlands breake: henceforth no garlands beare:
Their fading doth your fading state expresse.
For Garlands, deadly Yeugh and Elder weare,
And branches of the saddest Cyparesse.
Lillies and Roses, &c.
Ye Holly-hocks, why hold you downe your heads?
And Violets, why pine you so away?
Because (alas!) that shee from you is fled,
That drest you, and hath tane her leaue for aye?
Lillies and Roses, &c.
O Hymen, why didst thou pale Death permit,
Within thy Right, to set his hate-full feet;
And take her, that for thy sweet Rites was fit;
For Bridals, that gave her a Winding-sheet?
Lilies and Roses, &c.
When Death arrested her, with his sad Mace,
And clowdy Mists her Senses over-spread,
Her native favour he could not disgrace;
Which was compos'd of purest white and red.
Lillies and roses, &c.
All, that thy sweet conditions did knowe,
Desired, that their lives they so might spend:
And all, that from this life did see thee goe,
Desired that their lives they might so end.
Lillies and Roses soone decay and perish,
While bitter Worm-wood and sharp Nettles flourish.