Текст оригинала на английском языке
An Elegy Upon The Death Of Mr. Edward Holt
VVhether thy Fathers, or diseases rage, More mortal prov'd to thy unhappy age, Our sorrow needs not question; since the first Is known for length and sharpness much the worst. Thy Feaver yet was kind; which the ninth day For thy misfortunes made an easie way. When th' other barbarous and Hectick fit, In nineteen winters did not intermit. I therefore vainly now not ask thee why Thou didst so soon in thy Youths mid-way dy: But in my sence the greater wonder make Thy long oppressed heart no sooner brake. Of force must the neglected blossom fall When the tough root becomes unnaturall, And to his branches doth that sap deny, Which them with life and verdure should supply. For Parents shame, let it forgotten be, And may the sad example die with thee. It is not now thy grieved friends intent To render thee dull Pities argument. Thou hast a bolder title unto fame, And at Edge-Hill thou didst make good the claime; When in thy Royal Masters Cause and Warre Thy ventur'd life brought off a noble skarre. Nor did thy faithful services desist Till death untimely strook thee from the List. Though in that prouder vault then, which doth tomb Thy ancestors, thy body find not room, Thine own deserts have purchas'd thee a place, Which more renowned is then all thy race; For in this earth thou dost ennobled ly With marks of Valour and of Loyalty.
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