Distance and no space was seen,
'Twixt the turtle and his queen,
But in them it were a wonder,
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the Phenix' sight,
Either was the other mine.
Property was thus appalled,
That the self was not the same,
Single natures, double name,
Neither two nor one was called.
Reason itself confounded,
Saw division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one,
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this threner
To the phenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Hence inclos'd, in cynders lie;
Death is now the phenix' nest,
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest ;
Leaving no posterity,
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be ;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she :
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair,
That are either true or fair ;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
 This threne. This funeral song. MALONE.  Read, Here inclosed, &c. MALONE.