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--- "A Complete Parochial History of the County of Cornwall" Vol. 3, W. Lake, 1870, page 6:
Lanhydrock.
A handsome marble monument surmounted with the arms of Specott impaling Robartes, bears the following inscription,---
In memory of the Lady Essex Speccot, youngest daughter of John Earl of Radnor, who dyed on the last day of April, in the year of our Lord 1689, & lyeth Buried near this place.
This lady fell a victim to the small-pox, after having nursed her husband safely through the same disease.
--- "The Marriage, Baptismal and Burial Registers of the Collegiate Church or Abbey of St. Peter, Westminster" Vol. 10, by Joseph Lemuel Chester, 1876, page 28:
Marriages. 1689. April 9. John Speakett, Esq., and Lady Essex Roberts.
[Lady Essex Robartes] fifth and youngest dau. of John Robartes, first Earl of Radnor, by his second wife Letitia-Isabella (called Isabella only in the peerages, and in the entry of her burial in the Chelsea register Letitia only, but both in the license for her second marriage to Viscount Newhaven), dau. of Sir John Smith, of Kent, Kt. She was baptised at Chelsea, Midx., 7 Apr. 1669. She died within three weeks after her marriage, as an order was given for hatchments, etc., after her death, 1 May 1689 ("Painter's Work Book", Coll. Arm. 4 I. B., p. 216.)
---- Title: New poems, consisting of satyrs, elegies, and odes together with a choice collection of the newest court songs set to musick by the best masters of the age / all written by Mr. D'Urfey.
Author: D'Urfey, Thomas, 1653-1723.
An ELEGY On the Death of that true Perfection of Beauty and Goodness, the Lady ESSEX SPICKET, who dyed of the Small-Pox, immediately af|ter her Marriage.Written by way of Dialogue betwixt Mors and Hymen.Mors.GReat Second Cause, of Mans Original,Why does thy Head upon thy Bosom fall?Why are thy active Spirits all dispers'd?Why thy Robe torn, and genial Torch revers'd,As if the end of Nature now were come,And general Dissolution fill'd one Tomb.Since Mortals all by our disposes move,I point their date of Time, and thou their LoveSince Death is natural to all are born,Why dost thou languish thus, why dost thou mourn?Hymen.Thou bloodless Tyrant of Mortality;Pale King of Charnels, canst thou ask me why?Ah, that I could reverse Heavens great Decree,And in thy Place fix any Fate but thee!Thou that thus rudely dar'st my Rights invade,And cloud Love's brighest Lustre with thy shade,With barbarous Power act a lawless Guest,And Rape a Virgin from her Nuptial Feast;The sharpest Bolt in Heaven with fatal speed,My eager Rage should dart upon thy head,Mo.Raging in vain,-thou idly spendst thy breath,Dost thou not know reward for Sin is Death?Since Primitive offence, Hymen, for Sin I own,But ah, why should she Perish that had none?The sweet Aspatia was all purity.Mors.Was not the sweet Aspatia born to dye?Hym.Tho Nature's Tribute once she were to payCould it be due upon her Wedding-day;A time when Rapture the pleas'd Sense controuls,And spritely Joy kept Revels in their Souls.When Vesta fond of her dear Charge to me,Had just giv'n up her beauteous Votary,A sacred Mould for a blest Progeny:At such a time when Love did brightest shine,When Life was dear, to force her to RESIgnWas cruelty fit for no Breast but thine.Mo.These Arguments how vainly you employ!You are a Friend, but I sworn Foe to Joy;At the wide door of Luxury I wait,And summon there the least prepar'd to fate;An envious Pleasure does my Breast o'erflowTo dash their sweetest draughts of Life with wo;So when the haughty Syrian Monarch crown'dHis swelling Bowls in Gulphs of Pleasure drown'd;When Consecrated Vessels were not freeFrom the wild Law of his Impiety;When thoughtless Epicures swoln with excess,And wanton Women charm'd his Soul with bliss,The fatal Hand upon the Wall was plac'd,Subscribing that short moment for his last.Hym.Why nam'st thou tha, or Syria's Monarch hereDeath, as reward of Sin was proper there;His ill spent days obtain'd to long a date,Spotted with Crimes and mellow'd for his fate;But sweet Aspatia guiltless from her birth,Divinely liv'd an Angel upon Earth.Mors.Merrit extreme, but with a Mortal date,Hym.All worth is Mortal with remorseless fate;A charming Grace did all her Actions guide,A sacred Virtue never soil'd with Pride;A saint-like Piety, a pitying Heart,An uncorrupted Beauty without Art,Humble as Cottage Girls, yet awful too,Kidn to distress, and to all Merrit true;Devout as Angels, singing Hymns on high,Yet spite of all their Graces:Mo.Born to dye:Hym.If these could not thy Avarice o'er-come,Thou might'st take more to swell the mighty sum,Her graceful Modesty, her mighty Wit,The one delightful, as the other great;And then for Patience, and blest Charity,None e'er her equal knew:Mo.Yet born to dye,Hym.Not only dye, but in her blooming Age,To feel the Curse of thy extremest Rage,A double Death did her dear Life pursue,Of Beauty first, and then of Nature too,Vile Schelliton that wouldst not Pity shew,But where no Flesh is, how should Pity grow?Were thy Soul form'd of any thing but spite,Or all the contraies of soft delight:Those Eyes late blinded with disease so foulWith pointed Beams had shot thee to the Soul,Mo.That was one Reason why I quench'd their fire,Her Wit and Beauty did so far aspire,Even Death had else been fool'd into desire,Pity had warm'd my Breast to let her live,And Female Charms had purchas'd a Reprieve,Had not resenting Ghosts o'er whom I Reign,All murmuring at a thought so strange, so vain,Declar'd in the Grand Council of my State,Pity was fit for any thing but Fate.Hym.And Fate more fit for any thing than Love,Henceforth aloud in every-shady Grove,Where harmless Lovers pretty Garlands wove.The Swains and Nymphs Aspatia's Obsequies,Shall sing with heavy Hearts and weeping Eyes;Aspatia's hapless Fate each Breast shall sway,Aspatia's story shall wear out the day,Satyrs shall range from their obscure Abode,Vice shall grow amous, Marriage out of mode,And till by warrant from the DeityHymen has power to alter Fate's decree,Of this great wrong he'll ne'er cease to complain,Nor ever tye the genial Knot again.
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