A cypres garland For the sacred forehead of our late soueraigne King Iames. / By Hugh Holland.

A CYPRES GARLAND , FOR the Sacred Fore-head of our Late Soueraigne King IAMES . WHo now wil reade my Rimes , & with exceding Sweet grace , & accent , mend them in the reading So would be praise the manner , & the matter , Nor did they him , he rather them did flatter . For with his sugred lips my eares he charmed : And with his snowy Hand my lips he warmed . But now the frost of Death my heart hath chilled : My blood is through my eyes to teares distilled . His Ague hath me whole , that for enditing , I neither ha●● a head , nor hand for writing . Great Britany ; that knowes no other bounders , But Heau'n and Sea , lost lately Both her Founders My Master King of Armes , by mans apointment : My Soueraign King of Peace , by Gods anointment . Oh that my Soueraigne had bin longer liued , Or had my Camden yet a while suruiued : With Angells quill ( what else can reach his glory ? ) To write this mortall God's immortall story . But in that other world , which neuer endeth , Him with his Lords his Herald he attendeth . How many Great ones here not meanly graced , In thirteen months the dance of Death haue traced Three Earles , two Dukes , a Marquis & a Baron : ( Who then may scape thy boat vncurteous Caron ) Besides young Wriothsly , whom the Earle his Father , Then to suruiue , chose to associate rather . Two of the House were Stewards , iust and loyall : But of the Realme Iames was the Steward royall , In cares , no lesse then Name : but euer heedefull To furnish it with noble things , or needefull . If Heau'n and Earth did all their Forces muster , You should not finde a gentler nor a Juster . The flower of Kings , the King of flowers is wasted The Rose of England in the Spring is blasted : When in the Ram his beams young Phaebus scatred , The Ram of death the Fort of Phaebus batred . Yet hath Breda thrice three months siege endured , Is life no more in peace then warre secured ? Great Britaine and Breda haue lost their Maisters : ( Alas ! that heere they were no longer lasters ) Of Peace and Warre the ornaments are spoyled : Their faces Death and not their fame hath soyled . The one with peace , which Mars the other sided : Yet neither were in life , nor death , deuided . Both in a yeare , too late they were ingendred : Both in a yeare , too soone to death surrendred . But with my plaints why should I others mingle ? The sorrow which I suffer is not single . His Holland hath no need my teares to borow , Enough is me to share in Englands sorow . Nor haue they so much inke on vs bestowed , For all the blood which from our brests hath flowed . Why was the fatall Spinster so vnthrifty ? To draw my third foure yeares to tell and fifty ? Why did not Atropos in peeces rauil My string of life and cut it with my Nauil ? Curs'd be the day that I was borne , and cursed The nights that haue so long my sorows nurced . Yet griefe is by the surer side my brother : The child of payne , and Payne was eke my mother . Who children had , the Arke had men as many , Of which , my selfe except , now breathes not any . Nor Vrsula my deere , nor Phil my daughter : Amongst vs death hath made so dire a slaughter . Them and my Martyn haue I wretch suruiued : But all their deaths , my Soueraigne's hath retriued . Each yeare , moneth , weeke , day , houre , I loose some fleeces , So from my selfe , and all , I part by peeces : The whilst I stand in controuersy , whether , More Sigh and weepe , I , or the winde and weather . This is the yeare that all good hearts hath galled , Let it no yeare of IVBILE be called : This is the moneth of Mars to him so bloudy , Because he still the arts of peace did study : This is the dismal day , the sea'un and twenteth , That of no kinde of Spring or sweetnesse senteth : When as the Sun ( no Sunday that , nor holy ) Did set at noone , and was ecclipsed wholy . Was neuer March so moyst ; had heau'n refrained From teares , our eies more then enough had rained . And yet , oh furious , oh infernall Feauer ! So great , so pretious dust , no March had euer . Yet in this moneth ( how haue the Fates revolued ? ) The great Eliza went to dust dissolued : Yea in this moneth his glorious Anne expired , And droun'd his eies , through which his heart she fired . Her liuely cheekes were like two louely spouses And bare the mingled badge of both the Houses . For , howsoeuer now we see it coyned , K. Iames the Realmes , and she the Roses ioyned . This Sun and Moone betwixt them did ingender A Starre , that both their lights alone doth render : Young Charlemaine the ioy of either nation : Great by his birth , and good in expectation His Fathers throne ô may he long inherit : His Heire in blood , his Successor in merit . With cares , with feares , at home , vntost , vntroubled ? His Fathers longest reigne in his be doubled . But if vn-friends abroad our peace affritghten , In armes so will he thunder , and so lighten : That all the troupes before his face shall tremble , And more their malice , then their feares dissemble . My Liege , my Lord , my transitory treasure , Amid these worldly woes a world of pleasure ; You now a triple Crowne haue in possesion : Yet must the same demisse to your succession . But may that day , then all our dayes be later , Yea turne the world to fire , now turn'd to water . But had you twenty more , imagin rather Your gaine the lesse by loosing such a Father . You are a liuely Statua of that Quarry , Whereof was also hew'd your brother Harry , Your Sister Marie , and your Sister Sophey , Death ouer them erected hath a trophey . And now ( my griefe I can no longer smother ) Remarried are your Father and your Mother . Prophaner heeles on sacred foreheads trample : At Westminster we daily see the sample . Where now do lie their bones , but voyd of 〈◊〉 For whom this Isle , and Ireland were too narr●●● Man is but onely Proclamation building : All but on clay , though some haue gayer 〈◊〉 And Kings are made , what else so e're we clatter , To nobler ends , but of no nobler matter . Of limmes or lineaments so strong or hansome , Who breaths that from the graue his head may ransome Remember this my Liege , & them remember , Of whom ( now head of all ) you are a member , Con you the lessons which he gaue your Brother , ( Perhaps at parting too he gaue some other ) For rule you must a people of that brauery : That can nor brooke all freedom , nor all slauery . God prosper you ( for God must be the grounsell ) And send you still an vnderstanding Counsell , That they may giue , and keepe , with hearts vnhollow And that you counsell may discerne , and follow . The Giuer deepe , the Follower yet is deeper . But Cabinet of counsell is the Keeper . And those of you shall euer most be loued , Who lou'd your Father , & whose Faith he prooued . His heart profound , his tongue was prompt & ready His head for counsels fit , not counsels heady . His eares to sutors open were , and heedy , So were his hands , but some were ouer greedy . He neither husband of his wife deceaued , Nor of their husbands many wiues bereaued . Nor any Fathers made , nor Mothers harmed , His brest no Mars vniust nor Venus warmed . To blacke reuenge his edge was also blunted , For after human blood , he neuer hunted . And when for exercise the fields he rainged , Minerua seem'd into Diana chainged . His kingdome was of wits , in euery knolledge An Academy , and his Court a Colledge . Where Cynthea sometimes shone , Apollo's sister , Apollo selfe did with the Muses glister . Be proofe his prose , and well accented Sonets , To which the brauest witts may vaile their bonets . Not euery day , nor euery yeare I tro it , Is either borne a King , or yet a Poët : The best of either , him but hardly matched : In euery nest the Phoenix is not hatched . No King with matter fit his Muse could furnish , No Poët could his Kingly actions burnish . His Holy Soule to see the parts and factions , That in the Christian Corps , made such distractions , Was inly vext : for as his Pen hee wreathed With endles bayes , his sword he would haue sheathed Within those bowels , that in part haue eaten Thine Heritage ô Christ , and all do threaten . Of Christendome though hee abhord the cumbers , A battell yet he sung in haughty numbers : That all may gather how that Heauenly poëm , Was of his great intentions but the proëm . Lepanto , which he did so loudly warble , That it surmounts Messina brasse , and marble When heau'n the childe of Austria so inflamed That halfe the Turky pride , he quickly tamed . While he and his , of Heau'n & Earth were parters , For Earth the victors had , & Heau'n the martyres . A happy man to do such acts renouned : But happy more to leaue his acts so crowned . Eliza faire with hers in forraigne regions : Who marched in the front of many legions . Perhaps but hardly knowes of her disaster , But ill Report then good●ay flyeth faster : Then you my Lords of Holland looke vnto it , Let non● it tell , and punish them that do it : Least when Report this in her eare hath rouned Your Country with her teares , and theirs be drouned : The Rhine with all his waters sad and sable , To waile her huge misfortune is not able . Then you great Lord , that were to me so gracious , In twenty weekes ( a time not very spacious ) To cause me thrice to kisse ( me thrice your depter ) That hand which bore the Lilly-bearing Scepter Yet needed none , who thinks it is too silly , His Arme the Scepter was , his Hand the Lilly , Command the seas ( the seas you haue in keeping , As Admiral ) to helpe vs in our weeping . You of the greatest Isle , no petty piller , Who beare the name of George the Dragon-killer ; Ah! could not you , and could not all the Order ? That Dragon-Feuer hunt out of that border ? Was euer King , or Maritine , or Mercian , Before this heard to dye , but of a Tertian ? Can vulgars scape the dropsie , scape the Phthisik ? And is there for the Crowned head no physicke ? Oh subject state of Kings to hard condicions , Betwixt our flatteries , and their owne suspicions ! Whose mindes to practise on the flatterer spares not , But on their bodies the Phisition dares not : Our brests the Surgeon opens with their bowells , And mutes before , will then be sounding vowells ▪ Malignant Feuer hence , and get thee further , To beastly men , who take delight in murther : Among the Turkes abide , among the Tarters ; And folke that would infest the Christian quarters On Infidels , or Pagans , go and glut thee , But if thy fellow-Canniballs rebut thee , Then with thee take the Plague thy cosin-fury : Hence and in hell your selues for euer bury . But ( Lord ) why should we liue a minute longer ? For ( saue the Truth ) what then a King is stronger The King is dead , yet this the Law denyëth , And saith the King of England neuer dyëth : But Iames is dead , and he the kingdome guided , The Person and the Office are diuided : This and his virtues from his Seede to seuer , May Fates be able neuer , neuer , neuer . O would his Spirit now my senses rauish , ( But this desire of mine is too too lauish ) I would inchant the world with these my Muses , That haue no Life but what his Death infuses . In euery Land ▪ to make no long rehersall , Of Peace he was a Iustice vniuersall . Peace as a present to the Realme he breathed , And as a legacy the same bequeathed . Which his Executor will see performed , What though the Nations haue a little stormed ? King Charles will folow still his Fathers humor , And stop the Rage of warre , if not the Rumor . That Man of God , that God of man applyëd , His heart to peace : so liued , and so dyëd . FINIS .