Sorrovves lenitiue Written vpon occasion of the death of that hopefull and noble young gentleman, Iohn Lord Harrington, Barron of Exton, &c. Who died the 27. of Febr. 1613. By Abraham Iackson.

SORROWES LENITIVE . When awlesse Death , with poyson-pointed dart Had pierc't Fames fauourite , yong Harrington , That plant of Honour , through his gen'rous hart ; Two mournfull Ladies , in affection one , ( His wofull Mother , and his Sister deere ) From troubled thoughts , shed torrents christall cleere . And as a day-long-labouring Husband-man , That with heart-fatting ioy doth feast his eyes , To see his full-ear'd Corne ( with Zephyr's Fanne ) Blowne on to ripenesse ; if a storme arise , That with sterne blasts destroyes the forward graine , Sits downe and wailes the losse of his long paine . Or as a Merchant , standing on the shore , His long absented Ship doth new behold , Entring the Hauens mouth , full fraught with store Of Orient pearle , and purest Indian gold ; If in his sight the vessell suffer wracke , Straines out with cryes , till heart with sorrow cracke . So did the wofull Lady Harrington ; When she was reft of him , that was her ioy , Her loue , her life , her deere , and onely Sonne , Her ease in Mourning , comfort in annoy , Her greatest solace in her most distresse , Her curing Cordiall in heauinesse . So gracefull Lucy , Bedfords worthy Wife , When brute , too true , had to her eares related The sodaine wracke of that beloued life , Whom dismall Fate vntimely so had dated , Did cast her selfe into the armes of moane , And to her selfe rip'd vp her griefes alone . And if a Poet may be bold to write , How he conceiues such passions were conceiu'd ; Then thus the grieu'd Lady Mother might , ( With sighes ) bewaile her hopefull ioy bereau'd . These broken accents , ( Eccho's of her groanes ) Might be the mournfull method of her moanes . O thou my dearest deare , and louing Childe ; Best part of me , deriued from my wombe : The sole Idea of thy Father milde , My staffe of age to guide me to my Tombe ! Art thou extinct ? hath life forsaken thee ? Hast thou relinquish'd all the world and me ? Wert thou not young , in prime of flowring life ? Were not thy passions sway'd with temperance ? Were not thy humors in perfection rife ? Wert thou not pious in perseuerance ? How haps it then , that thou wert rap't in hast , When but the world began thy worth to cast ? O art thou gone , and am I left behinde ? Shall neuer more mine eyes behold thee heere ? Must griefe ore-flowe the measure of my minde , whil'st houres compleat the daies , or daies the yeere ? What sight can please without the sight of thee , Whose life , was life , whose death is death to me ? O had I all forgone what so is mine , Within the compasse of this massie round ; Except that part of me that is diuine , Wherein th' Idea of my God is found ; So that I had sweet Sonne enioyed thee , Who being parted , parts all ioy from mee . O cruell Parcae now I see t is so , Ye are call'd Parcae , not because ye spare The liues of such , as worst we may forgoe : But on the contrary , ye Parcae are : Because ye plucke the buds with partiall hand , And let the riper fruits vngathered stand . T is said that Niobe was turn'd to stone , For wailing too too much her childrens death . Be 't so or no ; I haue more cause to moane , Whil'st soule and body are conioyn'd with breath , For her griefe ended , with her ended ioy : But mine still liues , to lengthen lifes annoy . Auctolia hearing but a false report Of her Vlisses death , that ( with more Knights ) Did to the siege of tow'r-built Troy resort , To quell the pride of Greece-abusing sprights ; Renounc'd all ioy , turn'd solace into moane : Because she did but thinke her Sonne was gone . Oh what shall I doe ? how shall I containe My selfe in sorrow , that too well doe know The losse of him ; that was my ease in paine , My greatest comfort , in griefes ouer-flowe ? How shall I keepe from breaking to extreames , That haue my heart so fraught with sorrowes theames ? Let Niobe say what she can deuise To aggrauate her selfe-confounding moane , And let Auctolia hers apologize . Yet Niobe became a sencelesse stone : And Auctole wayl'd a misconceaued feare : But true effects of griefe my heart doth weare . As would appeare could I Dole's language speake . But Sorrow tyes the tongues of grieued weights . So that they must in mid-discourses breake , And keepe the worst behind to vexe their sprights . Sith this is Mourners case ; then thus in briefe , I grieue because I cannot tell my griefe . Thus might a Poet shadow what she said ; Though what she said indeed her selfe best knowes : As saying most when she was most dismay'd , In priuate sort commenting on her woes . Next then we may imagine , as before , The noble Countesse , how she did deplore . And if you can conceiue Polixen's woe , When her deare brother Troilus was slaine , By force of fierce Achilles fatall blowe : Or how that royall PRINCES did complaine , For Brittains hope , renowned HENRIES death : So might you think did Bedford spend her breath . For thus , me seemes , her thought-bewraying tong Vtters the passions of her griefe-seaz'd heart , That doe in heapes vpon each other throng As though they would her soule and body part . O dearest brother , soule-vnited friend ! What timelesse hap wrought thy vntimely end ? Time turnes the Heauens in a certaine course ; The Starres doe keepe their constant motions : Order directs the rowling Oceans source : Sence-wanting creatures keepe their stations : Mans fickle state giues onely cause of sorrow , That knowes his eue , but doth not know his morrow , Had I a Sonne to lose ( as I haue none ) I thinke his losse could not more grieue my hart ; Then thus to be left brotherlesse alone . Who hath like wound , & doth not feele like smart ? To loose a Sonne , yet might I haue another : But hopelesse am I left of any Brother . For looke how th' Elm e and Vine doe sympathize : Or Wood-bind with the Haw-thorne doth agree : Looke how the Ivy with the Oake doth rise : Or how the Steele and Load-stone natur'd be : So did we loue , so were our hearts affected : What one did fancie , tother still respected . But Death , the Author of Confusion , That doth vndoe Loues hardest tyed knot , Breaking the bonds of sacred Vnion , Casting on blooming Youth , old Ages lot , Came with his woolly feete , but iron fist , And drew this Impe of Honour to his list . O world ! no world ; but Deaths Meandry maze ; O maze ! no maze : but to-end-posting life ; O life ! no life : but Bauen-kindled blaze ; O blaze ! no blaze : but end of humors strife . O moment strife , blaze-flashing , maze of death , Whose end tends to the end of humane breath . Swift is the Shittle in the Weauers Loome ; Hasty the rayn-bred torrents rise and fall ; Fading the May-day flower , the Summers bloome ; Vncertaine the rebound of Tennice ball ; Nay , name I all the moment Types I can , Yet none so fickle as the life of man . Deuide an howre in equall-spaced quarters ; Each quarter in his Minutes ; Minutes againe In Seconds : then let skilfull'st number parters Their Arithmeticall choise Maxims straine To part those Seconds , in their single prime ; And that 's mans measure in the clock of Time . All this is character'd in him , who was , Who was ( O fatall word ! ) the Character Of Knightly Honour , Courtiers looking-glasse , Map of perfection , Vertues register : But now is gone ; yet left this name behinde For me , to treasure vp in grieued minde . Which I will doe , ( with true deuotion ) Whil'st my world-wearied soule liues in my flesh , And in my mirth , the name of Harrington Shall make griefes brinish fountaine spring a fresh , And if my teares doe stint , or tongue doe faile ; Know Sorrow wants both teares , and tongue to waile . As I was writing this conceiued moane ; Mine eyes did let fall drops into mine Inke , Moysting againe its drinesse : whereupon My sympathizing Muse gan thus to thinke . I must not leaue these Ladies in this plight : For Inke made liquid bids me more to write . And as an Art-instructed Surgeon , ( That hath search't all the corners of a wound ) Doth not so leaue his Patient but vpon The gash , layes healing Salues to make him sound : So must I now ( that haue so launc't your griefe ) Apply some Cataplasme for reliefe . Your losse was great , great Ladies I confesse ; And such as passion cannot but condole . Nay , Piety her selfe could doe no lesse : As is recorded in Gods sacred roll . For the beleeuers Grandsire did bewaile His dearest Sara , when her life did faile . So holy Ioseph , that Bellerophon , Wept when his aged Father Iacob died : So did the kingly Prophet for his Sonne ; The Israelites for Moses also cried , And that which most in mourning makes for vs Our blessed Sauiour wept for Lazarus . But yet that heathen howling out of measure Suites not with those , for whom Christ shed his blood . For such repining drawes on Gods displeasure , T is but a shadow of a seeming good . A Hell-hatched off-spring of blacke-mouth'd Despaire , That doth Gods image in the soule impaire . O Ladies therefore calme your Passion : Make not your Noble harts Griefes chaire of State . Let it be pious Comforts station , Your heart-tormenting care to mitigate . For Comfort is the Cataplasme alone , That cureth care , salues sores , relieueth moane . Thinke but how Iacob ( after wearinesse ) Was by the dreame-seene Angels solaced : Or how that Proto-martyr , in distresse , Was ioyed to see Heauens windowes opened . Such will your solace be , and such your ioy , If you encline to Comfort in annoy . Comfort , the stay of sadded Christians soule , Comfort , the health of griefe-decayed health , Comfort , the power of Reason to controule Sterne passion , that would get the heart by stealth , Will be to you , soule , health , and powre , & case , Your sadnesse , sicknesse , weakenesse to appease . And as the precious Opall doth containe The beaming brightnesse of the Diamond , The azure luster of the Saphirs vaine , The Emerauld in verdure goes beyond : So Comfort doth th' effects of peace embrace , And yeelds the fruits of mercy and of grace . But this is but as t were an outward shale To th' tast-ensweetning Kernell that 's within , The touching of the foote of Iacobs scale , Before we clime by it the heauens to win , The gentle spreading of the healing Plaister . To make it when t is on to stick the faster . We therefore must apply this soueraigne Balme , This heauen on earth , this hold from Desperation , This ioy in life , this tempest-laying calme , This hope in Death , this staffe of preseruation , Home to your hearts , to make you feele againe The ioy you had , before you had this paine . Had you a Sonne ? Had you a louing Brother ? Had you a Comfort ? You what you held deere ? Had you no more ? Nor had you any other ? And is he reft away , to both so neere ? Yet waigh but both your happinesse in his ; And tell me then if you be void of blisse ? He was your Sonne : but now he is a Saint . He was your Brother : now an Angels Mate . He was your Comfort : now no cause of plaint . He was your deere : but now in better state . You had no more , make that your cause of woe , Because you had no more , so to bestowe . T is true his body was of perfect mould , And such as might haue giuen his soule content , For one whole age a Mansion there to hold , Where euery part did homage to her bent : Reason sate Regent , and the will obayed , All Passions by these two , were mildely swayed . T is true , he was a modell of perfection , Furnisht with rarest gifts of Natures store , Endowed with sanctity , the soules refection . Was what his yeeres could yeeld , and somewhat more . For in his prime of youthly iolity , He was repleat with graue morality . His auncient birth might be ( as oft it is ) The foster-Nurse of selfe-vp-puffing pride : But his faire thoughts soar'd higher farre then this , And such vaine-glorious humours he defi'd . With thriftlesse Prodigalls he did not sort , True Bounties measure did his state support . So that a man might thinke he had beene sent As a choise Iewell from Gods treasury , T' adorne the world , and not as though God meant To shew him vs , and forthwith presently To take him from vs , in his deepe displeasure , Seeing vs so vnworthy such a treasure . But Ladies , this is not your case alone . T was Iuda's case , when their Iosiah fell : T was Englands case their Edward being gone . T was Brittains case , when HENRY bid farewell . HENRY a Master-piece of Natures mould , The young mans hope , the refuge of the old . HENRY , that was your Sons , your Brothers Lord : HENRY , whom he in vertue imitated : HENRY , by whose example he was stor'd With noble-minded thoughts , to heauen elated : HENRY , that lou'd him , & well knew his merit , His faith , his constancie , and noble spirit . HENRY , to whom his heart was so affected , That if he might haue ransom'd him from Death , He would ( with dreadlesse loyall zeale directed ) Haue spent his deerest life-maintaining breath . But Adams heires , each one ingaged stand , To pay this forfeiture of Natures band . Sith this is that which euery man can tell : As being compos'd of brickle walls of mud : And that your case doth want no paralell , As we haue instanc't in the Royall bloud ; Then let this meditation still your crye ; That he that now is dead , was borne to dye . You begge of God ( in daily Orizons ) That his all-guiding will be done in earth , As well as in th' heauenly Mansions , Where blessed soules doe liue in datelesse mirth . T is graunted what you aske , his will is done : For t was his will to take to him your Sonne . Thinke how that Mother-virgin , holy , pure , That blessed Phoenix of all woman-hood , Did with faith-armed patience endure To see the spilling of her Sauiours blood ; To see his precious side streame blood & water , That was her Sonne , her Brother , and Creator . That was that Lambe of God , in whom was found No spot of sinne , whom no default could touch . This might with dole her humane heart confound : But that she knew Gods prouidence was such . Against the which we ought not to repine . True Christian will bends to the will diuine . How willingly did Abraham obey That dire commaund , when he was ready prest With his owne hands his onely Sonne to stay ? His Faith taught him that all was for the best That God appoints , though we cannot conceiue , The searchlesse depth , from whence we good receiue . What was your Sonne ? and doe but rightly scan ; Was he more deere and precious vnto you Then Abra'ms Son , or else the SON OF MAN ? Must you be priuiledg'd when Death is due By Gods award ? Let not your faith be cold In him that can returne Sonnes thousand fold . The little Sparrow fall's not to the ground , Without Gods fore-decreeing prouidence ; And shall we thinke that man ( in whom is found The substance of the Creators quintessence ) Can be depriu'd of life if he doe nill , Whose supreame powre drawes goodnes out of ill ? He left you and the world you say too soone . Passion saith this : nay , Reason saith so too . But how ? with this fore-thought distinction , Not for himselfe too soone , too soone for you . For you : because your earthly ioy 's bereauen . Not for himselfe : who ioy enioyes in heauen . What can you tell God hath for you ordain'd ? Or to what end your dayes he hath design'd ? Must his eterne decree be so restrain'd , As that it should be fitted to your minde ? Little know we what comfort may abound , when with Despaire Sathan would vs confound . When was your Patience euer tri'd before By any vncouth wracke of humane chance ? God hath you blest with Honours , wealth , & store , And on you many blessings did aduance . Because your friends first die , is this a wrong ? All sorts see that , chiefe those , whose liues are long . Would you ( as earth-bred mortalls all desire , That solace in this vale of misery ) Wish that you might , to what you would aspire And not beawed by the Deity ! Then you depriue your selfe of that sweet boast Whom God most loues , those he doth chastice most . This fickle life is but a swift-runne race : A doubtfull-ending combat strugling still : Vpon the troubled Seas , a Sailers case : A Captiues lot , fetter'd against his will : A toylesome labour , full of sweating paine : A iourney pestered with winde and raine . O happy he , that first doth gaine the price : Happy , that soonest doth the conquest winne : Happy , that findes the Port ere stormes arise : Happy , quicke shaking off the chaines of sinne : Happy , the lab'rour at the close of day : Happy , the trauailer , that ends his way . If these be happy , happy then is he , That hath so soone runne out his irksome race , Obtain'd the conquest , got the Port , is free , Ended his worke , come home in happy case ; If he be happy : you are happy too , That he was yours , although not now with you . His life was seasoned with the thoughts of Death . Witnesse his sanctimonious purity , Witnesse his words spoke with his latest breath , To you his wofull Mother sitting by . Lord LESV come , to thee my soule I giue , Thou dy'dst for me , that I with thee might liue . To him therefore , that thus had fixt his minde , Death was the greatest Comfort that could be , The instrumentall meanes that he could finde , Out of his bodies Goale to be set free : As being the key t' vnlocke the prison dore , That was by youthfull strength kept fast before . And as some Knight , edg'd with the thoughts of glory , Hauing with pow'rfull Ensignes conquered Some spatious , wast vnfertile territory , Hath yet a fairer Land discouered : But knowes not how it 's faire shoares to recouer , Vnlesse he had some meanes to passe him ouer . So this young Lord , this worthy Christian Knight , Armed according to Saint Pauls direction , Hauing subdu'd that damned subtill spright , And brought the world and flesh to his subiection ; He did , with Moses , on mount Nebo stand , And ken'd the heauenly Canaans promis'd Land . But knew not how that Eden Land to gaine , Vnlesse Death gaue him wastage to the shoare , Willing to vndergoe what so euer paine , Were it to hale the Ropes , or tugge the Oare . Death therefore graunted what he did desire , Taking nought but his earthes part for her hire . What shall I say ? Death was to him no more , But a griefe-ending sweet Catastrophe : A passage from this worlds Aegiptian shore : To Canaan aboue through the red Sea : A Sunne to melt his liues congealed Frost : A landing of his Ship in tempest tost . As was the glorious Angell that conuay'd The blessed Peter from the loathsome darke : As was mount Ararat , on whose top stay'd The righteous Noah's deluge-washed Arke : Lastly , Death was to him , but as a Page , That lights a Taper to an vpper Stage . All which in time it will be vnto vs , If we doe act our parts as he did his . For then , when Conscience shall our deeds discusse , She will assure vs of eternall blisse . As him she did , whose faith had apprehended , The ioyes of heauen , before earths date was ended . His soule brook't no delayes from heauens delight , Loathing to be sinne-soyl'd with this grosse ayre , But sweetly offer'd vp his virgin spright To her great Maker , chast , and spotlesse faire ; Where he doth ioy : for whom we so do mourne , Wishing vs there , and not his owne returne . Thrice blest immortall soule rest then in blisse , Enioy those ioyes , for which thou wer't prepard : We know our fault , and Loue leades vs amisse , To grudge that thou with Angels blisse hast shar'd Not that we ought , but good to thee bequeaue ; But grieu'd so soone , thy sweet consort to leaue . And you sad Ladies that are clad in blacke , Best suting with those weights , that Sorrow feeds , Think what this WORTHY hath , & what you lack , And you wil find your owne-case wants such weeds . For mortall you , in cares doe draw your breath , Immortall he , needes none to waile his death . FINIS .