Pietas in patrem, or a few teares vpon the lamented death of his most deare, and loving father Richard Barlow late of Langill in VVestmooreland, who dyed December 29. Ann. 1636. By Thomas Barlow Master of Arts, Fellow of Queenes Coll. in Oxon and eldest sonne of his deceased father.

PIETAS IN PATREM , OR A FEW TEARES VPON THE LAMENTED DEATH OF HIS MOST DEARE , AND LOVING Father RICHARD BARLOW , late of Langill in Westmooreland , who dyed December 29. Ann. 1636. By THOMAS BARLOW Master of Arts , Fellow of Queenes Coll. in OXON ▪ and eldest sonne of his deceased father .

— Sed & lachrymae pondera vocis habent .

OXFORD , Printed by William Turner . Ann. Dom. 1637.

〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 . 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 , 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 . 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 .

Vpon the lamented death of his most deare , and loving father Richard Barlow , late of Langill in Westmooreland . MY Father dead ? stay , stay report , and tell This heavy newes by parcells ; say the bell Toules for my dearest father , say that he Is very sicke , yet his recovery Is not impossible : pause here , untill We have digested this ; for so it will Make way for more : and if it must be soe Say then hee 's dead ; for by this meanes the woe Divided may be overcome , which all At once , might cause another funerall , And kill us too . Such undivided feares Might even overwhelme , and drowne with 〈◊〉 teares Us , now poore Orphans : who can onely say Wee had a father . But this kinde delay I could not have ; for it was my hard fate To heare of 's death , ( in this unfortunate ) Before his sicknesse : So that all the woe Which I could either feare , or undergoe , Seas'd mee at once ; that I have cause to be O'rewhelm'd with teares , and melt with Elegie . Yet pardon this my sorrow , thou that heares I lost a father , who deserv'd the teares Of more then 's children : Such a father hee As many wish , though few injoy : to mee So deare and tender , that I cannot say What gratitude requires , much lesse repay . Well , he is gon , and in him we may see Our humane frailty , and mortality . Death knowes no difference ; Kings and Subjects have Their periods , and Exit in the grave . This lif 's a sea wherein we all doe saile , Some tos'd with waves , some with a gentler gale Come calmely to the shore : some finde that sea Which wee Pacifique 1 1 〈…〉 call ; yet all must be Hurri'd at last into the fatall waves Of the dead sea 2 2 〈…〉 , and so unto their graves With teares transported . For my father he By no untimely dath , no cruelty Came to his grave ; this blessing he did find , Where he receiv'd his breath , there he resign'd It willingly to heaven : nor in the spring , And morning of his life , nor withering With too much age , but in those yeares which he A blessing found , and not a misery . Thus dy'd my father ; nay he is not dead , Although he be intomb'd , and buried Deepe in the grave , so that we need not weepe , He is but go● ▪ and sweetly falne asleepe , " And will againe awake : no good man dyes , " But as the day-starre sets againe to rise . 'T is truth ; nay 't was impossible that he Should dye in that blest time , th' Nativity Of life it selfe ● 6. : no , no that was an houre , Which put a period to all the power Of death , and th' grave ; this did my father see , With joy of heart ; and then desir'd to bee Free'd from those troubles , and the many woes , Which sinne begets ; and then did thirst for those , Those better joyes . And having got release From all those miseries , hee went in peace To his long long-desired home , where hee Findes sweetest peace , and immortalitie . Tho. Barlow .

Vpon my dreame at OXON : which was this . I being at Oxon : and not knowing that my father was either dead , or sicke , neare about the time he dyed , dreamed hee was dead ; and the impression was so violent , that it awoke me ; and being awake , I found that , that dreamed-sorrow had caused reall teares , which had strangely wet even the pillow where my head lay . IT was ' i th' night , when the earth 's gloomy shade Involved had our hemisphere , and made Deepe silence to the world ; when did appeare Those many glorious lampes , which in that spheare Are firmely fix'd for ever , that which we Doe justly call the worlds rich canopie . Then in the dead of night , when sleepe did close My weary eyes , and nature did compose My outward limbes to rest , then did I see Strange apparitions , and a Tragedie In which my father acted : I did joy To see my deare , deare father , though a toy , A dreame did represent him . But anon The scene was changed , and amid the throng My father was to die : it was his fate ( As I conceiv'd ) onely to personate And act a funerall ; onely to die In shew , and in a seeming Tragedie . But this soone altered , and methought I see My dearest father dead , cold dead , and wee All mourning by him ; when anon they call Away , away , come to the funerall . And then o'rwhelm'd with woe , a thousand feares And griefes possesse my troubled soule , and teares Gush from my sleeping eyes ; not onely dream'd And phansi'd teares , but reall ; such as stream'd From true , not fained sorrow ; though to me The ground was onely dreame , and phantasie . All this I dream'd , and neare about that day , Wherein my father entered on his way To bless'd Elysium ; where for ever he Findes sweetest peace , and immortalitie . Say now profound Philosopher , and you That ferret natures mysteries ; say how It was but possible my fathers fall Should so possesse my soule ; how 's funerall Should cause such violence of griefe in me , Who neither heard , nor saw his obsequie ? Can things at such a distance move ? can feares Arise from unknowne danger ? or can teares Such reall teares spring from a cause so small As bare imagination ? can all Your speculations this knot unty And give a cause from true Philosophy ? Or was 't from higher cause , those powers divine , Which rule the universe , who doe untwine The thread of life they visted ? was 't that I Might really partake in Elegie And teares , as well as losse ? was 't to fulfill ( At least in part ) my dying fathers will ; Who often wish'd me there ? for thus my heart Was present at his grave , and bore a part , In that sad funerall ? no , no , so high Wee need not goe , as sacred extasie , Or any raptures , to unfold a cause Of this dream'd-reall sorrow , when the lawes Of nature will affoord one : we doe see , In well affected bodies , th' misery Of any part affects the whole ; we know , In trees the high'st part suffers , if below The root be perished ; when any paine Torments our head , how suddenly each veine Each part partakes in sorrow , 'cause from thence As from a fountaine comes that influence Which animates the whole . And can hee die Which gave me life , and beeing , and yet I Be unaffected still ? unlesse from thence I have a post , or some intelligence To say he 's dead ? oh no , it was in mee Natures just law , and inbred sympathie , Anticipating knowledge , caus'd those teares Which did not come from knowne , though reall feares . Tho: Barlow .

To his most loving Brother R. Barlow upon his Fathers death . YOur father 's gone , and you are left behinde Heire of his fortunes , may you of his minde , And vertues too be heire ; that men may ●●e Him still alive in his posterity . For while the branches spring , while they doe thrive , And flourish , we doe know the root 's alive , From whence they sprung ; although perhaps it be Deepely inclosed in the earth : so we Who have our father lost , and in the grave Inclosed him with sorrow ; yet wee have This happy consolation , that he Cannot be wholly dead , while 's progenie Survives in health : oh may those branches small Which yet remaine after his funerall , Be evidence hee lives ! hee lives ! may hee Blest in himselfe , be so in 's progeny . Tho: Barlow .

Apostrophe ad Patrem defunctum . REst , rest bless'd soule in happinesse , and be Secur'd from troubles , which mortalitie In this fraile life doth undergoe : thy minde Shall those sweet joyes , and speculations finde Which doe transcend expression : thou shalt know And feele that happinesse , which we below Cannot conceive : Ther 's that Elysian grove Where crown'd with joyes , and honour , thou maist rove With Kings , and Emperors for ever : there No awfull distance is observed , where Even all are Kings . Can any one be bound , To bow to others , whereas all are crown'd Heires of a Kingdome , where the subjects be Borne unto diadems , and majestie Imperiall ; there even thousands ▪ all Are first borne to a Monarchy ; and shall Each one inherite all ; strange tenure here , And such a Gavel-kind ▪ as other where Is quite impossible : heires all shall bee , Yet no division , no posterity Shall e're succeed unto themselves , but they Shall be immortall , and for ever stay Eternall heires of that blest land ; no wave Shall their calme sea inrage ; no , they shall have A gentle gale ; no dusky cloud their spheare Shall e're o'recast , there heaven shall be cleare For ever : to them that blest Sun shall be Cause of perpetuall serenity . Say now poore soule , who art affraid to die , And tread this way to immortality , And happinesse ; say , say , who would not have A speedy funerall , and wish a grave Where he might sleepe ? for death doth not annoy ▪ But is the happy preface to our joy . This way 's my father gone ; upon the shore Of that blest Canaan now , where he no more Shall any teares or troubles finde ; but be Perpetuall heire of true felicitie . Sleepe then blest soule , I will not wrong thee soe , As wish thee here againe with us in woe . Injoy that blisse , which we with weary minde And watery eyes may seeke , but ne'r shall finde , Doe what we can , nor may we hope , till wee Dismiss'd from earth doe come to heaven , and thee . Tho: Barlow .

To his worthy friend Mr Thomas Barlow , sonne of the truly pious and lately deceased Richard Barlow . ON whom shall I these blubbered lines bestow , But you good Sir , where such respect I owe ? And on you chiefly , for your secret woe The burthen of our griefe doth undergoe . We but as strangers on the shore lament A common shipwracke : you that vessell rent , To whom such love and dutie you did owe , What wonder if your griefes doe overflow ? But spare your teares , though you have cause to mone , Yet to persist in sorrow you have none . You see beneath the circuit of the sunne , All that 's made best is instantly undone . Perhaps the greater is your happinesse , Because to you it seemeth to be lesse . It 's ill to be too well , ease is disease , And deadly too , in parts that death doth seize . Then when in any part of us we joy More then we should ; lest that might us destroy , Heav'n takes it quickly off ( as 't were by stealth ) And by the want supplies our want of health . Wipe off those teares , sing Hallelujahs rather , Greive that you lost , joy that so good , a father . So good said I ? stay muse and that rehearse , Here is a subject fitting for thy verse . Too good for us , with graces so inspir'd , Such heavenly mould the Angels long desir'd , And therefore they so quickly did transport His Saint-like soule , to their celestiall Court. There was no copper in this minerall , Not counterfeit , nor hypocriticall : With friends or strangers he us'd no disguise , His words , his thoughts , his deeds did symbolize . No harder yron did his temper marre , Malice to none , no envie , hatred , jarre . Friendly he was , soft , milde to all ; and more Unkind unto himselfe , then to the poore . So just , so wise , s'upright in every thing , As stopt the venome of foule envies sting . A husband deare , a father tender , kinde , Though not in gifts , yet in a bounteous minde Exceeding most , nay all of his estate , A patterne most compleat to imitate For parents all , who usually bestow To children that can drive the cart and plow , More then to those that set themselves apart , By study for to gaine some liberall art ; More to those that feed sheep , or hew a blocke , Then those that labour for to feed Christs flocke . No disposition such in this rare piece , Not land , nor corne was spar'd , not oxe , nor fleece , Nor other thing : whereby he might advance His sonnes unto a learn'd inheritance . Heav'n with successe hath blest his care ; the same Your selfe , though silent , doe aloud proclaime . With Saints above he liveth blessed now , Below in vertuous deedes , in 's fame , in you . Mathew Wilkinson , Artium Magist. è Coll. Reginae .

Vpon the death of his deare and very loving Vnkle , Rich: Barlow . I Cannot weepe in verse : one thought of thee ( Deare friend ) put 's mee quite past all Poetrie : That language suites not well with griefe ; our cryes Flow not ( me thinkes ) from pens , so well , as eyes . No sooner is one word writ , but on it Downe fall's a teare , and drownes thy name halfe-writ . Let such as ne'r did know thee , or thy worth , Goe make themselves knowne thus , and copy forth Their owne names to their Reader , who may see Their nimble wit , and riming faculty : Such merry to yes they best know to bequeath , Who have no cause to sorrow for thy death . Here then my dumbe-strucke muse begg's silence ; shee For want of wordes , thus weepes an Elegie . [ Hee 's dead . ] Nay say not so ; oh doe not wound Our eares with that sad tale : that killing sound Must by degrees sinke gently into our hearts : Speake it not all at once : let 's have 't by parts , Say hee 's not well : stop there ; let us first trye To heare the Prologue , then the Tragedy : Tell us not yet , [ hee 's dead : ] or if hee bee , Tell 't in a whisper , or uncertaintie : Wee 'l not beleeve it else : wee needes must sticke To thinke him dead , till first wee heare hee 's sicke . Oh! but it is too true ; onely wee doe Faigne the report false , 'cause we wish it soe . It was thy pious policy , to steale A close departure ; Least our prayers and zeale Might have prevail'd with heaven ; and so have gain'd Thy terme of dayes inlarg'd ; and thee detain'd From blisse : thus thus our too too , officious tongue Out of fond kindnesse might have done thee wrong . Let us then chide thy goodnesse : this was it Tooke thee from us : hadst thou not beene more fit For that celestiall Quire of Angels , then The further company of sinfull men , Thou hadst alas — . Alas my mazed woe Begin's againe to wish thee here below . Nay rest , ( blest soule ) 't will be the better way , That wee strive to come to thee , and thou stay : Herein thy death us benefit's , that wee Now long the more for heaven to be with thee . Tho: Smith Artium Bac. & Coll. Reginae Oxon : Alumnus .

To the sad memory of his late deceased deare father , Richard Barlow . WHere shall I first begin ? or , if I lend My griefe a tongue , where shall I make an end ? Mee-thinkes those farewell-teares , which lately I Spy'd trickling from your eyes , teach mee to cry ; Mee-thinkes even that last blessing which you gave , Seem's a curse , 'cause the last that I must have . Had I beene present , when your feaver came , And burning fits , my teares had quench't that flame ; Had I beene present — . Oh let mee here pause T' expostulate : tell me , what was the cause That * * 〈…〉 then I was dismiss'd ? was it that I Might practice here to write an Elegie ? To pen your Epitaph ? nay , was 't not rather 'Cause thus you would provide me of a father ? Oh but such tokens of your providence , Whiles they should cure my wound , renew the sense . Griefe strikes me dumbe : for want of wordes and art , I 'le teach my eyes to speake the other part . George Barlow youngest sonne of his deceased father .

Vpon the much lamented death of R. B. HEE 's dead ! and must we therefore grieve and mourne ▪ 'T were to repine that ever he was borne . When weake old age doth gently fall asleepe , 'T is foule ingratitude to cry and weepe . Let tender wither'd plants deserve our teares ; Which dead our forward hopes of fruitfull yeares : Which quickly taken off , and onely knowne , Are in a minute lopt , as soone as showne . Here 't is not so ; full distance sure and meete His swathings sunders from his winding sheete . Oh not on thy deare hearse , or thy fresh dust , Powre we these teares ! As if here death unjust Had wrong'd thee , in exalting thee ; and bin Unmercifull , that from these times of sin Hath free'd thy longing soule . Alas wee know 'T was time for thee , for heaven long agoe . 'T is for our sakes we weepe ; for whom God stay'd And held thy soule off ; and this burden lay'd Of a long life upon thee , that so wee Might by thy stay be drawne for companie , That now are punisht in thy blisse , and see Gods wrath to us in being good to thee . To us thou still dyest young , and this thy slight Seemes earely taken , though not ta'ne till night . To our desires alas ! what 's one short span Whole natures date , for want of thee good man ? Whom many dayes and yeares , yea no time could Make tedious to us ; whom no age make old . But is he dead then ? true , nay false it is , He did not dye , that in eternall blisse For life of comfort , chang'd but lifes annoy , And thus he dyed , and thus he lives in joy . Hee dyed in shew then ; but yet lives indeed In heaven , and hearts of good men . Dy'd , to speed Of glory here : and in that surer place To weare a crowne of ever living grace . Then dye hee never can while vertue lives , For He and She are still correlatives . Sic deflevit Thomas Cleburne , Art. Bac. Coll. Reg. Alumnus .

Vpon the much lamented death of the truly religious Richard Barlow . IS 't you most dreadfull powers , ye sisters three , That doe unlace each mortall arterie ? That shiver sinewes , rending every veine , Divorcing soule and body , cut in twaine This Microcosme ? yea ; brag not tho ; one can Rebuild ( ô blisse ) that curious frame of man , And raise from out our common mothers lap , Our drowsie corps , after a winters nap . Let 's wade with pen , or in a watrish ray , Or at least sigh a word , he 's dead ; the day Is shut up in a shade , whose brightest beames Did shine on many , hence now flow these streames Of brackish water to put out our light , And spreades the curtaines of the darkesome night , Let 's rest content , he heavenly joyes doth gaine , He liv'd to dye , and dy'd to live againe : Farewell ( blest Saint ) crown'd with eternall fame , Though rapt by death ; wee 'l honour still thy name ▪ Lancelot Dawes . Coll. Reginae Alumnus .

An Elegie upon the lamented death of Richard Barlow , late of Langill in Westmooreland . WHat ? have not yet your daily cryes Melted the cloudes , and caus'd the skyes , To beare a sympathie ? hard rockes would split To smallest atomes , hearing us To sing our dolefull mittimus . When vertue for a crowne , a tombe doth get . But 't is not sighs will serve the turne , Come , pay thy rites unto an urne Sad muse : let eccho tell each wall , Hee clipt thy wings , nor blush to heare That heaven lyes above thy spheare , 'T will prove a prejudice to rise , then fall . Sleepe on ( blest soule ) eternitie Shall straine thy sweetest lullabie : Let envie , with her brood neere cease to fret , Triumph in peace : no gnawing care Can with such glory beare a share ; Looke downe ( and laugh ) how farre above thou' rt set . Mee-thinkes I view the wreathes of bay , Thy endlesse conquest to display , And how those dazling coronets fit a head So well deserving : but — I faile To lend thy name a swifter gale For ( what needes more ? ) thou liv'st for ever , dead .

Another , that he died a little after Christmasse-day . WHen Simeon saw his Saviour , hee cryes Lord , 't is enough , shut up my weary eyes : When our ( late ) Simeon got a fuller view Of his transcendent light , hee bade , adiew . Amoric & officii ergò , Tho: Tullius . Coll. Reg. Alumnus .

Vpon the lamented death of Richard Barlow , late of Langill in Westmooreland , who dyed December 29. 1636. his sicknes beginning with a cold , and shortly after he , and it ending with a fever . WIthin the bowels of this sacred earth Lyes one , as of no high , so no vile birth . His fortunes like to vertue , kept the meane , Not puff'd with this , nor pinch'd with that extreame . When he in peace had threescore yeares drawne breath , ( Belov'd as farre as knowne ) nature , not death With solemne joy ceas'd on him as a price , Glad she for heaven had such a sacrifice . Flames are to others tortures , but they come To him as triumph , or a martyrdome . He ( like Elias ) round begirt with fire , Ascended heaven ; flames must needs aspire . His fever had not heat from surfet , passion , Or lust , the three inflamers now in fashion , But ( as the purest fire the Chimicks hold Is forc'd from ice ) was kindled with a cold . Had it beene rage of common heat , no doubt But his deare childrens teares had put it out . Although he doe in sixe * faire Emblems stand Transcrib'd to future ages : yet this land ( The heat of his death generating ) shall See that he multiplyed at 's funerall ; The good example of his life and fate Shall happ'ly all the vertues propagate . L. N. 〈◊〉

To the Reader . I Am no Poët , nor ever sent I verse Unto the presse ; this onely to the herse Of my deare father ; not to shew my skill Or veine in Poëtry , but t' expresse a will Prone to my fathers honour , though to me , Nothing redound , but shame , and infamy . I feare no censure ; nay , some may approve If not my slender Poetry , my love To my deare father : whom the muses shall Preserve alive , in spite of 's funerall , And all deaths cruelty : by them shall he Live in the hearts , and dearest memo●● Of all his friends ; this blessing he●●hall have To free him from forgetfulnesse , and th' grave . Sic flevit THOMAS BARLOW charissimi Patris defuncti filius aetate , & dolore maximus . FINIS .

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