Virtus post funera viuit or, Honour tryumphing over death Being true epitomes of honorable, noble, learned, and hospitable personages. By VVilliam Sampson. Virtus post funera vivit. Sampson, William, 1590?-1636. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A11434 of text S110636 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 21687). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 115 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 37 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A11434 STC 21687 ESTC S110636 99846142 99846142 11090 2240929221

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A11434) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 11090) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1670:07) Virtus post funera viuit or, Honour tryumphing over death Being true epitomes of honorable, noble, learned, and hospitable personages. By VVilliam Sampson. Virtus post funera vivit. Sampson, William, 1590?-1636. [8], 64 p. Printed by John Norton, London : 1636. In verse. Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng eebo Virtus post funera viuit or, Honour tryumphing over death. Being true epitomes of honorable, noble, learned, and hospitable personages. By VVilliam Sa Sampson, William, 1636 73 18740 121 0 0 0 0 0 64.57 D The rate of 64.57 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the D category of texts with between 35 and 100 defects per 10,000 words. 2004-04 Assigned for keying and markup 2004-04 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-08 Sampled and proofread 2004-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2004-10 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

VIRTVS POST FVNERA VIVIT Or , Honour Tryumphing over Death . Being true EPITOMES of Honorable , Noble , Learned , And Hospitable Personages

WILLIAM SAMPSON .

Printed by JOHN NORTON . 1636.

A Proeme . To the right Honorable , and most nobly deserving Lord , WILLIAM Earle of New-Castle , Barron Ogle &c. Right Honorable .

CAESAR did adventure to write his owne acts , & heroicke deedes by commentary ( and very well he might ) I , that with Virgils gnat , have nothing to write of my selfe ( save misery ) have assaied to write the lives , Pious , and vertuous deedes of others ( not that by this they are immortalizde ) for their owne Worthes , Vertues , Hospitable , and Pious deedes united have eternized themselves . My full scope , & modest aime is to perpetuate them on Earth , that posterities unborne may not let such Honorable , Religious , & vertuous acts , as your nobleprogenito●s have done , & daily do performe , slip into oblivion , but as in a christall mirror we may here behold them ( as from the beginning we had our sacred lawes in the first table writte ) your Honour is the Sanctuary to whose high Altar of goodnes , I alwaies flie too for redresse in all extreames ●one , whom I know with

Anaxeritis had rather receive a cruse of cold water from your Poore Sinetis , then a goblet of rich aromaticke , or cretan wine , from a flattering Gnatho , the God of Heaven , & earth blesse you , my honorable . Lady my Honorable Mecenas , and all your noble , and Honorable families , and posterities , sending you your harts wish Temporall , & Eternall .

Your Honours humblest Creature . WILLIAM SAMPSON .
To the right Honorable most Religious , and truly noble Lady CARISTIAN DOWAGER Countesse of Devon : Mother to the right honorable WILLIAM Earle of Devon : and to the right Honorable the Lady , A●n : Ri●h , her honours sole Daughter . Right Honorable .

Fame , and Envy that usd to be sworne enemies of the dead ( either in detracting , or saying too much , ( in this place subject themselves ) Envy submits , and fame continues her resolution , which is to div●lge unto the world , deedes of Honor , , Piety , and Truth worthy of Fames Trumpet ! To your families , your Honour , and your issue these properly belong ! you are the needle by whom these Sun-dialls of Charity hourely , and daily goe , 't is you that lengthen , and not lessen these Charitable , and most Religious deedes begun by your progenitors of blessed memory ! I neede not say with Horace . Tn recte vivis , si curas esse quod audis . For the lives , and actions of this family , all tend to divine honour ; Heaven continue it , and with it long daies , and happy ones , and send that noble stem your Honourable Son that lovely branch of Honour , a H●lcyon gale , that he may safely arrive at your feete for a blessing and continue an arme of comfort to your Hnnor . , and all this most Honorable family .

To whom , and to your Honor I rest an humble servant . WILLIAM SAMPSON .
To the right Honorable CHARLES Lord Vis-count Mansfeild , Son , and heire to the right Honorable my singular good Lord WILLIAM Earle of Now-castle , Barron Ogle , &c. Lord Leiftennant of his Majestics too famous Counties Nottingham , and Derby . SOle heire of thy great fathers vertues ! I Present these Funerall odes unto thine eie , Wherein though young , like to Tully's Son You may perceive , what great deedes have ben don By your progenitors ! deigne then to read These living Trophees of true honour dead . Though wise Cratippus reach you , yet behold How vertue robes nobility in gold . We know there is a Sun , because his light Ap●'y distinguishes twixt day , and night . Your Ancestors like to th glorious Sun Have led the way , ( you Honours race m●●st r●n . Your infant Honours like to a welcome Spring Are by the Graces mark'd for vertues King . Live there , and grow there ! never may I see A fall'oth Leafe , in your progenitrie . Shine in thy Princes favours , and appeare Like the bless'd Sunne , when as hetrotes the spheare . Let no cloud blemish thee ! still may your e●e Aime at the graces of high Majesty . Out-grow thy honord fathers goodnes ! then Th art honours Map , the non-p●reill of men . Your Mother weares the wreath of goodnes ! you From such faire Trees must neede a Trophy grow . Bless●d be you ever , may I still deserve Next my devotions ( them , and theirs to s●rve ) Your honours servant till Death . William Sampson .
In laudem Authoris . LAudabunt alii vel Classica vatis Achaei , Phaliscus . Vel Dircaei Candida Cigni Carmina , sive Lyrâ Flaccum , Sophoclemve Cothurno Insigneis , aut pectine Bassum . Sunt quibus unum opus est numeros celebrate Maro nis ; Plurimus in Nasonis honorem Aptum dicit amoribus alter : singula singlî . Me nec tam lasciva Propertî Cynthia , Teia fides nec tam percussit , avena Quam nostratis moesta poetae . Quicquid habet Laurus , Jovis arbor , Populus , Ilex , Hac Cupressi fronde plicatur . Hic gravis , et brevis est , operosus , castus , acutus ; Tales lectores facit Autor . Ph. K. Mr in ar t● .
An Elegie .

ON THE RIGHT HONORAble Elizabeth Countesse of Shrewsbury wife to the right Honorable GEORGE Earle Shrewsbury Mother to the right Honorable William Earle o● Devon : Sir Charles Cavendish who married Katherine Barronnesse Ogle , Henry Cavendish who married the Lady Grace Talbot , and Mary Countesse of Shrewsbury wife to the Lord Gilbert which Mary was Sole builder of the second Court of St. Iohns in the famous Vniversity of Cambridge , Frances Lady Peirpoint This Countesse Elizabeth was Erectoresse of the two famous fabricks of Chatts-worth , and Hard-wicke , and sole foundresse of the famous Almes-house in Derby . Grand-Mother To the right Honorable William last Earle of Devon : William Earle of Newcastle Robert Earle of Kingstone Sir Charles Cavendish . Countesse of Pembrooke The Countesse of Arundell Countesse of Kent

Great Grand-mother to the right Honorable William Earle of Devon-shire The Lord Matreve●s Charles Lord viscount Mansfield Henry Viscount New warke Charles Cavendish , & Henry Cavendish . Esquires .

WHile Scottish Angus up to heaven doth raise Hector Boctiu● and , Aenca● Sylvius in their descriptio● of the Rivers of Scotland . Her River Tay with inexpressable praise , While Bamfe , & Louthan , Fife , and Devern sing And ould Legea braggs of her Dane King While Northern Tweede disjoyning them , & us Saith of her selfe sl●ees most conspicuous , Shall I our silver Thames , Severn , and Dee , Trent , Owze , and Avon , of one qualitie Forget ? nay to your praise I 'le bring My Alpine peakish Dove , whose fertile wing Yeeldes Milke , and Honey , till her selfe shee trill Into swift running Darwent on the hill . And lastly though a litle rivolet T●out yeelding Crawley shall in measure jet , You boast of stately Turrets , births of high rate , There in an equippage I 'le meete your state , You bragge of stately fabricks , guilded Towres , Whose splendor both the eye , and sense devoures , My Muse shall meete you there too ; but her wing Must some sad Funerall notes , and dirges sing . This blest Eliza this bright Diamond , Which long-time grew upon our peakish stronde Graceing the serti●e quarries ! wa st not strange That Hills , and Rocks their sterilnesse should change Yeelding a fruitfull eedenes ; as if shee By natures helpe had wrought maturitie , And from rough quarries taught the ploughshare goe ( Some deity for her sake form'd it soe ) She like a Sea Nymph deck'd the River sides With Trees like garlands , ornaments for Brides . The wanton sis● would leave the baite , and hooke , And dance in aierie bubles , on her to looke As when the Sunne his fiery beames displaies , And o're sweet Rivers castes his golden raies , Then every beame seemes double : so did they In thousands in their Icy Kingdomes play , As if conceited that their gazer on Was Queene of them , and their low region , Nor were they couzend much in her great worth , For like a Queene shee long liv'd in the North , Grac'd by her noble vertues ! shee alone Shone in her owne orbe ( ungrac't by none ) Free from Ambition , or thoughts to aspire Yet was her temper all celestiall fire , Her glory was in children , happy she That left behinde her such a progeny ! Three noble Earles sonnes of her great bloud , Whose perfect Honour writes her Honours good , Sixe Countesses descended all from her , Whose names , and fames deserve a Chronicler Whose births , and worths in future times shall stand Enrold within the volumes of our Land , What neede I speake of them ? their worths are knowne : Their birthes were hers ( their vertues are their owne ) Such up-rightnes of faith , purenes of soule , The World beneath her feete she did controule , Her O●isons like incense offred up Ascendant were to drinke salvations cup. The mighty Orbe was witnes of her power , With whom she sat in counsell every houre , The starres to her an everlasting booke , Whose mighty volumes she did over-looke . Knowing that there she was appointed one To sit in splendor , adding to the zone . Now while that Thames boastes of her buildings hie , Whose Turrets seeme themselves to stellifie . Tay said to bee the most noble River in Angus . Though Angus boast of her strong maiden Tower , Yet comes it short of Rosamonds faire Bower , My litle River shall compare with them , Yet ne're reflect upon the diadem . Iohannes Major . Darwe●t thy Chat-worth I will call upon : Thy structure merits admiration . Thy situations faire , hills like to cloudes On every side thy guilded ●urrets shroudes , Th art like the ●unne when he is going West Rowzing Aurora from her silver nest . Amid thy valleys Da●went s●iftly runnes , Who like a tender Mother to her sonnes Yeelds foo●ds , and springs , and waters sweet , and cleare , As the b●essed Sunne in his meridian spheare . There may you see the Salmon , Tench , and Trout , Like Neptun's Tri●ons nimbly friske about . Sometimes along the flower enameld vales Shee d●es inundate , and tells wanton tales Vnto the Medowes : f●r she takes a pride Her crystal limbes on pearly sands to glide . As if she were enamored on the Hills , Whose steepe descents her water courses fills . As loath she were to leave the continent , And thrust her head into her sister Trent . Who sometimes angry doth her course forsake , Thrusting her head into the German lake . Above her valley the●e you may deserie As in a Land-skip t●ings beyond the eie . The Alpes themselves you 'ld thinke were thether come And Ponto Angelo remov'd from Rome , I glance but at the outside , for within Those be the Judges ●ave that structure seene . And next to thee , faind Hard-wick , which dost stand Like to a promont peering o're the Land : Or like a quarrie that 's unpenetrable Gainst pick , or crowe rest unvulnerable . Or like a Diamond 's glittering in the night Which in the darkest roome gives greatest light . Or like a perspicill that doth descrie Things faire remote , and bring 's them to the eie , So stand's this second Colosse built by her , By this blest Woman this world's wonderer . Distant foure Miles , there stands her truest lover , Guiccardine : 〈◊〉 Gildas in the Expul . of the Danes . The stately Cabinet of Bouls'over , Whence the insulting Danes by force , and might Were last expuls'd , and beaten out in fight . Those that like Gyants 'gainst great Jove did war , And darted rocks against the thunderer , Here their aspiring purposes were void , Their Lives , and their intentions all destroid . Thence came the priviledge those Pheeres enjoy 'Cause they those Fin-land Gyants did destroy . Beneath our Hard-wike , in the Valey trills The Becke of Crawley fed by springs , and rills . Whose watry course , no river can beget Till in the Rother she her head does set . Sometimes she 's wanton too , and loves to kisse The Daizy medowes . when her Verdure is . You 'd take her for an in-land fen , or meare , When Hyems does the frigid Solstice steare ; But when faire Sol hath burnished the fields . Not Zephyres Botles so much calmnesse yields . Yet in this litle rill we Troutes doe finde , Harmlesse Mullets , and Crevise in their kinde . Pike , Tench and Barbell , Pickrels of high price , Which live within her watery Paradice . For which , and for those Fabrickes , which you beare , Within my fansies you shall still appeare . Darwent my Tempe thou shalt be , or non . Soft purling Crawley thou my Helicon , Enrich'd with minerals thy valleys are , Iron , Wood and Coales , Creatures that are rare In other climes , though not esteemd with us : For plenty ever was contagious . Things facilely come by we nothing deeme , But what we cannot get we most esteeme . Her bounty fame , and liberality , With all those Types of hospitality Were so inimitably absolute , A Parliament cannot that state refute , A most pious Princely gift 100. per Annum , and confirm'd by Charter . With all the house-hold gods that mournd her fall , To whom she was the full materiall . Witnesse that Almse-house which in Derby stand's , Where every houre with pure religious hand 's Twelve Almners habited in azure blue Yield's their oblations tributaries due To her their foundresse , where they have their pay By deede confirmd them at a certaine day , With Gardens to delight them , and sweet Bowers , Where harmlesse soules there spend their pious houres . Our swelling Darwent is their neighbour there , Who often feastes them with her Icy cheare . Within All-hallowes Church entomb'd she lyes , As if she here dreamd of that Paradice Above she was ascertain'd ! her eyes run Like to the larkes observant of the Sunne . Like fire in some fatte minerall of the earth , Finding the least vent , she would finde new birth . Rest sweete Eliza ; againe I say goe rest , Sleepe with the Phoenix in thy spycie nest , Embalm'd in thine owne mirrhe ! merit , and fame As thine owne attributes attend thy name . Though Mankind be but dust , yet by decree In every earth there 's a diversitie , Some soft , some hard , some sanded , some all Clay For sev'rall countries sev'rall soiles display , Thine was a hard one , yet it brought forth lead Surpassing silver fin'd , and polished . Those Margaretas preci●us in the West Compar'd with thy worth are unworthiest , Those Cassiopean jemmes , deerer then gold Laid to her vertnes were for nothing ●old . The spirit of Tagus , Opsi● , Ind●a free Are grosse and vile of no validitie . Yet when all 's done , Man is but kneaded dust , Subject to wither , canker , dy● and rust . Like to the Helitropium or go●d Flow●r , That Sunne that warmes him needs must him devoure . Her vertues this Imperious ensigne beares , Glory to her , and Honour ' to her heires .
On the Right Honorable the Lady Katherin Baronesse Ogle , worker to the right Honorable William Earle of Newcastle and the most noble Gentleman Sr. Charles Cavendish . WHen the two Tables first were writ in stone By the All-mighty ( which made all of none ) They certainly were left us for to show How in this life our times we should bestow . Why may n●t● then boldly forrage on To write a truth without detraction ? Thy sacred vertues cannot lodged be Surer in Grave then in the memorie Of thy deare issue● that emboldens me To write thy merits in an elegy . That Tree must needes be good , when as the fruit Is alwaies ready for the taste , and tooth : I meane in leason . For Divinity Allowes to each plant full maturity . Hadst thou bene one of common birth , or gone Above thy female sexe ( in but in one Rare gift ) my mournfull elegies then might As offred incense doe thee funerall rite , But when so many rarities conspire In one selfe person , fit for all t' admire , Small wonder then if my amazed eies Are dazel'd with diviner rarities . And I of sense , and wonder quite bereft , Si ce for to praise thee , ther 's scarse one way left . For thou wert all divinity , so rare Few earthly creatures might with thee compare , So sil'd with knowledge , sanctitie , love , zeale , As if by prophesie thou couldst un vaile All holy mysteries ! thy every word Had reference to the Almighty Lord : In Hymns , and Soliloquies thou didst pay Thy Orisons , as incense every day , Or balme powr'd on his Altars ! therefore we Counte it a blessing to remember thee , Whose good deedes we may aime at , but not touch , 'T were a Herculcan labour ; and too much For women to aspire , or match thy worth : One Phoenix dead , ther 's yet no more come forth Out of thy ashes , and yet thine owne faire birth Has brought a second blessing to the Earth Like spreding Vines they bout his tables grow , And like the lovely Olives stand in row . In these thou still dost live , thou art the Tree These stemmes of honour all are growne from thee . 'T is not a few poore lines that can pourtray Thy ample worth ; the Muses lost their way Seeking to discribe thee ! then blame not me If I come short of thy known memory , Whose every word was all perfection , And what I now write meere detraction . I cannot reach unto thy ample story That was so fraughted with Zeale , Goodnes , Glory , Humility was thy hand-maide , and she Has wafted thee to immortalitie , Where sacred ravishing●s thou hear'st above , Whiles we on Earth doe memorize thy love , Bouls o're retaines thy Corpes , the whole World thy fame Ther 's nothing here dead of thee ( not thy Name . )
On the right Honorable WILLIAM last Earle of Devon-shire who married the most noble Lady CHRISTIAN Sister to the Lord BRVSE and lyes inter 〈…〉 d in DERBY . I Make no doubt but from the Muses quire Some more sweet singers nobler , and higher Have offred to thy shrine ! yet let not me , When others pay , live in obscuritie , Without acknowledgment ! 't were a sin indeede , At which even Heathens doe us farre exceede . Ingratitude is ba●e , my treas'ry poore , Yet ● ▪ le l●nd some things from my Muses store . Thy honours gain ▪ d not more unto thy name , Then did thy vertues in thy Funerall flame . Nay wert thou now alive , there is none that dare Thy living vertues then for to compare . For thou wouldst thinke we flattered ! but now , Thy death shall all suspition disavow . T is sin for to bely the dead ! yet we , Hold goodnes speakes all truth ( not flatterie ) I want that rhetorique , which the men of Rome , Did joyntly beare unto dead Tullies tombe . Yet i 'le not danbe thy utne ; ( since that there Can be no fowle things , where ther 's no fowle eare . ) Thine ancestors of noble birth , and fames Whose good deedes have eternized their names . Whose zeale of faith , fealty to Prince , Detracting envy can no whit convince . With all those stratagems she workes to eate Into a free brest void of malices seat . Th' art not more honourd by thine ancestrie , Than they are triply dignifi'd by thee . Since all their honours thou didst multiply , And soe didst leave them to posterity . For to be great-borne is not the meere cause Why men receive lowd popular applause , But to be good-borne does transcend the great ; ( Goodnes makes greatnes for to be compleat . ) And she was thine inherent , vertue strove In various waies , all vices to remove . In France thy honours there did gaine renowne From the most Christian wearer of that Crowne , Those courtly favorits that gazde on thee Said that thy lookes promisd maturitie . E●en the greatst Pheeres of France , no more did wish But the Alliance of a Cavendish . They thy admirers were , and thou the Man In whom whole rivolets of vertue ran . Not by conceiv'd hopes ! for in thy face Were Characters of honour set in grace With vertues never found out , nor yet thought With sacred sanctity thy hart was fraught : With còurtesie courage , bounty , wisdome . What greater trophies can adorne a tombe ? Honour , learning , knowledge , piety , The holy blessings of some deity , But that which makes these to perfection grow He who had all these could be humble too . But that s a blessing from eternity Successively given to thy family . Humility is a robe of high renowne And 'mongst the card'nall vertues weares the Crowne . These made the Princely Dolphin t' admire thee And all the French Pheeres in love desire thee . And with a mourners sorrow waile thy losse When thou from France the English seas did crosse . Thy parting from them was , as if some groome Should leave his Bride , and journey farre from home . Yet hoping to enjoy her lord againe In 'midst of anguish gave release to paine . He that from strangers had these favours showne What graces then deserv'd he from his owne ? As great Embassadours of eminence From forreigne Princes doe their suites commense , Are in all pompe , and honourable port Receiv'd , and grac'd by persons of the Court , Such is the Princes will ! soe was this Man of men . Vnto his native home receiv'd agen . And married unto the Princely line Of noble Bruise beyond the River Tine , Of whom some noble branches still remaine The Lord Rich married the Lady Anne daughter of William Earle of Deton shire Whose honours part of their great worths retaine . The one engraffd in warlike Rich's Armes The other ready to sing warr's Alarmes . Then came each Poet with his sprigge of Bayes With all the Muses to set forth his praise . Into whose Palmes he evermore did powre Such heapesas Jove in Danaes lap did showre . Thus like a goodly Fabricke did he stand Admirde , and honord by all in our Land . Especially by sacred majesty In whose true service he did live , and dy . Lov'd of his Country , honour'd of the state , And his mortality dide free from hate ; For which the Muses to his memory Have now noe other song but Elegy .
On the right Honorable JANB Countesse of Shrewsbury Wife to the right Honorable EDWARD Lord TALBOT of Shrewsbury last of that family dedicated to the right Honorable the Lady JANE CAVENDISH Daughter to the right Honorable WILLIAM Earle of New-Castle : YE sonns of Phoebus , were ye drownd in Sacke Or Lethe ? did dull security slacke Your feeble spirits ? knew ye not she was gone That was sole governesse of Helicon : She was the soule of learning , love , and grace , Row●e up your sack-braines , die not in disgrace , Let not each misers Herse adorned ly With your strong Verses , stead of heraldry She was sole Queene of the Castalian spring , Then to her feete your flowing numbers bring . Come sprightly on , and offer here your Bayes For she deservedly was worth your praise . Since most ingratefull braine-sicke murtherers , Court Parasites , Vertues smotherers , False Sonnes of Phoebus , bastards of the Nine , Since they their own worthes sing , and conceale thine . May that rare miracle , ne're Created be Nor found amongst 'em ( wealth in Poetrie ) Well , though I cannot sing , yet you shall see Honour , and ●ruth , kisse in an Elegie . Thy funerall Ode was not more full of fame Then mine shall be of truth ( let spite spite shame ) For Temper , Goodnesse , Liberality , Stedfastnesse in faith , Hospitality She was inimitable ! beyond compare , No earthly Saint was so compleated rare . Each day the poore kept market at her gates , And tasted largly of her wonted Cates , Had all commodities the mart afforded , Yet payd for nothing , all went backe rewarded . Rich Charity the whiles , when every buyer Has all for nothing , and is payd for hyre . Here goodnesse floated , Hospitality Is the first staire leades to Eternity . These she at Rufford every day did show , As duely as she payd her morning Vow , Which sweet Oblations every day did fly As incense offered to the Trinity . Her soule set in her body , was a Jem Inclosd within a Glorious Diadem . Whose sparkling Inster , reachd unto the Skyes , Where like a starre it stands fix'd in our eyes . Her minde was the gold cabinet of Art Richly compleated in every part . Love , Honour , Knowledge , Learning , farre beyond , The common straine of Ladies in our Land , Who are not so annexed to the tie Of sacred knowledge , as to nicetie . Her youth spoke rare things , her vertues greater , She was rare 'i th first 'i th last compleater . Such sacred comforts her sweet soule did give . As that she fear'd not death 't was feare to live , Was her affliction ! honoured she No TALBOT left of that great progenie : That progenie , I say , even at whose looke All France have stood , as with an earth-quake shooke . Not of him that was the Terror of France though all the rest were brothers of his Line , Like crazy buildings when their pillars gone So have they trembl'd , and for refuge flowne . The name of TALBOT , as a Bugge-beare still Affrightes their children from attempting ill . If twatling rumour said but TALBOT's come , At her report all mutinies were dumbe . That famous TALBOT whose authentique name Was never touchd , by tainture , blot nor staine . Not to historifie their high renowne . ( A Shrewsbury was keeper of the Crowne . ) Such were the unstain'd TALBOTS honours there Though now scarse mention of them is made here But honourd urnes , and ashes ! what are those But reliques which our rotten tombes enclose ? What can out-last time , rust weares l'ron away Small wonder then , if our great names decay . And yet her name , and honourd memory Shall never fade , till all consume , and dy . Her servants are her Chroniclers , they found Those vertues from her , cannot fall to 'th ground . Northumberland thy deere losse does lament In them thy goodnes still is eminent . What shall I say of her ? she was compleat And in two Maxim's rare ( borne good , and great ) Great-borne by birth , joynd with that stile of bloud But that which nobler was , ( she was borne good . ) Nay adde to that which may all mankinde vexe All vertues liv'd in one of weaker sexe . Then sweetest Madam , noblest Lady JANE , You beare her memory , her worth , and fame . And may you fairest Lady ever be As neere to her in deeds as pedegree . You cannot misse her worth , you have the shrine Of goodnes in you , ( all parts speake Divine . )
On the right Honorable ELIZABETH Countesse of Huntington Wife to the right Honorable FERDINAND Earle of Huntington . Women lament her losse , for here she lyes , That from your female sexe deserv'd the prize . The Graces met in this bright paragon And but for her had perishd long agon . The Lacedemonians usde to sacrifize Vnto the Muses in most solemne wise To th' end their deedes might all be registred And Chronicl'd , for theirs ( when they were dead ) If they did thus , Ladies why should not you Pay to this pious Dame a holy due ? She to her sexe did all their vertues give , Envy cannot deface them ! they shall live Till Time dissolves , and this huge fabricke passe , And all to Chaos turne , as first it was . What s'ever worth , or merit , could define In her , as in a mirrour , cleare did shine . Those rich endowments sacred vertue claimes To be sole Queene of ; those she wore as chaines Making a true loves knot of goodnes ! she The Lady was of bles'd Humilitie . Charity , Love , Zeale , Religion , Were the Ideas that she doated on . Shee knew Court Ladies faults , and did not tie , Her faith unto her fashion ! her eye Aimd at the starry Court of Majesty Absolute in Love , Zeale , Brightnes , Glory , Honour loves not applausive multitudes , But vertues selfe , which verity includes . Her soule was so engraffd in piety That she despisd all popularity She needed not those Platonicall Rings Of whom an ould Philosopher thus sings The vertue made invisible ; no no she Express'd all vertues in her modestie . She on true honours Maxime did depend That conscience was the honorablest friend . From dead Eliza of bles'd memory She did receive her Christianity . A happy Mother makes a happy Childe She had her spirit , and her nature milde . Till pale Consumption made the way for Death , Then sweet Eliza , yeelded up her Breath .
On ELIZABETH WILLOVGH BY First Wife to HENRY WILLOVGH BY of RISLEY Baronet who lieth interr'd in the Parish of Wilne in Derby-shire . WHy did the birds 'i th hight of Summers prime Their wonted Chirpings leave ; which usd to chime Like silver sounding bells , from springs or woods Which Echo iterates from running floodes . The sil'y robinet did leave to hop And senseles sat upon the cold house top . The Larke lay downe lothing to get on winge , The Thrush had quite forgot her sonneting . Sad Philomela from her pensive brest In all dull sorrows tunes her notes exprest . Such mournfull dirges were by her begun As if that sorrow sorrow would strike dumbe . Thy losse best woman , was the cause why thus Both man , and creatures were incongruous . The Birds bless'd woman ruefully did mone Thinking their Phoenix was to Ashes stone . But from thy flames few more such will arise . In thee th' Arabicke perfection dies . Thou Orphant's Mother , and the Churches praise , Great pity Time did not protract thy daies . But let a stocke of vertues fall in thee , Which able were to make an Historie Of ample goodnes ! these for to looke upon And dare to write 'em were detraction . Thou hast bene long lamented , yet no verse Nor showres of rhetorique can grace thy Herse ? Thou hast out-gone all eloquence ; and we Neede no invention , thy Historie Will finde us worke enough ! and that we read Of thee at Risley , though that thou be dead . The neighbour Villages , that round are there , Receive thy bounteous almes , three times a yeere , Paid from thy Husbands open treasurie , Whose soule sweet , Saint , hath long lamented thee . That wert the true Idea of his soule A famous Chappell , and the Tombe of his noble ancestours by him erected over her in the Parish Church of Wilne in Derby-shire Whose pious actions doe all ills controule . He o're thy Funerall Herse a Fabricke fram'd A Chappell at Wilne ! what needes that be nam'd ? All buildings come too short of that great worth , Which thy most honourd birth-right did bring forth . And therefore dead thou canst not lodged be More in thy Grave , then in our memorie .
On the Right Honorable the Lady CLIFTON second Wife to Sir GERVASE CTIFTON Baronet , daughter to the Earle of Cumber-land . WOnder , and Beauty did contest , Which of them too should grace her best . Wonder then said that shee alone Was fit to write on her owne stone . Pride , and she at difference were , Vanity must not dare come neere . Divinity , and she were one And best were pleasd when most alone . Contemplation was the ty Which bound her thoughts in vnity . For poverty she had a band Which like a harvest eare did stand Full , and open ! her marble stone Still invites a parting groane . Beauty said she would not vie For out ward parts to please the eye . The in-ward beauties of the minde Soule Magazines she there did finde . There were honours , riches , plenty , Grace , and goodnes , glories dainty , Charity in a robe of Gould Sat their enthron'd , all might behould They mentall vertues did not weepe , Her Leet , or Court , did justice keepe : There were all that might be saide Of goodnesse in a wife or maide . Beauty said , there was her store , And wonder cry'd , enough , no more . These are enough to build a tombe That shall out-last the day of doombe Natures Darling , Vertues Glory , Thy best selfe , is thy best story .
On the never dying memory of ould Sir JOHN HARPER of Swarkeston Grand-father to the noble Gentleman Sir JOHN HARPER dedicated to him , and his most nob●c Lady . To number out thy Birth , thy yeeres , and age , Each leafe would be a Chronicle , and each Page A volume ! where our Patriots might read Thy living actions though thou long since dead . I shall want Trophees to adorne thy Herse , Rather some pen of silver for thy verse . Silver , said I ? nay sparkling diamond Or some more rare , if rarer can be found , For to engrave thy worth ! a goulden pen Well poyn●ed with some glittering diadem , Will best become thy anthentique story , If that it faile not thy great history . Our Antiqua 〈…〉 es to thy seat may come , And offer volumes up unto thy tombe . And yet fall short of thee ! nay sadly mourne O're those few ashes strewde about thy urne . Their mystick Caracters thou couldst make sense , And never wrest Case , Gender , Moode nor Tense . All forreigne broyles , and eke domestique jarrs Thou couldst by policy appease from warrs . Such were thy sacred treasures in the law That ev'n dissension thou couldst keepe in awe , Setting at peace the uncontrouled splcene Of those thy neighbours which in suites have beene , As lawiers did their Tully imitate , Yet could not reach unto his sugred fate : So now those imitators follow thee , Yet cannot reach thy sweet serenitie : Justice in even scales thou long didst beare , At which Astrea joyd , set in her Chayre , For she rejoyceth when her scale is ev'n , And registers her up-right Judge in Heav'n . Our ancient Heralds to discourse with thee Thought it as much as to Historifie . The Muses lost a father , for thy hand Did their necessities , and wants withstand , Yet thy benevolence as freely came As dew from Heaven upon this Earthly frame . Each brow was lawrell'd , and each sprigge of Baies Was tipd with gould , fore-telling Halcyon daies ; The gods of musicke since that thou went hence Have quite unstring'd their sacred instruments . And tooke them to the Melancholy vales And there to one another tell sad Tales . Yet there 's faire hopes their states they will resume And with their straines strike Melancholy dumbe . Filling the groves with their harmonious sound Striking a double echo from the ground . A house as free , and open as a Court Manag'd by industry ; not by report , Seeking to gaine a populare applause , But cheifely aiming at Charities Lawes , The poore , and needy every day are fedde Though thou be gone they still eat of thy breade This president was un-matchable , Ages to-fore Nay , and to come , cannot the like tell o're . A family so guided , man'd , and gouern'd As that dissension scarsely was discern'd , For twice sixe yeeres , a house kept , and maintain'd , As if the master still on earth had raign'd . If after-ages doe not record this Our Chronicles are faulty , and remisse ; No servant from his Master went away , Nay there are still maintain'd unto this day By thy successors ! whose faire hopes doe give Large testimonies that thou still dost live . And may they ever in thy goodnes shine , For thou on Earth wert heavenly divine . Send them , great God , a many happy sonnes And all like thee ( they will be holy ones . ) Where Vbrious Trent her swelling veines does spred , Within a narrow roome lyes entoombed This noble president ! and while Trent their flowes All ages honour to thy memory owes . I will not longer trouble thy dead earth . Sleepe on bless'd IOHN , sleepe till a second birth . If good mens prayers to Angells have accesse , Thou hast in heaven perfect happinesse .
On the renowned gentleman ould Sir JOHN BYRON of Newsteed-Abbey . LIke to the silly freckled Butterfly Oblivious winter long hath let thee ly . But now the Sunne his beames hath darted forth , And most illustriously guildes thy worth . 'T is not a marble Tombe , nor some few lines Writ with a golden pensill , that confines Our good or bad actes : t is memory That record's them unto posterity . And that we have from thee , for thou wert all That can be said of goodnes naturall . Lives he that will not justifie , how fame Rais'd early Trophees to the BYRONS name ? How by desert , thy noble vertues shone In their owne orbe , rectifi'd by none . He truely serv'd his Country , nobly the state , And was for both like Basills magistrate , Free from Corruption , Avarice , or Pride , His vertues not his vices , he did hide . When Roiall Anne was pleased for to trie Diana-like her strong Artillery , In spatious Sherwood ! famous'd for the fame Of Robin-hood , whose bowre still beares the name . Then had you seene our BYRON with what port He entertaind her Majesty to th' Court. With musicke sweet , as if in harmonie , The Earth , and Heavens in confort did agree , To speake a bounteous welcome 〈…〉 uch a one As well might vivifie a hart of stone , How every office in its owne spheare mov'd , Admir'd by all , and of the whole Court lov'd , Freedome , and plenty strove which should exceede , Bounty p oclaim'd full wellcomes to Newsteede , Yet with a free , and sparing hand ! for shee Saucde every juncket with sweet temp'rancie . But what of these ? why nothing , all is gone : These are but shadowes to perfection . He was religions friend , and with a sword And shield of faith did ever man Gods Word . He liv'd till in the Autumne of his Age Death sign'd his Exit off this fraile world's stage . But though hee s gone , he that so dies , dies not , But lives , and never can be here forgot .
On Sir GEORG MANNORS of Haldon , father of the noble Gentleman JOHN MANNORS Esquire . ANd shall thy honours which like Land-marks stand To guide the Sea-man ? shall those be writ in sand Or Carracts of oblivion ? then let my pen Lose her sweet candor , and ne'r dare agen To draw spruise Nectar from the Thespian springs Where merit freelie sip's , and cleerely sings . Were all wits frosty , and to Ice congeal'd That thou brave JOHN so long shouldst lie conceal'd , And not a memory sent to thy vrne To blaze thy worth ? did there so many mourne , And can so few remember ? barren age When vertues must be sent on pilgrimage , Ne're to returne liurely it was our clime Made with so barren , that nothing in due time From any Muse was offred to thy shrine , That wert on Earth so heav'nly divine . Frostes dri'd our Springs , Mountainous heapes of snow , Vpon our peakish Alpes did seeme to grow , Which made our wits , as barren , leaden , dry , As that which on her Alpine browes did lie . Vntill Vertumnus with his luke warme veines From rockie springs bedewed all our plaines . Till then our wits , like spring's chain'd up in frost , Or chillish thawes were sterill , drein'd , and lost . Then let my Muse , though weak'st in all the quire , Vnto thy Herse offer Phoebean fire , Yet without Marts of oile , or flattr'ies Inke , My smooth El●gies never us'd to drinke Affections liquor , truth play thou thy part , And Muse brave envy , write thou from thy hart . Some things oft times doe simply good befall , And somtimes goodnes happens accidentall In out-ward gifts ! use makes them good , or nought . As if a man his Country save , t is thought His strength is good ! but if by violence His valor wounds the guiltlesse innocence Then is his valour nought ! absolute fame Lov 's all , hurts none , and gain 's a glorious name . In this he did transcend , for in the fielde He never did to any foe-man yielde . Valiant , yet seldome angry , valour showes Most cleerely perfited in smooth-fac't browes : The embleme of an honest harted minde Is to be valiant , yet to all men-kinde . As starr's in magnitude , and splendor showe Each from other ; so mortalls ever growe In goodnes or in vices . Oft we see Two men in all things never did agree . If this has height , th' other wants his stature Deform'd the one , th' other full of feature . Some Starr's are fixed , so are some mens minds , Others all motion : so are most by kinds . Some starr's are bigger , so are some men by birth , And some show lesser that are high'st from Earth . As the fixde starrs ne'r from their centers move But in their Epicycles rowle : such was his love A Rocke unmoveable , a Bullworke of defence , A Fort of Love , Armes , Arts , and Innocence . Just to his God , Religion , Piety : For all mens griefes , full of anxiety . His whole existence , this way was enclind , T' adorne his soule , more then to please his mind . Pride as a leprosie he still abhor'd With all their vanities that sinne ador'd . In spir'd by sacred knowledge from above That proud men never liv'd in perfect love . This Maxim's undenieable by disdaine . ( Prides pension , and reward is called paine . ) From that if out-ward signes doe blazon forth , What the interior is addicted too : then worth Speake for thy selfe ! I neede no soothing laies Daub'd with Encomiums to set forth thy praise . Thy Country knowes it , that thy garments were For warmth , not wantonnesse ; such as might out-beare Stormes , and tempests ! some say pride lives in raggs Yet thine were never cut in Flashes , Jaggs , Not like our gallants , at whose vanities , Ever sits blushing the poore taffaties , Whom though they cannot speake their collor rises To see Apes dress'd in severall disguises . Vertue is home spunne , needing no gould lace To guild her russet coat with , Sacred grace With all the Card'nall Vertues shee 's indu'd , Her cabinet all goodnes doth include , Bounty , Greatnes , Hospitality , Vnfaigned love , and liberality And that which under foote , does all els tread ( A hand still ready to give poore men bread . ) But I have lost my selfe , and my faint Muse Is so short of thy worth , shee does abuse Thy memory : then let thy Country speake ; And they'ill strike envy dumbe , make malice breake Her necke ; if she dare to oppose them , For all these worthes , and more he did enclose them . Charity was his robe , peace was his crowne Good workes the sword , with which he won renowne . He Philips Motto , every morne did scan ( Remember mortall thou art but a man . ) Therefore he knew that mans selected good Was his last act ( which was to lose lives bloud . ) Repaying nature that which mortalls must , A forefeiture call'd life , most true , and just , Therefore he arm'd himselfe with innocence , Love , zeale , humility , and patience , Strong Porters for to beare a sinfull man Vp to the portalls of Elizium Where like the Bay Tree , though to us unseene Though winter allwaies were , ( yet he lives Greene. )
On Sir GEORGE PERKINS of Bunny . STay passenger , for there he lies . Who for his merit , gain'd the prize . Belov'd i th City , fam'd i th Court Vertue makes the tru'st report . Such his gesture grace , behave'our From his Prince he had the favour , Of a servant ! but noe Court grace Can the rough hands of Death displace . His sandy houres doe fleeting runne , As snow dissolving 'fore the Sunne . The greatest Pheeres , and Potentates Are all but subjects to the fates . But noble Perkins did not fall Hee mounted to the Tribunall , He serv'd his Country , Prince , and state And did free from the Commons hate . An Almes he ever freely gave And those that wanted there might have . He was wise , judicious , strong , And yet he feard for to doe wrong . Rich in sacred wisdomes store Which makes his Country him deplore , And adorne her selfe in blacke , For many such she now does lacke . Such faire modells , such briefe stories As doe heape on her more glories . And still adde in worth , and fame More honours to his Funerall flame . But he is gone , and fates are just , For as he is , so mankinde must . Yet this I say though he be gone His vertues shall strike Envy dumbe .
On the right Honorable WILLIAM CAVENDISH second sonne of that name to the right Honorable WILLIAM Earle of New-Castle . 1633.

WILLIAM CAVENDISH

Ana gramma

All my will is Heaven .

IT was heavens will , and sure it was performd , And thou in heaven art certainly adorn'd Amongst those Angells , whose bright Coronets . Transcend the Sunns , and brighter ray's begets . Sure Nature was empoverished , and her store Most certainly enfeebled , and growne poore , And therefore to enrich her treasury She sent her messenger pale death for thee , Making that Axiome from her owne sexe good , ( All purity was borne in innocents blood ) Thrice happy he that so departed hence In lambe-like patience , Sacred innocence . Before he ever tastes earths pompous drosse So to gaine heaven ( a happy saint like losse ) Conspir'd you all , did you oh fates conspire To crop this goodly tender growing spire ? Did you and death Herodian like agree To worke on innocents a Tragedie ? Could no low Brambles but the talest Tree In all the forrest give satietie To your dire vengeance ? is Bloud , Honors , State At no more price then Birthes of meaner rate . Since Adams mourn'd fall , was there noe degrees No diff'rence in bloud ? no diversities 'Twixt Kinges , and Cottagers ? no , not with death , His paile-eyd horse rides mortals out of breath , And 't is small wonder , for 't is often seene Rough Winter blowes upon the Summers Queene . The youthfull Spring growne almost to his prime By Northren blasts does instantly decline . Both ould , and young are equall in degrees , For death saies mortalls are but Natures fees . She keepes her Courtes . At her exchequor day All must receive ( or if they owe all pay ) Her rowles are open , every man may read Her just allowance , how her pathes to tread . And he that derogates from her behests . Is streight way summond to her court of questes . Somtimes her tearmes she warily rejournes , Making the dead tree live that sadly mourns . Lives sap being spent ! contrarily The plant new grafted she makes for to dy . As she has done this noble Impe of fame Just when his lives bright candle 'gan to flame . Life like a Taper that gives others sight Consumes , and wasts in lending its owne light . For all estates at Deathes shrill Trumpets call In her star-chamber must be personall . The bodys goods , as beauties strength , and health Which alwayes are esteemd the bodys wealth , And eke the soules as ( manners milde , and art ) Which still doe governe mans diviner part , Also the wills , as Justice Wit , and Vertue , Which unto her as attributes are due , Are of no prise , nor vigor in the scale . ( For when death comes there s nothing can prevaile His bounds are boundlesse , his malitious Ire Is like an Aetna , or consuming fire . All mortalls are his buts , all lives the aime , At which he shootes , and never loses game . Death 's an engrosser still ; say what man list He scornes his lawes , is a monopolist : What greater malice could a Tyrant showe , That had the whole world set his gesse to goe . Where he might finde soules pinch'd with poverty That s●de , and prai'd , each minute for to die . Sape-gode usurers that ne're did make An honest act , for Law , or conscience sake . These were no diet for thee , mischiefes sonnes The aptest are for thy companions . Those second helpes which Nature does bestow Which in her treasury of Earth still grow Ordaind for mankinde , could not physicke make From her large store , one compound that would take His dainty palat ? no 't was then in vaine , For he did Physicks helpe , and life disdaine , And like a man enforced for to goe A longer journey , then he first did know Cries Doctor spare thy physicke for to day , ( To morrow I 'le take all , and thee obey . ) Sweet divinity , when so sweet a child Reproves Hippocrates with speeches milde , Presageing that his Esculapian Was absolute , his soules Physitian ; Yet knew not he to sinne his tender yeeres ( Though all were borne in sin ) that ambage cleares . His mothers griefes , and honourd fathers praires , Vnpenetrable were in thy dull eares , Thou hast no hart , and pity cannot enter In any bosome where there 's no center . Dull is my Muse , yet my prophetique fire That slowly flames burnes constant in desire To quench thy malice ? monster now I see Why thou hewdst downe this goodly growing Tree This Princely , lovely , gall-lesse , harmelesse dove Mirrour of infancy , patience , and love . I 've found the cause of thy invetraterage Thou killd'st his brother 'bout the selfe same age . And 'cause the Conquerour of Brittains Ile Was nam'd William , famous'd for his stile , Therefore successively thy malice runnes To kill two Williams natures champions For as th' one Phoenix out of flames did rise The other Phoenix into Ashes flyes , And like Joves Eagle leaves this vale of Earth Mounting Elizium for a second birth . Where death , nor time , nor envy candeface , Nor ought diminish of his heavenly grace . Farewell blest babe , lawrell decks thy browes , Deathes live'ry ours , the saddest cipres boughes .
Epitaph on the same . REader behold a wonder here A childe here lyes , that did not f●are Pale death 〈◊〉 hee valiantlie Spurnd fate , death , and destinie , Warriour-like he met his soe , The aged wretch dares not doe soe . See what a guarde has innocence ! O're all it beares preeminence . It loves not life , cares not for breath It conquers sinne , Hell , Paine , and Death . It is the Sword , and Shield of Faith The just man there his ground-forme laith . Then happy thou bless'd honour'd jem Sweet morning Starre , bright Diadem Th' ast gainde a Conquest by thy fall For Earth , the Heavens high tribunall . Death surely was in love with thee Cybele on Atys doated ( so did hee . ) Her love transform'd him to a Pine . Soe death did thee 'mongst pow'res divine . Marble will moulder , thy name will live And harbour unto vertue give . Then Reader , underneath doth lie As much Innocence as could die .
On the well learned , and truely noble Gentleman Sir PETER FRETCHVILLE of Stalie . COttons great fame , learning birth , and worth The Genti of our Nation hath set forth . And worthily compared him to a booke Writ by the thrice three maids ? On which to looke Is full perfection ? why may not we Renown●d Peter reade thy Historie ? Each word containd a subject , every line Was worth a Kingdome that was all Divine : His body , natures noblest frame , was strong , His silver haires proclaimd him ever young . The Graces throng'd together him to court Nay you would sweare this man was vertues foart . Where learning , bounty , courage met in one Striveing to place themselves in vertues Throne . There all the lies of goodnes joyntly grew Dressing themselves to render merit due . Each limbe of him , each arter , nerve , and veine Did in themselves a Microcosme containe . There charity in her rich robe was dress'd Here liberality at full express'd Within his bosome there lay aptitude And there sat bounty kissing fortitude , Hospitality almost dead , and gone He did againe bring to perfection . Adorning her in Heavens Skie colloured hue ( For poverty is characterd in blue ) She at his gates was answerd every day Before she knock'd she had her Almes , and pay . Where others stretch their lands as men wrest cloth Stretching it on the tenter-hookes ! when both The Farmer , and the keeper cursing cry Their hands are barrd from publicke charity . Yet then this Nestor of experience , Tooke pity on his tennants indigence , The third part he enjoyd , he had no more , Such Land-lords never did make Tennants poore . Aged he was if reckond by his yeeres But you would deeme him young seeing his haires , More white then Snow or Milke ! his gratefull worth Got him the name ( of white Knight of the North ) His Country still laments him , and doth weepe Since he that was her eie is falne asleepe . Staley retaines but his impurer part Heaven hath his soule , his best part we in hart .
On the right Honorable HENRY Lord , STANHOT of the North , Knight of the Bath , Son to the right Honorable PHILIP Earle of Chesterfield , and KATHERIN his noble Countesse . Anno. 1634. LIves there an eye of Honour did not weepe 'Cause thou so suddenly did'st fall a sleepe ? Oh yes , even Vertues selfe did sadly mone , 'Cause thou so suddenly to heaven was gone . And yet this Crowne shee sets upon thy head , Thy Vertues are alive ( though thou be dead ) Who ever knew thee did not waile thy fall , Or wept not at thy solemne funerall ? Such hopes thy Country had , such joyes the state , And yet to see , they both unfortunate . Hopes had thy Country of a Patriot , The state a Counsellour though new begot . Borne Man even from his Cradle ; yet oh see How sudden vanishes maturitie ! Just like the Lilly fairest of the field Which does her bravery to th' sickle yield Or like the flower that opens with the Sunne , And falls , and dies , before his course is runne . Thus did this noble sprigge of honour fall Even from perfection to a Buriall . And yet to say so were detraction , Since he is gone hence to perfection . For so much goodnes , wisedome , knowledge , arts , Such rare endowments , and such sacred parts , Such gravity , as if experience had Invested him , and in her robes him clad , Such Activenes of body , acute wit As if the Muses in his brest did sit . And there kept court , instructing him all rules And abstruse secrets of their holy schooles . Nay what unto him did not they impart ? Urania had enshrind him in her hart . And all these rarities to be complide In one , not twenty one before he dide . Great pity that a fabricke of this state Should crazy fall , and subject be to fate . But vaine are teares , there 's litle to be sed For each of him is disinherited . Being his ●●der brother He had a brother who in 's prime of youth Allmost arriv'de unto his perfect grouth . Pale death and time cut off : whose most deere losse He did embrace with such a heavinesse : That from his day of death , unto his owne , His Brothers dying day was ever knowne . Entombd that day o th' weake , in s chamber he Solemnely kept his brothers Obsequie : There did his owne true worth his worth confine In meditations siting a Divine : Rare presidents of Honor , chiesly young , What would his age have brought , had he liv'd long ? But he is g●ne , and with him went our teares , For certainly he now needs not our prayers . Yet such rare presidents , ought not for to lye Entombd , and buried in obscurity . His joyes are full , and now we may expresse More joy in him then cause of heavinesse . He dies not that so dies , but lives againe Immortally , from anguish , griefe , or paine .
On CHARLES STANHOP first brother to the Lord HENERY , and third Son to PHILIP Earle of Chesterfield . KATHERIN his noble Countesse . NO sooner are my Summer blessings come But streight comes Autumne , and rough Hyems on . Whose rugged browe proclaim 's sadde disasters , Nights , stormes , tempests , day-consuming wasters . No sooner did our Sunne of comfort shine Nor bright Aurora with her silver shrine , After tempestuous daies , and dim-eide nights , By their fresh beames , and rarified lights But newly perfected ! in comes a storme Allmost as great as that but newly borne . Eclipsing our fresh glories , and in cares Makes us a fresh for to begin ould teares . No sooner was our honourd HENRY gone And our late mourning weeds past putting on Our memory or backs I streightway does come The death of CHARLES that strikes all joyes dumbe . Oh thou most sacred Jewell ; golden Time Thou pretious Jem of Jems , thou all divine , Thou fleeting shade , unsubstantiall thing Thou that art nothing , yet of all the King , Whoo 'd be lavish of thee ? this president Should make us chary how our Time is spent . We may in thee behold , how vaine is man In all his actions , doe the best he can . This goodly slower , but yesterday new blowne By Times untimely sythe to day cut downe . This goodly Garden in whom scarse grew weedes , This lovely full-eard corne , that ne're lent seedes Fitting a seedenesse ! is tane from th' earth Before it had maturity or birth . This lovely Pine-tree when his Aples shone With rosy cheekes like Phoebus in the Zone . Is hewd , and falne just in his Prime , and growth , Even in the early spring time of his youth . But Death and Time are Twinns , if one cryes on , Thought is not swifter then the act is done . Death thou art mercilesse , and thy rigor such As makes us raile ( though it availe not much ) Me thinkes those paire of noblest brothers gone Those that of Vertue had Dominon ; Might have suffizd thy wrath ! or if not those Their Vertues might , which did all worth enclose . All worthes , I say , that might be thought or found In two so young there could not more abound . Of if not those , their Mothers showers of tears , Which fell like raine sent from the weeping Sphears Who wept in pity too , or if not these , The new chang'd Virgins prayers might appease . No sooner were they ty'd in wed-lockes bandes But thy inveteracies untwines their handes , No sooner were those lovely Turtles pairde , Scarse of those rites , and ordinations sharde Which God for man decreed I streight way thy Ire Sweepes all before thee , like Promethean fire . Virgins will curse thee ever , and forbeare The sacred Jugall wedding Ring to weare . And so empoverish nature of her wealth Because thou rak'st up all her joyes by stealth . But these cou'd not suffize thee ; he alone Was the Idea 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thou doatedst on . His brothers like the two great Lampes of light That guilde the heavenly Orbes by day , and night , So grac'd thy Trophes , wonne thee such renowne , Without this third thou couldst not winne the Crowne . But thou dealtst poorely to insinuate Enseebleing him I nay with the selfe-same fate , And cause of sicknes , which our Barons killd , Killd him ? high providence must be fullfilld , No strugling 'gainst the streame , no stopping tide , Birthes of this nature mortalls cannot hide . The end of our creation was to die Death being the fine of all mortalitie . Then cease to waile his losse , his soule 's a Je● Fixde in the Sun-rai●s like a Diadem . Thrice honoured Lady , count not that a losse Which even the Angels cover to engrosse . With Davids sorrow mourne him while alive , But dead , doe not against your knowledge strive . The losse of friends , more sorrowes doe not get If rightly understood , then benefit . We sorrow for them , when we thinke of Earth , But when of Heaven , and that most sacred birth We doe rejoyce ? and their joyes emulate Till we in happinesse possesse like state . You have more sonnes , and many more may have Leave mourning these then ( Earth is mankinds Grave . )
On ROBERT POWTRELL of Westhallam Esquire . IF love to knowledge , or good partes The Muses friend , and true deserts , A man enshrind in all mens hartes Liberall , and Authenticke Artes. If love to musique does deserve A thankefullnes from every nerve . Chiefly the Organ of the eare Whose atribute is all to heare . If charity deserve to be A vertue for necessity , Since hee that gives unto the poore Hourely encreaseth his large store , He wisely does his Talent lend And may it doubly so expend , If love to subject , Prince , and state Free from envious pride or hate . One that ne're us'd for to oppresse Without thoughts of covetousnesse . One that his whole life so d●d sway As meerely careing for to day . If one in whom these worthes did dwell Deserv'd to bee the non Pareill Of goodnes : surely such a one Deserv'd from us a parting groane . Nay a Rich Trophe o're his herse Adorned round with his owne Verse , If such a one was worthy praise Then he deserv'd the sprig , and Baies . For he had these from natures store And a thousand vertues more . Which ab●e are to tell his story , Fraught with honour , fame , and glory . Which are able for to depaint His life a mans , his death a Saint .
On William Willoughby of Mascam Esquire , who died at Celson . SOme say Death does brave things , I thinke it true ●nd yet it stands ambiguously too . Some say thou slew 〈◊〉 w●th a sling ( A tricke to scare P●ds with ) a pretty thing . And bravely thou knockest Sisera ith'head ( A manly part to Naile a man starke dead . ) Wolves facilely doe prey upon the sheepe , When as the carelesse Shepheard lies asleepe . 'Mongst multitudes of Pagans Sampson fell , Bragge of that Trophe , there thou quit'st thee well . Yet boast not much of that poore sacrifize , He would have killd thee ( had he had his eies ) Great Alexander of an Ague dide , And Tailour-like thou bodkindste Casars side . And Troyes great Hector fell too , not alone Thou kill'dst him cowardly ( hundreds to one ) But here thou kill'dst perfection , in this man Rivolets , nay Seas of sacred vertue ran . For this sweet man of men , this Willoughby The Graces mourn'd , and cruell Destiny , That never yet did good , for him did moane , 'Cause he from earth so suddenly was gone : Just in the Summer of his growing age Began thy malice to breake forth in rage . And like a trembling theefe thou didst steale in And murder'dst him ( that scarse knew how to sin ) Well , thou hast done thy worst , the best is ours : He lives in spight of thee 'mongst sacred Powers , Time will not court thee as she us'd to doe Because thou kill'dst his Sonne ( not twenty two ) Thrice happy he that lives well , and so dies Growing a Prime-rose in Gods Paradice . Reader behold that Pho●n●x here he lies , Vntill another from his ashes rise .
On HENRY WORRALL of wysoll Esquire . WHo lies there thinke von ! Read , and see , 'T is not the Map of miserie , Nor he which does this world controule Whose money is his life , and soule . His feeling , sense , his eies , and eares , Hee s dumbe , hee s deafe , he nothing heares Without it : beyond these t is his god For that absented he lives odde . Tenne i' th' hundred , hundreds to one His god , and he will keepe one roome . Thou art deceiv'd , hee s not here Then reade not , lest thou shed a teare , This sacred place affoords not rome For such a one to reare a tombe . No Tempe ever had a birth Of so much goodnes , love , and worth . Who though in honour hee s not great , In goodnes he is all compleat . Woo't have mee speake a verity Here lies the Mappe of charity , One that did daily at his Doore With his owne hands releive the poore . One that did never lend on use And yet to lend did ne're refuse . One that did never once engrosse Yet sould to all ( and liv'd by losse . ) One of those men , lov'd not to make Actes for Law , but conscience sake . He 'mongst the wisest was held one Most fit to write on his own stone . For which high heavens have enrold Him in a Throne of purest gould . From hence he was translated , there To be a Starre fixde in the spheare , For us to wonder , and admire , A man compos'd of heavenly fire . He never did the poore oppresse , But in their wants did give redresse . His countries griefe he left behinde They can no more such fathers finde . Worrall though dead we have thee still In thought , in word , in deed in will . Thy memory cannot decay Till all dissolves , and turnes to clay . Wood'st thou have truths Epitomie Know Vertue dy'd ( and then dy'd hee . )
On the Worshipfull Mrs GREASLEY Mother of the Lady BVRDEAVT of Formarke . LEt it suflize that all I speake of thee Will come farre short of thy great memory , But as small briefes great Volumes do containe : So those few lines may at thy goodnesse aime , In part though not in whole 〈◊〉 and therefore I Offer up these to thy posterity . Thy Birth was noble , thy education such As had from Vertue Vertues sacred touch . In truth , and true religion thou did'st stand Full many yeeres , as Sea-markes to the land , Guiding the Mariners that in dangers were Vnto their wished Ports , and havens cleare . And unto those that did the truth approve Thou wert a lampe of faith , burning in love With Christ , and with his spouse , the Bride and Groome , What greater Pillars can support thy tombe ? She needes not many beautys t' adorne her That has the Bridegroome for her chiefe mourner . She was in Children happy , in parents bless'd Of her cheife happynes she 's now possess'd . In patience calme as sleepe , her Love , Zeale , True emblemes of a pious common weale , To Anger flow , the winds did not contract More swift motion , then she to a good act . Then Madam 't is your comfort that she is To the Lady Bur 〈…〉 ut . Emparadic'd in perfectnes of blisse , No soothing after Toombes , and ashes ! shee Is absolute in true felicitie . For which in stead of Cipres , Olive , Baies May best be worne by you that live her praise .
On the Renowned JOHN Lord DARCY of the North. GReat buildings by their owne contexture stand , So doe thy honours propp'd up by no hand . True glory was thy aime , marke , and renowne , And thou in heaven hast a glorious Crowne . Great vessells of their owne weights never sinke 'T is overpoising , or that which they drinke Which makes them sande ; thy well trim'd Boate , Did on this Worlds Sea a long time floate . Ballans'd with honour ! without wracke or leake , No stormes nor tempests could her strong keele breake . Till heaven emparadic'd her in the haven Of blesse eternall making all joyes even . What was her fraught ? Religion , Piety , Repentance , servent Zeale , Anxiety : Goodnes , Grace , and Honour Pilots were Guiding the ste●ne vnto the Starry Spheare . Where Angell brightnes yields reflexion Ambassadour-like to greet this paragon . The cardinall Vertues follow Humility That sacred sister of Nobility : True love in whom all noble honour staith Sweet Charity the first borne child of Faith . Patience , Diligence , Liberality , That yields a hand to due necessity : Rich Temperance that does all ills controule , And Chastity the Beauty of mans soule . A happy guard , but thrice more happy he That thus is guarded to Eternity . He had three Wives of blessed memory , Who certaine are in heavens rich treasury . By two he issue had , by th' ould one none , They , and their of-sp'ring all to blisse are gone . In peace they liv'd , in love , and peace they di'de Enjoying honse-roome with the lambe , and bride . Dame Fretchvill , Bowes , and Bellis were their names Whose good deedes doe perpetuate their fames . A fourth survives , whose goodnes 'mongst the rest From all the foure winds stiles her selfe by West . She ranck'd in honours file does claime due share From the ennobled house of Dela-ware . Deathes Image sleepe hath stolne his soule away His body till the last Trumpe restes in clay .
On Sir GILBERT KNIVETON Knight , and Baronnet . WHen first thy active person made resort Both to the English , and the Danish Court . No favorite then liv'd in more reguard Then noble Kniveton ! Or freer gave reward Vpon desert , and merit ! The stately Court Where men of all degrees , of garbe , and port , Extant to practise ! some for complement Yet runne at randome from the Element , Some to make faces , Curtifies , and Congees , As if they were disjoynted in their knees . Some meerly study fashions , some paynt At pleasure making of a divell a Saint . And some more sacred wits , purer , and fine That studied nothing but what was divine . For there s of all trades , like a Mart or Faite , And thither all so●tes of people make repaire . Retir'd from thence thy ●leasures tane away Thou practis ▪ d gratitude a neerer way . Zeale to thy God which evermore shall prove A living Monument of lasting Love . A hand like harvest , alwayes free , and open . Affable in lookes , curteously spoken . In thy Converse the poorest swaine might be Allow'd all language , open , firme , and free . An eye , and brow , that never frownd ! but when Grosse appetites predominated men . A tongue that wisely could with cares dispence To 'th people love , allegeance to his Prince . Not covetous of Honor , Pompe , or State , As free from enmity , as love from hate . Wise in thy countrys cause , yet now , and then Subject to errours like to other men . Yet those that knew how faire a treasury Of goodnesse in thy noble brest did ly , What all refined sweetnes ? well might sweare Thy rarenes thee proclamd they Muses heire . Thy noble off-spring still does droope , and groane Like crazy buldings thou there pillar gone . Bradley laments thy losse , for there thy name Long time hath livd in King and countrys fame . But vaine are stately fabricks , narrow roomes Will serue to beare us , and our rotten toombes .
On the Lady Greffith Wife to Henry Greffith Baronnet , and daughter of Henry Willoughby Baronnet . T Is not a sin thus to expostulate , And aske the causes , why untimely fate Crops the bladed corne , before ' its eard . Kills fruite i th blossome , and Lillies new appeard . But 't is great pity that these goodly creatures The braverys , and raritys of natures Should be untimely by Times Sythe cut downe Before their perfitenes , and worthes are knowne Vnto the world , and thereby to deprive The earth , and Nature of what worthes they give . If this be sin , and pity , then pale Death , I le dare thee to a combat , which whiles breath Retaines this mansion , till thy fatall dart Those ould companions soule , and body part , Shall ne'r be finished : and I know till then Thy hatred cannot cease to mortall men . Yet I defie thee , knowing that here tody Is but a preface to eternity . Here has thy malice showd it selfe , to steale That sacred lampe of love , and perfect zeale . Honors perfection , patterne of Piety Light unto Grace , Goodnes , Nobility Was there one riches , which this world did foulde That in her litle world she did not hould ? Yet rave'nous Tyger thou did'st her annoy Before she tasted of an earthly joy . Just in the early Spring-time of her age Thou sent'st her on her short liv'd pilgrimage . Hence questionles she did on Cherubs fly To the great Palace of eternity . Where 'mongst the Hierarchies she sings in partes , Joyes inexpessible by men , or artes . But that 's no thanks to death ; for the best will Thou hast in doing well , is doing ill . And how can that be good ; since there s a text . Divinely contradicts it , and has annext Curses unto it ! but I waste my breath The law has limits ( none must kill save Death . ) Thy sting oh Death , thy cruell sting I say , Destroid this goodly parragon of May : This lovely Juni'an Rose that did display Those Cretan spices sweeter nor the day , Those sacred leaves of honour , lampes of love , Which made pale Envies selfe her selfe reprove . Earth held no ric●es , which she could not finde , For she had cabin'd goodnes in her minde , Yet lent it out still I not on usury But for th' encrease of goodnes treasury ! Vnsated Caniball I 'le raile on still Although I know th' art limited to kill . Could not the Earth suffize thee , there to roame But that thy meager paunch must build a tombe Robbing a consecrated Temple , thereby To steale true goodnes sacrilegiously ? Nay to subvert posterities , that 's a bane That will perpetually on thee remaine . She the faire prop of foure faire goodly towres Is undermind and falne : but God-like powres Have left one goodly branch , which spite of thee May propagate , and make posterity Vn-numberlesse . so shall Willoughby In Willoughby beget new heraldraie : And Knowles shall tell thy malice , and I pray The G 〈…〉 ffin may of thee beget the day . As questionlesse th' All-seer has assignde it , And t●y posterity shall surely finde it . Then shall the Bird of Pallas change her note And clutch the Hare out of the Greyhoundes throate , And the gould Griffin which is foe to none Still shall innovate this noble union . The Elephant with his vast truncke shall turne Those eys to laughter that in sorrowes mourne . All shall consigne in one , and with this Ave Caution each other ( adsum cave ) Thus great destroyer , know that silly I Lesse feare thy malice , then did feare to dy This noble Lady ! all have from nature breath , And all are sure , nought's certainer then death .
On WILLIAM FARRINGTON of Salterstord Esquire March the , 14. 1633.

WILLIAM FARRINGTON

Anagramma

Farwell I am gon .

Which Anagramizde by conversion even , ( Farwell . I am gon ) from Earth to Heaven .

WHat Epithete more shall I give Then for to say thou still dost live ? The Reader saith how may that be ? Does that man live ? noe man can see . I answer thus , all die to live , Therefore that Epithete i 'le give . I neede not praise thee , goodnes known Needs no Laudare's . But her own . I must lament thee 'cause the Earth Growes barren , and yields no such birth . Known griefes are dumbe , and such are mine Thy joyes aboundantly doe shine . I adde but coale to flaming fuell , Death has stolne away my jewell . I dare not wrastle 'gainst harsh fate , Yet needes must waile thee ( though to late . ) Thou wert no wrangling contester No covetous , poore-molester . No plodding polititian . But plainly a right honest man . Say more that list , more will not I , Truthes Epitomy here doth lie .
On that worthy woman CASSANDRA POWTRELL of Westhallam . THough she be gone , her goodnes , fame , and birth Left not a second paragon on Earth . T is said the Phoenix into ashes flies , And from her flames another Bird doth rise , If our Arabian England can affoard From all her borroughes such another Bird Wee le banish forreigne groves , ours their shall shame Of thy great worth , Religion , breeding fame . Where are the Muses ? are they all asleepe ? Do they their fathers high holiday keepe ? Have they forgot their nursing mother's gone Which kept a house as free as Helicon ? Where every thirsty soule might drinke his fill , And make him apt for the Castalian quill . True knowledge base ingratitude doth shunne When learning growes ingrate , the World is done . Others their fame , and glories gaine by chance , But she did never her great birth advance From others names : that worth is profitlesse That comes by chance , not by vertuousnesse Hers was inherent , given her from above Filld with sanctity , piety , and love . Yet I dare boast , and will not be denide Shee could say that , few women can beside , Great Aunt , and Mother to so many Sonnes , Earles , Lords , and Knights , Vertues companions . Honourd Countesses , Ladies of great worth , Our Herraldries cannot the like bring forth . Greater her honour , could so closely hide Her noble birth-right , free from thought of pride . Yet was contented in a pious life With one sole husband , thou his onely wife . Thy patience as a Land marke still doth stand To be a president to this whole Land . Bless'd with so many children ; yet to see That they should all claime aprecedencie Of place before thee ! but 't is natures will Death both the younge , and ●uld alike doth kill . Our persons he respects not , natures pay Is what she lent us ( life ) at our just day . Her coate like vertues was un-alterable . A dy that never staind un-coulourable . No mortall saw her change , eve'n such her life , Even such a Maide , a Widow , and a Wife . Her garments , and her faith both were one , Vnchangeable in love , life Religion . Her charity like to the Queene of heaven To needy beggers every houre was given They knew their martes , and where thy well might buy Sustenance for their meere necessity . ‛ I was not extended barely at the doore Where they that ask'd receiv'de , but to the poore Her neighbours , who sicke in bed ost lay Through hunger starv'd , almost cast away For lacke of succor ! thither still went shee While she could goe , and ease their miserie . Happy Cassandra , Happy thrise I say , Thy Almse deedes never can be tane away . One part thou hast , th' other still we have Bless'd in thy Birth , thy Cradle , Life , Death , and Grave She had her servants harts , her tenants praise , And never raisd a rent in all her dayes , Remarkable signe of goodnesse , this age wantes such , th o'ther way they multiply too much . My Muse wantes not rare matter , but a pen To crowne her with a Glorious Diadem , But that shee needes not , for her sacred parts Have stellifide her 'bove the reach of arts , Nay I dare bouldly to the world proclaime Her likewill scarse be found on earth againe . Her braine a Chronicle , her minde a volume Her Vertues a pillar her goodnesse a columne For great ones for to build on ! if goodnes rest In any of thy sexe , 't was in thy brest . Shee did not hoorde it there but freely gave To any one that askt wha● they would have . True patterne of the blessed , so did shee ( Who 's ever thirsty was might there drinke free ) Cassandra mournd to see Troyes misery , Thy Troy , Cassandra , now does mourne for thee . And yet those honor'd Branches left behinde Will ever imitate thy nobler minde .
On Mrs. ELIZABETH WOODWARD Wife of THOMAS WOODWARD Esquire . THy Countries losse , and griefe of minde , The ●ame mans hands , eyes of the blinde , The widowes joyes , and cure for griefe , The Tennants harts-ease , and reliefe . Thou Growne of women , and good dayes , The fatherlesse , and orphants praise , Thou that inspight of death did'st live To praise his name , that long did give Thee being ! thinkst thou that thy name Though dead is gone ? no 't is the same It was , and ne 〈…〉 shall wa st away Till all dissolves , and Time decay . Thou mappe of women and good name , Sleepe on with Time ; rest still with fame , Thou which most Scriptures had●st by hart Now hast it for thy better part . Marble empounded converts to dust Thy memory can never rust . Who 'ere thou be that vewes this herse , And with a sad eye reads this herse , Know underneath this clod doth ly Eliza of bless'd memory , Zealous in life , happy in daies , Worth all mens loves , and Angells praise .
On Sir HENRY SHERLEY of STAVNTON Baronnet buried at Breedon in Leicester shire . WHy who would thinke it , say the passers by , That underneath this Marbled stone should ly So rich a treasurie ? can so small Earth Containe a spirit of so great a birth ? Can such a slender hill keepe in command Him that could tread o're leagues of his own Land ? Can honour , and worship thus be undertrod And throwne as reliques , under a poore clod . Weake is the greatest Prince , and cannot stand The angry darts , of deaths , commanding hand . For he that treades o're Kingdomes of his owne , In some few feet of Earth must be trod downe . And therefore Sherley , 't was in vaine for thee T' oppose the mast●r of a monarchie . Let it suffize thy goodnes shall out-live All those inveteracies , the world can give , Thy love thy learning , goodnes , merit , fame , Shall as preservatives , live in the name Of thy posterity ! and may they shine In Saint-like goodnes , farre transcending thine . That to their fathers name they may gaine praise And centuple their honord mothers dares . Thus passenger when thou reflects thine eies Vpon this hill , know that here under lies Thrice noble Harrie , but all teares are vaine . Hee s seated higher then we yet can gaine . Waile thou his losse , but still say Death is just For Sherley is ( what all the World once must : )
On that much lamented gentleman Sir HENRY LEIGH of Egginton . WHy droope you Muses ; have you solely cause To blame the destinies , whose fatall lawes . Have wrought privation , from us tane away Vertues Map ! like the Meridian day In up-right goodnes ? I must confesse Great are your griefes , mine greater , and not lesse . Rivers lose course , when trilling springs grow dry Life must decay , when all our vitalls dy . Yet though our bodies fall , and spirits passe Our vertues live transparent in the glasse Of our lives steeradge ; though our losse be great Lend me your aides solemnly to entreat Of your deere losse , and mine ! mine is asmuch And has like Marble a true N●obes touch . Three things there are indivisibly plast Which still in order stand ; first , mid'st , and last , These he was all ; his parentage goodnes bred A midst he was nobly educated , Lastly , he was most zealous to his God , With lambe-like patience , he did beare his rod. Attributing Time tardy , 'cause that he No sooner went to heave'ns felicity . I heard him sighing say , good God that I Should languish in this vaile of misery Seeing so many able , lusty , and strong , Some powerfull in estates , great yet young . Some tympani'de with honours , potentates , Grand Seigneiores , governours of states That Midas-like with an Elixar touch Turn'd all to gould they handled ( quoth he that such ) As these can dy , and leave this vaile of cares , And I that loath it , languish still in teares Because I cannot leave it . love to my God Hath made my soule , and body fall at od ? And from my dying breath I this impart , Wishing those ould companions now depart . Base fortunes goodes , which to their harts men binde He estimated not ! Vertues of the minde Were his endowments ! his purchas'd store Gave sustenance , and still releiv'd the poore . With open hand , and hart just like a ashowre Sent in dry Aprill , so did he freely powre His bounteons almes ! like as the free Sunn Gives to all earthly things Vegetation Life , and full growth , shining alike on all From the lowest brambles to the Cedars tall . So did his Charitable hand to all expresse , Where just necessity was , due cheerefulnes . His garments were for warmth , not wantonnesse , By which he did humility expresse , Implying vertue needed no gould lace To guild his russet coate with ; sacred grace Was his best suite ! there did he contemplate , And in goodnes his soule ingratiate , Loathing all vanities beneath the Moone , Which are like shadowes after Sun set downe . Night , stormy tempests , dangerous heats that fall , Labour , greise , misery , death the fine of all , Him he most hated , 'cause he dar'd not venter And with his pale dart , naile him to the center . Bringing him to those Moone eclipsed lights . Where day light ever shines excluding nights . Where peace , and joy perpetually remaine Where death nor age , nor any thing is vaine , Vertue 's a castle which hardly can be wonne , Till Death gives the retrait , and cries be gone . Or those Erispelas , statuous tumours By long consumptions bred , purgd ill humours Subjecting natures strong enforced meane , Yet then in three things he wishde to be cleane , Cleane in th' exterior part , cleane in minde His soule assuredly he cleane did finde . See what divinity pale weaknes brings . ( Cleane soules delight not in corruptible things . ) But faithles World who shin's most in thy grace Must expiate , ( 't is God and natures race . ) Life like an Autumne leafe shakeing flyes Now on the Tree it growes , now falls , now dies . One minute brings us life that minute paine , One minute brings us death , that life againe .
On the right Honorable H●N●Y P●I●POINT Father to the right Honorable ROBERT Earle of Kingston . WHat siere thou be , that hap's to cast an eye Vpon this monument , Know here doth lie Vertues unparalleld piece ! goodnes , grace Were hand maides to attend him ! in his face In never dying carracts thou mightst reade How meekenes and humility were displaide . His charity I neede not here proclaime , The needy handed by truth speake the same . In courage Mars , in patience Zephyrs winde Botl'd not so much sweetnes , calme , and kinde . Judgements sole ground , his tongue did solely speake And since hee s gone , best judgments are grown weake . Smooth Plato's stile , and Cicere's Eloquence Survivde by him , in him they did commence . For from his lip 's such honnyde stile did come As would make Tully mute , strike Rhetorique dumbe , Not Ae●chilus such wanton laies did sing As he did heavenly sacred ravishing . This makes the Muses mourne , 'cause he is fled And not their tongues alone , but phrase is dead . Plato held swarmes of Bees ! so did not he , Yet he from Plato gaind the maistery In his familiar speech ! now liv'd those Swans That of him sung heavenly Io Paeans . Our latter age for Stile , Sound , Case , and Tense Of former times would gaine preeminence . Bounty , Goodnes , Hospitality The poores friend , Foe to prodigality . Patience , neighbour-like Love , and all Artes The Card'nall vertues of the inward partes . Sweete consolations of all holy mindes Which like to chaines man to heaven bindes . All mentall Vertues soveraignes of the soule He had in hart , and did in minde en-roule What goodnes man could boast , merit , or raise , In him th' Epitome was well worthy praise , And yet he bragd not : ostentation And his free thoughts were at disunion Farewell thrice happy Harry , happy hee That leaves behinde him , such a memorie Then reader , when thou read'st , and this name heares On this thou canst not looke without soome teares .
On the worthy Gentleman Sir HENRY A●ARD of Fauston , 1635 AS the poore Birde when Summers height resignes Her high Meridian to the ●cy signes Which scornefully dart through the watry Clouds , To see Earths braveries in witherd shroudes . The silly Larke then to salute the day Gets upon wing ! as though she would assay . Some cheerefull notes to sing ! then beholding Faire Summer spent , after the cheerefull spring Downe falls her notes , a cherripping she keepes Yet knowes not well whether she sings or weepes . She sings in thought of Summer , but she cries To thinke of Winters ●ragicke miseries . In this extreame , all mourne for thy depart That living knew thee ( though now dead thou art . ) Muse thou hast had much worke , but now thy Pen Hath found a subject worth a Diadem . Two noble Heuries worthes thou late didst sing This third deserves thy best of sonnetting . Sad fate it proves to us , when as your eyes From comicke streines sing tragicke Elegies . Yet though we cannot contradict the Fates In spight of them , we can bewaile our states . Methinkes I heare the neighbour habiting groves Where with shrill bugles he did chant their loves , In piteous order say ! who now shall guide Or man our harmelesse heards from being destroyde ? The brawny Oake , growne Ash , the Elme , and Yewe . In this sad season quite have lost their hue . Their mountant armes like hunts-men alwaies seene Apparelled in Summers livery greene , Looke not like July , but Septembers wane , When every flowre from Tellus brests are tane ? Thus every signe contrariously does goe Prefiguring calamity , and woe . Whence growes the cause , why nature had assignd Thy losse deare Agard , by them thus divin'd , Yet th' art not lost , thy one part lives on Earth Thy other in Elizium has new birth For thy unparalleld goodnes needes must stand As a remarkeable mirrour to this Land . Let gentiles view their faces there , they 'le finde An un-faind purity , an up-right minde , A conscience never went without a feast , A happy burthen for a troubled brest . A brow that never frownd upon the poore But where necessity was , there went his store . His fleece was apt for clothing , and his purse Was ever open to the Orphants nurse . And since we are dissecting , let his ese Stand for a patterne of humility . Where he himselfe annua'ly did read Those principals that now last , though hee 's dead . His hands bore justice scales , his countries cause Ev'nly he manadged by her just lawes . Not sparing greatnes feareing power , or might . But scorning favour did to all men right . The scales of justice here he carride even , And questionles hee findes them now in heaven . For upright justice is the path that bringes Man to the presence of the Kinge of Kinges . He ●uilyes Motto every morne did scan , ( None feedes on justice , but the upright man ) He serv'd our Soveraigne James , our lawrell , Kinge ●●ke him that did our Israell● gloryes sing . He Knight-hood gave him for his Zeale , Love , Truth . And dignifi'd him in his prime of youth . Honors doe seldome come without desert For time makes vice , or Vertue most apert . Truth like a Columne does the one support , Time Lawier-like does the other court . His Love , Zeale , Goodnes , Truth , Piety , Strong creditors with Soveraignity . So pleas'd our glorious King , Charles of same For to investe on him , a servants name . In his new fabrick ! in which mystery He ended life in great Tranquillity . Which ●●●bury the house of Lan●aster , And Iohn of Gauntes ! shall evermore ever● Not coveting honour for the Agardes names , But it perpetuating to their fames . Muse thou art in a Lab'riuth ' an Maze His Vertues questionles thy spirits daze . For thou hast lost thy supine major part . Th' unbounded , boundlesse goodnes of his heart . There Vertue kept her seat ! Apolles line In his contention was not halfe so fine . So true refined , and so full of grace , The Carde'nall Vertues there strove for a place . Thrice happy he that liveing loveing dyes , When Vertue strives for due preeminencies . This Maxime to his age even from his youth He did prefer , ( friendship goes still with truth ) Reguardlesse of a t●●e friendes small offence , True friendship aimes at perfect eminence , Those Centryes where thou liv'dst doe blazon forth Thou liveing had'st their harts , now dead thy worth Lives still with them ! that time cannot decay Till all dissolves , and time sweepes all away . Thou liv'dst in peace , and so dide ; and like thee May all men goe to true Eternitie .
On the same . IF Marble monuments tell to future daies Th' ●habiters good deedes , glories , honour , praise , Why should not thine say something since in thee Goodnes rests to perpe 〈…〉 e ? Thou had'st a schollers knowledge , and best parts And liv'dst sole M● . of the liberall Arts Thy goodnes needs hoe testate , for thy deedes Like a true Gard'ner , rooted 〈◊〉 ill weedes , Leaving the supple plantes ; Herbes , and Flowers , Befiting coronets of vertues bowres . No tribulations ever shooke thy brest Patience did evermore support thy creste . Resolvde on that ould S●crates did sing ( Meekenes ' is the greatst . Trophe of a King ) Where power wantes , there E●●y son'st is knowne , But where thine lay thy mercy was most showne . Thy love , charity , liberality , Were all express'd in true humility . The just mans merits by his deudes are sound The bad mans are like waters cast on ground . Thy life unspotted was , thy end as cleare As Jupiters in his ascendant spheare . The Romans when their famous Consulls dide Petitioned their Oracles to divide Their goodnes 'mongst their kindred ! so may thine , By that meanes they will all be made divine . Wert not a sin to wish , we should desire Aectias Botles , againe for to inspire Fresh life ? 't is said that they are stuff'd with breath . But there s no conqueror comes after death . Ould Faussons joy farewell , for there thy name Shall last as long as honour , time , or fame . To thy dead Herse thy honourd friend this gives , That love is firmest after death still lives .
On the pattern of modesty ELIZA : TEVERY daughter of GERVASE TEVERY of Staplefoord Esquire . WHy did the Lilly , Paunce , and Violet weepe The Marigold ere Sun-set in did creepe At whose refiexion she us'd for to rise And at his way-gate to close up her eies . Why were the beaten waies with flowers strowne And set with needy Lazars , hanging downe Their mournefull heades ? why did the Pulpit mourne At if prepared for some Funerall urne , And yet the Temple was with garlands hung Of swee● smelling Flowers , which might belong Vnto some bridall ! not ! heaven knowes the cause T' was otherwise decreed in Natures Lawes . Those smelling sweetes with which our sense was fed Were for the buriall of a maiden-head . Which made an Antumne just in the mid-spring , And all things contrary their birthes to bring , Herbs , Plants , and Flowers , contrariously grew Because they now receiv'd not natures dew , The needy beggers hung their heads for thee Thou matchlesse Map of maiden modesty . From whose faire handes they had an almners pay As often as they met thee every day . The sacred Temple , where thy holy fires Of incense was powr'd on , in chast desires , Was thus prepard , and deek'd , on every side To welcome thee , as her sole soveraigne Bride . Whose goodnes was inimitable , whose vertues shone , Like to the Sun in his bright Horizon . The maiden vestalls , that with watry eies Bore thee to 'th Church for Vesta's sacrifize . Were all in white ! carracts of innocence , Prefiguring thy greater eminence . So great their losse that with watery eiene They offer teares still to thy Virgin shrine , And if that teares ; sighes , or prai●es could save thee What would not they expresse now to have thee ? Sacred divinity allowes of no such wish . Therefore emparadie'd soule rest thou in blisse . Thy neighbours-●●d a share in thy great fall , But most thy parents in thy funerall . Vnparallel'd piece farewell ! ther 's no Grace But was transparent in thy maiden face . And when thy Virgin blushes did appeare They show'd like Phoebus in our hem●●phere . Or like the ●ofie blushes of the morne When he th' enameld Zodiacke does adorne . Her tender yeeres were free from hatefull pride . Nor were her lookes with red-look'd anger dy'd . She had with Martha a most zealous hart But did with Mary choose the better part . Her losse was piteous , yet lesse to be wailde Since she on Cherubins high heaven scalde . Where 'mongst the Hierarohies she sits , and sings Sweet Hymenealls with the King of Kings .
On ould JOHN CVRS'EN of KEDLESTON Esquire .

IOHN CVRSON .

Anagramma .

So I runne on .

IOHN CVRSONE .

Anagramma .

Honour is sure .

Which Anagrammi●de thus , 't is cleere , and pure , So hee ranne on . His honour now is sure .
On the same . THy childrens losse , and countries praise Thou Crowne of age , life , and long daies , In thee a happines still appeares That could'st tell o're so many yeeres , Achilles in thy prime of youth U●sses in thy sager grouth . Liberall , yet fiugall , foe to none Vertues choise companion , Enrich'd with all her sacred partes The Muses friend , and nurse of Artes. Earth use him gently for his fate Never livde at under-rate The Worme , scarse so much goodnes joy'd Since the great deluge earth annoy'd . Gone is the hospitable cloake And where fire was thers now no smoke . Then that in ●ll things did'st excell I wish mee with thee , so farewell .
On that renowned , and Hospitable Gentleman JOHN PALMER of Kegworth Esquire . SMall briefes containe large matters ; and By some partes the , whole we understand . Rich Diamonds , though set In lead Are not for worth lesse valued . Their sparkleing beauties most are seene When night would hide them with a Skreene . Though earth hath hid thee in her womb● Yet thy great worth lives in thy tombe . Thy goodnes was unparalleld Thy charity by no●e excelld . Thy bounty learning , love , and name Are Trophes of thy countries same . They have more recordes of thee two For thou did'st that none ells did doe . The poore man welcome had from thee Before the rich mans bravery . He on thy bounteous Table fed And was with all things cherished . Nay Palmer-like thou did'st assay To fetch them in from the high way . And with thine owne sleece made , and spun Cover the lame , the blinde , and dumbe . The Lazar might not starveingly Thou coverdst his necessity . The rich might not the poore oppresse The just mans cause thou didst redresse . Thy house was made an hospitall And plenty cride , ' y are welcome all . The stranger might not thirsty passe For there was Tempors full brim'd glasse , Prefiguring his thirsty soule Might be refresh'd , but not made fowle . As Zephyrs bottles , such was his minde Sweet , calme , and free , loveing , and kinde . Great , pity Death did in a rage Send Palmer on a pilgrimage , Nere to returne for in his losse He Kegworthes sorrow did engrosse . And yet he left a merry one Whose worth 's inferiour to none A Patriot of true deserts . A nursing father to all arts . All men are Palmers , Pilgrime meeke He compass'd earth high Heav'n to seeke , The Saints receiv'd him into blisse ; The earth her Palmer still doth misse FINIS .

Imprimatur Exaedib . Londin . Sa. Baker .

Apr. 22. 1636.

Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
Notes for div A11434-e1030
Notes for div A11434-e4770
Notes for div A11434-e5960
Notes for div A11434-e7780
Notes for div A11434-e14190
Notes for div A11434-e17500