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A27257
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Poems, divine and humane by Thomas Beedome.
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Beedome, Thomas, d. 1641?; Glapthorne, Henry.
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1641
(1641)
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Wing B1689; ESTC R22901
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41,767
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124
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POEMS ' DIVINE AND HVMANE BY THOMAS BEEDOME LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-Head-Alley neer Cornehill 1641. To the Reader BOokes are the pictures of mens lives delineated first by fancy and by judgement drawne to the life Such is this peice the living Idea of him that writ it who though now dead has a living Monument to his worth His Booke which despight of fire can never conâ—ert to ashes 'T is Lentum Ilium slow Troy that will not bee easily consinned he shall live in Paper which shall make him live in 's Marble And in this good Reader his worth shall bee Emergent he has don many things well and nothing ill Therefore receive him as an absolute testimony of wit and fancy or else deceive thy selfe since his workes are as excellent as singular HEN. GLAPTHORNE On the deceased Authour Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems REader it grieves meeâ— that I cannot bring A fresh Encomion but am forc't to sing A withered Elegie and onely boast The wealth and treasure of a friend that 's lost Beedom I doe admire thy verse The sweet And gentle cadence of their ordered â—eet Whose couplets kisse with so divine an Art As if the Sibills had about thy heart Layd their propheticke Spells and every line Deare Beedom I doe season with my brine Though there was salt enough in them before To keepe thy bayes still fresh But I deplore As others doe for there thy Art is showen In stealing pitty thus from every one For unlesse tribute of some sighâ— are paid Thy jealous Lover and thy constant Maid Cannot be read and these all sadly vie As true oblations to thy obsequie But when I wander in thy other walkes And see the flowers of poesie on their stalkes Florish in pride of fancy I beginne Almost to thinke Idolatry no sinne For such a perfume breakes the yeelding Ayrâ— I am urg'd to offer for thy soule a prayer And thinke in that sweet incense may arise My love and wishes as a sacrifice Thou 'lt gaine a â—trange advantage of thy fate That 's forc't to valew thee at equall rate With the sâ—le Phenix for frâ—m thy pure dust Thy fame takes wing and perching on the trust Of thy firme friend though round with envy hurl'd Dares with a broad eye looke upon the world He being best knowne Beedom to thy wit Thou wisely mad'st executor to it Who not defrauding of the world its due Presents thy worke unto the wiser few Me thinkes I heare from thy most gratefull clay Soft murmurs breake and speaking seeme to say Thanks my deare Wilbore for thy love and care By this my Genius clames an ample share For by the Elixir of thy friendly art My memory which is my better part Shall live which ages hence shall gladly see Wrought by the wonder of Loves chimistrie And such a Tombe Beedom thy friend will make That all consuming time can never shake Let others build I by that friend am sent To bring this first stone to his Monument Ed. May On the death and Poems of his most deare friend Master I homas Beedome VVHy did thy muse display her eaglets wing And â—ale a flight at heaven why did shee sing Like to the earely Larke when she begunne Glad carolls in the eare o' the listning Sunne Till heavens inhabitants did even conspire To snatch thee as a chanter to their quire But glorious Beedome ere he left the earth Did give to fame a Monument a birth To such a living fancy as in spight Of fate shall like a precious ray of light Dwell 'bout his urne where all the muses sit Wayling the losse of his emergent wit And weeping ore his ashes till their eyes Instead of teares shed mournfull Elâ—gies Penei â—n Daphne there her armes displayes As if she would intombe him in her bayes And she who Phoebus hot pursuit did shunne Imbraces the old ashes of his sonne There a bright troope of Virgins that from farre Appeare resembling every one a starre Drown'd in a see of pearle doe sadly rise From his lov'd true each one without their eyes Wept out or burning left there as they 'd meant Those lights for tapers to his Monument Where shall we find at such a time a soule That could in flowing numbers even controule Arts nimblest currents and most swiftly glide Without least noyse admir'd before espide So have I seene a gentle streame with sweet And fluent motion softly hast to meet Its mother Ocean and inrich her store With a more gratefull tribute then before A thousand violent torrents pâ—id whose waves Though lowder brought lesse musicke to their graves His life was all one harmony and in 's death Numerous and full of sweetnesse was his breath Expanded like the Swans concluding layes In lasting accents that shall speake his prayse While Feather-footed time does swiftly passe Or has a sand left in his plenteoresâ— glasse This is my vote which to thy Booke shall be A just applauseâ— to thee an Elegie Hen. Glapthorne On his deserving Friend Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems HOw fond is this age growne 't will fearce admit Distinction betweene ignorance and wit Each weares the others habit neither 's knowne By the wanted proper dresse that was its owne And every day new Authors doe appeare As they the paper Merchants factors were And boast themselves the muses sons when they Rime onely for some life-preserving pay Expect here no such Author if thou 't looke On th' inside more then th' outside of the Booke Put on thy judgements eyes and thou shalt find This Authors fancy rich as was his mind W. C. To his Friend the Author Master Thomas Beedom before his death on these his Poems THis is the riming Age no wonder now To heare Thalia whisling at the plow All traffiâ—ke with the Muses t is well knowne The Scullers boat can touch at Helicon Who quassâ—s not there doe we not daily see Each garded foot-boy belch out Poetrie Who so illiterate now that will râ—fuâ—e For some slight Minion to invoke a muse Yet honoured friend doe not imagin I In the lest taxâ— by great ability I know thee worthy of a â—etter fame Then my best study can afford thy name I onely would thy reader this informe Such empty nothings are thy muses scorne Nor doe I wish â—im slightly to o'relooke The bigâ—borne fancy of thy labour'd Booke For he that scans the Poems that are thine Must call them raptures sacred and divine Thou darling of the muses in whose quiâ—e Thou sha't sing Peans to Apollo's lyre And with his best lov'd Priests in equall state Sit justly crown'd a Poet â—aureate Em. D. To the Memory of his Ingenious friend Master Thomas Beedom and on these his Poems THâ—â—'s no just reason Friend that I should write Vnlesse I â—ould in swelling sighes indite My pregnant griefe till every line appeares A volumne of my sorrow
writ in teares Each sillable each accent should afford Plenteous expression as the fullest word Of â—â—ple and unforc'd laments till all I write attend upon thy Funerall As Epice les till every accenâ— be An Epitaph each word an Elegie And wer 't not for the life of this thy Booke Which gives me hopes all life has not forsooke Thy much lov'd Memory I like thee should grow Ashes and never henceforth strive to know â—ifes painted glories but to injoy thee come â—ith eager hast into Elysium But this faire Off-spring of thy fancy which Is great in jâ—â—gement in Invention rich Makes me behold thee glorious and I view By intelâ—â—ctuall eyes in it thy true Vnsâ—ained Idea from her spicie pile â—â—e nâ—w borne Phenix rises to beguile the amazed spectators whose admiring frame the old ones figure and beleeve 't the same â—his difference 'twixt thy Booke and thee must bâ—e â—hou di'dst with it and now it lives for thee H. S. Vieâ— of thy shining and illustrious wit Where all the precious attributes are writ That might adorne thy youth or adde true grace To thy lamented Memorie the face Of the bright rising Sun so fresh appeares When strait t is drown'd in heavens orâ—estowing teares As did thy wit which like a comet gave A suddnime flash then vanished to a grave Where we thy friends and I among the rest As a chiefe mourner in the Ensignes drest Of hearty sorrow sadly seeke to pay This as a gratefull tribute to thy bay Which being watred with our briny dew Shall still spring up more flourishing and new Till in thy Booke thy blest memoriall bee As is thy soule fraught with eternitie And Beedom shall survive in it with glory It being his owne accomplisht perfect story R. W. On the Memory of his most Ingenious friend Master Thomas Beedome and his Poems SO many great names fixt before thy Booke It cannot Beedome now descend to looke For my more humble straines but love in Art Is not compris'd its Mansion is the heart And a small graine of incense which is given With a pure zeale sure better pleaseth heaven Then a vast pile of rich Sabean gums Or Altars smoaking with fat Hecatoms From feignd devotion I must therefore say All that my infant Muse now strives to pay Vnto thy worke shall onely boast to be A sacrifice to thy lov'd memorie Nor doe I hope as others to adorne With my quaint lines thy Booke mine were but borne As subjects to thy worth from whence they strive Their utmost fame and glory to derive Their sole ambition being to attend Thee with the true devotions of a friend Though for thy death I grieve for this I joy That thy faire issue lives which to destroy Time is unable for thy name shall have A glorious life and tryumph ore thy grave J. S. Elegie on his Ingenious friend the deserving Author Master Thomas Beedome HOw silent are the groves No aire doth move To make the boughs each other kisse in love Nor doe the leaves as they had jealous feares Whisper into each others joyning eares Vpon the branches perch no airie quires Whose untaught musicke art it selfe admires And by an imitation of those notes Strain'd from the slender Organes of their throats Adds to it selfe perfection and thereby Shewes natur's weake to artfull industry The listning heard their quicke sense doe apply Not to the wonted use of eare or eye As when harmonious ecchoes doe invite Attention both to wonder and delight All creatures have their act'â—e motiâ—n left As if an apoplexie had berefâ— Their Limbes of use and time meant to conclude His being in a gâ—nerall solitude Such great effects great causes cannot misse And both are â—quall both aâ—ke in this Not Winteâ—s Isâ—e band the câ—illy birth Of blâ—â—ke North-winds hâ—ve gray'd the verdant earth Or shorne the trees eronnes mâ—king them looke old Nor are the tunefull birds grownâ— hoarse with cold But Beedome losse hath wonne on their consent To share a voluntary punishment The Aire in boistrous gustsâ— the stout Oke bends And his large spreading armes from th' body râ—nds That groâ—ne for Beedome as they fall away Who in his barke carv'd many a learned lay The birds are voicelesse 'cause they cannot heare The wonted musicke of his well-inn'd spheare Whence they derive our skill knowing naâ—uâ—e can Lesse wonder shew in them then Art in man For him sense-grieved beasts sad mourners be By an instinct or hidden Sympathie And had all-changing time heard Beedome sing He would have knowne no season but the Spring Nor would he sure have suffered death to be Iudge in the cause of his mortalitie But have repriev'd his lov'd parts from the Bar Till by translation they were made a Star Muses unite your tearâ—s now he is gone With them creating a new Helicon Whose streames may the defect of yours supply Which Beedome whilst he liv'd dranke almost dry And by the power of his owne active fire Sublim'd to that your selves may well admire Which to his vertue jâ—yn'd conclude him thus Still lâ—ving through them both to heaven and us Tho. Nabbes In obitum Lachrymabilem Thomas Beedome nuper defuncti et in praeclara ingenii sui Monumenta jam primum edita SIccine crudeli cecidisti morte peremptus siccine in extremos juslus es ire rogos Et vix ingressus teneros lanuginis annos Corruis ante diem blande Bedome tuum Quid iuvat ut tremulis cecinisti docta Camaeâ—is â—aâ—mina Threiciae digna legenda lyrae Quiâ—ne quod auricomum cinxisset pennula frontem Vâ—brassâ—â—que tuas laurus amica gâ—nas Omnia cum nostri sint haec monumenta doloris Quantaque virtus erat tantus eritque dolor Sic in Eâ—lthreo pretiosam littore concham Cum perdat Lachâ—ymis prostruit Indus humum Siâ—qâ—e super tumulum plorantia lumina salsis Opprimimus fluviis noxque fit atradles 〈◊〉 tamen irriguis guttas solâ—amus oâ—ellis Curve slâ—it gemitus noster ab ore citus Tene peâ— altithroni sequerentur gaudia luctus Tere peâ— astriâ—eram quaereret unda domum Non pâ—it assiduos sanctorum mansio planctus Convenit haud liquidis stamiseâ— ignis aquis Non opus interea est tantam destere ruinam Opprimet et tantum multa runia virum I nunc magniâ—icos jactato tyranne triumphos Mors et depictis pende trophoea tholis Quam fragiles ictus contemptibilesque sagittae Sunt nec vulneribus laedis ut ante tiuis Dulcisoquis volutans juvenis super aethera scriptis Vivit in aurato nomen opusque libro Atque triumphales redimunt sua tempora vittae Victor adest mortis fame perennâ—s erit Vivit enim certi Immutato pectore amici Nec potuit tumulo nobiliore frul Henry Glapthorne Elegie on the death of his ingenious friend the deserving Author Mastâ—r Thomâ—s Beedome ONce I resolv'd a silence was coment With the rare Fabricke â—f thy Monument View'd it compleat how every