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 Rowâ—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 â—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 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 VVomen 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 VVHy 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
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 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 gâ—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 searse 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 Jeâ— Fixde in the Sun-raiâ—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 POVVTRELL of Westhallam Esquire IF love to knowledge or good partes The Muses friend and true deserts A man enshrind in
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 VVHen 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 soâ—tes of people make repaire Retir'd from thence thy â—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 ricâ—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 tâ—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 VVHat 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