Learning He thought no Burden or to know In Theoricke Vertues which He meant to show Nor took 't a Blemish to Nobility To have a Schollar's merited Degree Esteem'd it not sufficient to heare Compleate at home and move but in one Spheare This Nation 's too Contract He does goe o're Laden with Vertues to a Forreigne Shoare Not to exchange for Vice or leave behind To them the qualities of His Vertuous Mind As if He could no Traveller appeare If He return'd the same man He was here But He addes to it all the good France can Call Proper Hers all the Italian Which without Stay so easily He cou'd As if He were by Inspiration good To them He seem'd a Native they would sweate He never was in any part but there He was so perfect without travell we In Him both Kingdomes Vertue here did see Thus fully furnish't with all nature's dowre With Art Experience and Uertue's Power We saw him flourishing but nature here Begins her bounty quite exhaust to feare And being of her lavish store now dry She cuts Him downe full in Felicity Thus the best Fruits just ripe are crop't although Without corruption they might longer grow But let this serve to stop our flowing teares That he dy'd Full Age is not Numerous yeares Nor are they only Old that longest live Perfection and Uertue Fulnesse give THO. ISHAM of Ch. Ch. Vpon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING TO weep one Great and Good t' adorn his Hearse Whose Life was above Chronicle or Verse Requireth those whose fancies could create A subject like to Him as Good and Great These Lines alas they are not meant to give Life to that Name by which themselves must live That Name Which doth employ each tongue each Quill To sing His Praises write his Chronicle BAYNING Whose very sound perfumes the Ayre Commands a Reverence and a listning eare Books were a Guide t' his Youth and Company He thought of them with greater Charity Then those who think them fit to entertaine Only the houres of a hot Sun or Raine When He perus'd great Acts of History His large thoughts did suggest them Prophecy And Types of Him when He the Uertues read And saw himselfe transcrib'd and copied He with a modesty admir'd to find Men so familiar with His Thoughts and Mind Season'd and ballasted with these He then Leaving our Athens went to studie Men. Not like to those who travell to bring home A Fashion or to say they have seene Rome But to observe each State and Policy T' enrich his Mind more then Geography And now returned home when he begun To practise here each Observation While we behold Europes Epitome Of Men in Him of States in 's Family While Charles expects his aid the Realme no lesse Death stops his Glory and our Happinesse But Good Men have liv'd long when e're Fates come Their Age by Vertues not by Yeares we summe SAM IACKSON of Ch. C Vpon the Death of the honourable Lord Viscount BAYNING GReat Lord of Ghosts we sigh not out Thy Fall As only Thine But th' Muses Funerall We weepe our Colledge second Ruines and May Question chiefly Death's erroneous Hand That yet we boast Intents alone an Heape And Breaches only not entitled cheape That Those who entring Srangers here would look Doe Passe ours as a Colledge but mistooke Yet Orphan-like w' are not bereft of All The same that waile share too Thy hastned Fall Thy Piles bequeath'd yet which shall firme and safe With Wolseys stand thy larger Epitaph But we not misse His Gifts alone nor weepe Mercy and Bounty only fallen asleepe We boast no Scutchions nor admire Thy Blood Great Soule but best descent by Learning Good Though Noble mourning not the Losse of Thee As of a man but Vniversitie Who grac'd our Schooles with a Degree All Parts Arriv'd A Breathing System of the Arts. Not like our Silken Heires who only bound Their knowledge in the Sphear of Hauke or Hound And there confin'd limit their scant disourse Know more the Vaulting then the Muses Horse Who if They rescue Time from Cards or Dice To Lance or Sharpes or some such manly Prize Advance Their Lineage raise Their Stock if They But more severely loose the Precious Day He could unriddle each Schoole-knot untie All but Death's sad contrived Fallacie For th' Stroke was Project Here no Siege no Art Of lingring Death or Preface to His Dart No tedious knotty Gout or feverish Drought But all as Soft and Peacefull as His Youth He only slept in Hast as if to Die Had no Departure been but Extasie So gliding we descry a starry Ball Which fâ—om it 's Sphear doth rather Shoot then Fal. Yet Thy short Thread wee 'le not revile nor vexe ' Cause Th' art not imag'd in the Nobler Sexe For such Transcriptions wee 'le not anxious be Where we discover full Maturitie Ripened for Death Thou art Deceas'd not Kill'd Nor is Thy great Name Perish'd but Fulfill'd For what can adde unto the justest Height Who Hopes encrease to Glorie 's perfect Weight To Him that had survei'd all Forreigne parts Extracting not Their Vices but Their Arts Th' Italian Brain not Heate was skil'd from Rheine In Their exactest Manners not Their Vine Their Deepest Mysteries did only reach And Had more Languages then others teach All Worth His Eye He view'd that such a Fall Might share a sorrow Epidemicall FRAN. POWELL of Ch. Ch. Vpon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING DEath's Chambers are enrich't and we may say He did not Kill but Stole This Prize away For th'now pale Mansion where his Soule abode Does make the Coffin precious by it's Load Yet that was but His Drosse search you will find Him at Fifteene a Sophy 's Nonage Mind Made the Schooles boast Him Graduate and 's Wit Writ Him th' reviv'd refined Stagerite And lest the Sophisters might erre in this Granted Platonicke Metempseuchosis And did conclude Maugre their Brains and Books Arts doe not alwaies lie in ill-fac'd looks And th'totred Gowne no longer now should be Held for an Embleme of Philosophy He did adorne the Scarlet which he wore And made them Robes which were but Cloth before Titles were truths in him Young Fair Rich Learn'd No complements but Purchase truly earn'd No Would-be-Wits maintain'd Hee at His Board Nought was in him suspitious but The Lord Yet no Braines cloth'd or Phancy fed Him Hee Rich in Estate as Ingenuitie And might have without doubt of missing it Petition'd for th' Monopoly of Wit To this vast masse of Wealth He had assign'd As ample thoughts no narrow griping Mind Mansions by Industry compos'd not Hands He fed on and devour'd His Books not Lands To whose large Guifts we of this place must owe Since that He thought His Owne He did bestow Thy Volumes nam'd Our Library and We As well for Stones as Bookes indebted be For though no Founder of the place yet must We say thou rays'dst our Buildings out o' th' Dust Thou
Vxorem duxit ut illum ornaret sexum Vxorem invenit quae ornaret nostrum Amaretalem satis non potuit Si non Amore obiisset Divitias numeravit sed quas dederat Opum non habuit sed Munerum Aerarium An dedit en tandem sibi nec Ipsum reliquit Quem cum deesset qui caperet cepit SepulchruÌ„ Gemmas recondi Nimium sic Pretium facit He that attempts to mourne thy noble Herse Must teach his griefe the Piety of Verse And all his teares in chast expressions paint That every line may Canonize a Saint He ought to Preach in Numbers as if Fate Had destin'd Him for Bishop Laureate Who then shall weepe thy losse whose Acts we see fel Farre purer then our vestall phansies be W'admire those deeds which from Thee slightly Thy Recreation fills the Chronicle And Poets should be set to curbe the times Could their Wits be so Pious as Thy Crimes Thou didst ingrosse all goodnesse so that Wee Scarce thought one Heroe dead while we saw Thee We miss'd not Cato Tully was not dumbe Thou could'st like him but speake and overcome What Stratagem has Fate thy fading breath Summons sage Brutus to a Second Death Soules treasur'd up in Thee rush forth and now Some fall that fell two thousand yeares agoe Here prune your manners you that only are The walking Arras of the Court who share face Your selves like Hangins deckt with some strange T' attend the King only to trim the place Whose weake Gentility does fall and rise As Periwigs and Sattins take their price Whose carriage one may track find which Oath Your Worships swore in silk and which in cloath If you could learne this ripenesse it would teach To court a Mistresse in an unbought speech And your owne Language might have power to move A frozen coynesse to a free Court-Love And make her yâ—e such charming pleasures heare That her Soule know no residence but eare But I doe blast thy Herse and these weake Layes Doe only usher Some to sing Thy Praise As scattered beames their dawning lustre broach Only to tell the world the Sun's approach As if the Priest should butcher a cheape Lambe To fit the Altar for an Hecatombe He that will speake Thee fully must have parts Like to Thine Owne and hunt Thee through all Arts His able yeares must bud up till he find What mysteries enrich't thy well-fraught mind Who didst so wade through Natural things that we May shake off Nature now and study Thee Had'st thou bred low-pitchâ—t veâ—…ues had thy Vein Stoop'd to the shallow ebbe of vulgar strain Each busie Muse had strove to find a roome Where crowds of Epitaphs might load thy Tomb But now we feare to write we dare noâ— stay To bring ouâ— twilight Glances to thy Day Such is Thy Vertues flight thou soar'st so high Thy weakest Acts aske our Hyperboly And all th' elaborate Accents we can lend Can scarce deserve Thee where thou dost offend Hence forth we 'le prize our Muse at lower rate And what we can't expresse we 'le imitate We 'le Print Thee in our manners so that then Who finds Thee not in Records may in Men. They only here find their expressions safe Who Act their Verse and Live an Epitaph MARTIN LLEVVELLIN of Ch. Ch. Vpon the Death of the Right Honourable Lord Vicecount BAYNING FOrgive me His deare Monument that I Vsurpe the Title of an Elegy And like a wandring Passenger doe crave My unknowne teares may glaze his Epitaph Whoever heard his Travells but did cease To think Rome false or France with a disease So farre from an outlandish Taint that Hee Return'd a chaster Mind from Italie Learne here you wilde Apostates that deface Your Native Soules and mold 'em to the Place So that each Country gives you a new Birth Antaeus like reviving from the Earth BAYNING did scorne to change himselfe but then When farthest off He was an English-man Our Lawes still kept Him Company for they Were the Geography and rule of 's way So that to forreigne parts He did appeare Rather Embassadour then Sojourner Why did He scape His Travells thus O why Did he fall downe with such Tranquillity Horrour becomes a Young man's Death to lie Bedew'd with Blood is a brave obsequie Surfets Consumptions are but Female Knives Nor doe they snatch but steale away our Lives Fates did not know thy Spirit when they sent So weake a dart to blast thy Monument Thy Genius was too mighty to endure That extreame cowardize to die Secure But since it did our great Commander please Thus to inflict the Death of a disease In earnest of our Loves O let it be Our wish to fall Secure because like Thee For Thy sake then may Feavers be our Meate And 't prove a Surfet henceforth but to Eate None can desire to live unlesse he be Seduc'd perhaps t' enjoy Thy Legacie 'T is Thy owne freenesse bribes us now to live Since 't were ingratitude not to survive Our Buildings by Thy Piety shall stand No Ruines now but Trophyes of Thy Hand The Roomes shall be Thy Piles we will preferre Their beauteous Order to thy Character When Printed on the doores with loaded eyes The Passenger may read HERE BAYNING LIES H. RAMSAY of Ch. Ch. On the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING SInce Sadnes crowns Your hearse Mourners Bestow with sighs tears a Method too Of grieving for your death that we may see doe A good Contrivance though in Misery Since among all that mourn none Order lack The Wits in Rime Your other Friends in Black Pardon my grief that dares assume that Dresse For scatter'd in wild Fancles 't would seem lesse Yet doe I not presume my verse may give Ought that may cause Your memory to live I leave that great imployment to the Pen Of Abler fancies more Discerning Men That can Distinguish vertues and best know Which froÌ„ Complexion which froÌ„ Breeding flow Which are Innate and which Infus'd that can But with one glaunce decipher a whole man 'T is fancy ' enough in me if I can weepe Your Body not as Dead but fall'n a sleepe Since no Continu'd greif or lingring pain No Trick o' th' State nor sad stroak hath it slain It goes fresh to the grave before the sinnes Have season'd it that Age and Businesse brings Where let it sleep secure hence coming fit T'embalme and keep the Odours not they It. The groans and sighes that parting now it weares The Marble shall supply with frequent Teares H. BENET of Ch. Ch. On the death of the Honourable Lord Vis-count BAYNING HEnce froÌ„ This Tomb you that have only chose To Mourn for Ribbands the sadder Cloths That Buy your Grief froÌ„ th' Shop desperat lye For a new Cloak till the next Lord shall Dye You that shed only wine and think when all The Banquet 's past there 's no more Funerall You that sell Teares and only Weepe for Gaine I dare not say you Mourn
are his Legacies poore-mens present teares Or doe they for the future raise their feares No such contrivance here as to professe Bounty and with Large Miseries feed the Lesse Fat some with their owne almes bestow and pill And Common Hungers with Great Famines fill Making an Hundred Wretches endow Tenne Taking the Field and giving a Sheafe then As Robbers whom they spoile perhaps will lend Small summes to helpe them to their journey's end All was untainted here and th' Author such That every gift from Him grew twice as much We who erewhile did boast his presence doe Now boast a second grace his bounty too Bounty was judgment here for he bestowes Not who disperseth but who giues and knowes And what more wise designe then to renew And dresse the brest from which he knowledge drew Thus pious men ere their departure first Would crown the fountain which had quencht their thirst Hence strive we all his memory to engrosse Our Common Love before but now Our Losse W. CARTWRIGHT of Ch. Ch. Vpon the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount BAYNING O Had He been at Rome again for there The Mercy of his Sicknesse did him spare Acknowledging this Law that 't is but just The place which gave him breath should make him dust That as we have a Native soile so we Ought not to beare Forreine Mortality Though He was only distant then from 's grave Some store of Miles not Years and we can have No worse then Absence whether in the Tombe He lye or in a Climate live from home Yet had He been though from our selves remov'd To any distance if from death bestow'd We would have buried Envy bin content His presence was to any people lent Bin glad some time was still to come though small And could not long rejourne his funerall Death now came Hasty on him and so quick He searce had leave or time for to grow sick But dy'd almost in Health and you may please To call his very life his chiefe disease The Vrne may triumph that the fatall dart Hath wonne the spoile alone without the Art Or learned help of Physick not a Graine Or curious scruple from the Doctortane Made up a skilfull wound but he did dye By the rude stroke of plain Mortality Which was not giveâ—…â—…en his haire turn'd frost And wore the colour which his Ashes must When all his Youth and Beauty were so spent That Age had made him his own Monument When it might be Humanity to kill And the most deadly Drug might proue good-will But in a Spring of fresh and active Blood When there was nothing old in Him but Good He had Graie vertues and by view of 's mind Not yeares he was so soon to heaven design'd He who saw that could see He liv'd his Age Of fourescore made his Race a Pilgrimage And still he lives and from his latest night Breaks out unto the world a glorious light Getting this conquest over death that He Was snatch'd away in 's Liberality In 's Piety to build and care to frame Such sumptuous Trophies as will save his name Had he one vacant houre from Bounty spent And in that houre unto his grave been sent 'T had been lesse glory to his Fall to dye Iust in the sleeping of his Charity But to be caught in Good in Vertue strook Made him Triumphant ere He earth forsook So did the stout Athenian stand in Death Rearing his Statue while he lost his Breath I. MAPPLET of Ch. Ch. To the memory of the Honourable Lord BAYNING FOrbeare yee whining Wits to rayle at Fate In viler termes then Scolds at Billings-gate Nor brand poore Death with baser Epithites Then Textor has when of the Divell he writes All such ill-sounding Dirges yee can have Are but as Mandrakes planted on his grave Your teares are now ridiculous were I A Poet I would write Deaths Elogie Shee here was just and courteous Suppole We should in Ianuary see a Rose Full blown would we not pull 't and think it worth Myriads of those that May or Iune brings forth This early fruitfull Flowre being ripe i' th' Spring Was a fit Present for our Soveraigns King Should shee have left it for the Summers Fly Or Autumn's Worme 't had been ill huswifery Shee cropt it suddenly and was as nice In killing Him as Priests a Sacrifice Lest any bruise should happen 't was her strife To cut and not saw off his thread of life Shee knew he was prepar'd and therefore sent No Gout to tell him that he must repent A tedious sicknesse had his Friends more greiv'd He then had longer died not longer liv'd We judge a Keeper dull and hard of heart That wounds the timorous Dear in every part He doth in Skill and Courtesy excell That kills not hurts and makes his Prey die Well Deaths quicker blow did then no injury But that it hindred Doctors of a Fee There 's none will curse a winde cause it doth send Their ship too soon unto the journies end Doe any Trav'lers think their Horses sinne Vnlesse they bring them Late unto their Inne He now a Voyage took He that did goe To France and Rome must needs see Heaven too What would you say of him that went about To see all England and left London out 'T was for His Glory that He died so soon Should He have lingred till his after-noon We had suspected Him of grosser blood By short continuance we judge things Good A fine pure silken vesture cannot weare So long as garments weav'd of hemp or hayre By this his early fall He did present The Gods with a perfume of sweeter sent Tapers that burne and languish 'till they come To th' socket leave ill odours in the roome Lords count it a disparagement if they Should not have suits which seem new every day Had it not injur'd his high Soule to weare His Body till the flesh had look'd thred-bare Seeing he died so Young it may be said That he 's transplanted rather then decay'd By his fresh looks and his faire youthfull chin We may believe he 's made a Cherubin Those then that wet his Hearse and vainly Cry Not Mourne but Pine at His Eternity Envy that here still follow'd Him is made After His death the shadow of His shade Whil'st others studied how to loose their time Thinking that Logick would their Birth beslime As if it were Gentile not to Dispute It was his chief ambition to confute Who not alone aym'd to deserve his Grace But seem'd by paines to wish a Students place Though Heralds did to Him great Names afford He heard Sir BAYNING sooner then My Lord. Lest the proud noise of Titles might beginne Thoughts that might swell His Plenty into sinne Arts and Religion gnarded them He knew His Fortunes were but Crimes without these two And in a noble scorne disdain'd to spell The Lord i th' Scutchion more then Chronicle His Pride was to be Eloquent and Able As is Our Dorset at