Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A43379
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Occasional verses of Edward Lord Herbert, Baron of Cherbery and Castle-Island deceased in August, 1648.; Poems. Selections
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Herbert of Cherbury, Edward Herbert, Baron, 1583-1648.
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1665
(1665)
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Wing H1508; ESTC R2279
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35,027
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105
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others readier are Now that he speaks are complemental speeches That never go off but below the breeches Of him he doth salute while he doth wring And with some loose French words which he doth string Windeth about the arms the legs and sides Most serpent-like of any man that bides His indirect approach which being done Almost without an introduction If he have heard but any bragging French Boast of the favour of some noble Wench He 'll swear 't was he did her Graces possess And damn his own soul for the wickedness Of other men strangest of all in that But I am weary to describe you what E're this you can As for the little fry That all along the street turn up the eye At every thing they meet that have not yet Seen that swoln vitious Queen Margaret Who were a monster ev'n without her sin Nor the Italian Comedies wherein Women play Boys I cease to write To end this Satyre and bid thee good night Sept. 1608. I must depart but like to his last breath That leaves the seat of life for liberty I go but dying and in this our death Where soul and soul is parted it is I The deader part yet fly away While she alas in whom before I liv'd dyes her own death and more I feeling mine too much and her own stay But since I must depart and that our love Springing at first but in an earthly mould Transplanted to our souls now doth remove Earthly effects what time and distance would Nothing now can our loves allay Though as the better Spirits will That both love us and know our ill We do not either all the good we may Thus when our souls that must immortal be For our loves cannot dye nor we unless We dye not both together shall be free Unto their open and eternal peace Sleep Death's Embassadour and best Image doth yours often so show That I thereby must plainly know Death unto us must be freedom and rest May 1608. Madrigal HOw should I love my best What though my love unto that height be grown That taking joy in you alone I utterly this world detest Should I not love it yet as th' only place Where Beauty hath his perfect grace And is possest But I beauties despise You universal beauty seem to me Giving and shewing form and degree To all the rest in your fair eyes Yet should I not loâ—â— them as parts whereon Your beauty their perfection And top doth rise But ev'n my self I hate So far my love is from the least delight That at my very self I spite Sensless of any happy state Yet may I not wiâ—h justest reason fear How hating hers â— truly her Can celebrate Thus unresolved still Although world life nay what is fair beside I cannot for your sake abide Methinks I love not to my fill Yet if a greater love you can devise In loving you some otherwise Believe't I will Another DEar when I did from you remove I left my Joy but not my Love That never can depart It neither higher can ascend Nor lower bend Fixt in the center of my heart As in his place And lodged so how can it change Or you grow strange Those are earth's properties and base Each where as the bodies divine Heav'ns lights and you to me will shine To his Friend Ben Johnson of his Horace made English 'T Was not enough Ben Johnson to be thought Of English Poets best but to have brought In greater state to their acquaintance one So equal to himself and thee that none Might be thy second while thy Glory is To be the Horace of our times and his Epitaph Caecil Boulser quae post languescentem morbum non sine inquietudine spiritus conscientiae obiit MEthinks Death like one laughing lyes Shewing his teeth shutting his eys Only thus to have found her here He did with so much reason fear And she despise For barring all the gates of sin Death's open wayes to enter in She was with a strict siege beset To what by force he could not get By time to win This mighty Warrior was deceived yet For what he muting in her powers thought Was but their zeal And what by their excess might have been wrought Her fasts did heal Till that her noble soul by these as wings Transcending the low pitch of earthly things As b'ing reliev'd by God and set at large And grown by this worthy a higher charge Triumphing over Death to Heaven fled And did not dye but left her body dead July 1609. Epitaph Guli Herbert de Swansey qui sine prole obiit Aug. 1609. GReat Spirit that in new ambition Stoop'd not below his merit But with his proper worth being carry'd on Stoop'd at no second place till now in one He doth all place inherit Live endless here in such brave memory The best tongue cannot spot it While they which knew or but have heard of thee Must never hope thy like again can be Since thou hast not begot it In a Glass-Window for Inconstancy LOve of this clearest frailest Glass Divide the properties so as In the division may appear Clearness for me frailty for her Elegy for the Prince MUst he be ever dead Cannot we add Another life unto that Prince that had Our souls laid up in him Could not our love Now when he left us make that body move After his death one Age And keep unite That frame wherein our souls did so delight For what are souls but love Since they do know Only for it and can no further go Sense is the Soul of Beasts because none can Proceed so far as t' understand like Man And if souls be more where they love then where They animate why did it not appear In keeping him alive Or how is fate Equal to us when one man 's private hate May ruine Kingdoms when he will expose Himself to certain death and yet all those Not keep alive this Prince who now is gone Whose loves would give thousands of lives for one Do we then dye in him only as we May in the worlds harmonique body see An universally diffused soul Move in the parts which moves not in the whole So though we rest with him we do appear To live and stir a while as if he were Still quick'ning us Or do perchance we live And know it not See we not Autumn give Back to the earth again what it receiv'd In th' early Spring And may not we deceiv'd Think that those powers are dead which do but sleep And the world's soul doth reunited keep And though this Autumn gave what never more Any Spring can unto the world restore May we not be deceiv'd and think we know Our selves for dead Because that we are so Unto each other when as yet we live A life his love and memory doth give Who was our worlds soul and to whom we are So reunite that in him we repair All other our affections ill bestow'd Since by this love
we now have such abode With him in Heaven as we had here before He left us dead Nor shall we question more Whether the Soul of man be memory As Plato thought We and posterity Shall celebrate his name and vertuous grow Only in memory that he was so And on those tearms we may seem yet to live Because he lived once though we shall strive To sigh away this seeming life so fast As if with us 'twere not already past We then are dead for what doth now remain To please us more or what can we call pain Now we have lost him And what else doth make Diff'rence in life and death but to partake Nor joy nor pain Oh death could'st not fulfil Thy rage against us no way but to kill This Prince in whom we liv'd that so we all Might perish by thy hand at once and fall Under his ruine thenceforth though we should Do all the actions that the living would Yet we shall not remember that we live No more then when our Mothers womb did give That life we felt not Or should we proceed To such a wonder that the dead should breed It should be wrought to keep that memory Which being his can therefore never dy Novemb. 9. 1612. Epitaph of King James HEre lyes King James who did so propagate Unto the World that blest and quiet state Wherein his Subjects liv'd he seem'd to give That peace which Christ did leave and so did live As once that King and Shepherd of his Sheep That whom God saved here he seem'd to keep Till with that innocent and single heart With which he first was crown'd he did depart To better life Great Brittain so lament That Strangers more then thou may yet resent The sad effects and while they feel the harm They must endure from the victorious arm Of our King Charles may they so long complain That tears in them force thee to weep again A Vision WIthin an open curled Sea of Gold A Bark of Ivory one day I saw Which striking with his Oars did seem to draw Tow'rd a fair Coast which I then did behold A Lady held the Stern while her white hand Whiter then either Ivory or Sail Over the surging Waves did so prevail That she had now approached near the Land When suddenly as if she fear'd some wrack And yet the Sky was fair and Air was clear And neither Rock nor Monster did appear Doubting the Point which spi'd she turned back Then with a Second course I saw her steer As if she meant to reach some other Bay Where being approach'd she likewise turn'd away Though in the Bark some Waves now entred were Thus varying oft her course at last I found While I in quest of the Adventure go The Sail took down and Oars had ceas'd to row And that the Bark it self was run aground Wherewith Earths fairest Creature I beheld For which both Bark and Sea I gladly lost Let no Philosopher of Knowledge boast Unless that he my Vision can unfold Tears flow no more or if you needs must flow Fall yet more slow Do not the world invade From smaller springs then yours rivers have grown And they again a Sea have made Brackish like you and which like you hath flown Ebb to my heart and on the burning fires Of my desires Let your torrents fall From smaller sparks then theirs such sparks arise As into flame converting all This world might be but my love's sacrifice Yet if the tempests of my sighs so slow You both must flow And my desires still burn Since that in vain all help my love requires Why may not yet their rages turn To dry those tears and to blow out those fires Italy 1614. Ditty to the tune of A che del Quantomio of Pesarino WHere now shall these Accents go At which Creatures silent grow While Woods and Rocks do speak And seem to break Complaints too long for them to hear Saying I call in vain Echo All in vain = = = Where there is no relief Ec. Here is no relief Ah why then should I fear Unto her rocky heart to speak that grief In whose laments these bear a part Then cruel heart Do but some answer give I do but crave = Do you forbid to live or bid to live Echo Live Ditty CAn I then live to draw that breath Which must bid farewell to thee Yet how should death not seize on me Since absence from the life I hold so dear must needs be death While I do feel in parting Such a living dying As in this my most fatal hour Grief such a life doth lend As quick'ned by his power Even death cannot end I am the first that ever lov'd He yet that for the place contends Against true love so much offends That even this way it is prov'd For whose affection once is shown No longer can the World beguile Who see his pennance all the while He holds a Torch to make her known You are the first were ever lov'd And who may think this not so true So little knows of love or you It need not otherwise be prov'd For though the more judicious eyes May know when Diamonds are right There is requir'd a greater light Their estimate and worth to prise While they who most for beauty strives Can with no Art so lovely grow As she who doth but only ow So much as true affection gives Thus first of Lovers I appear For more appearance makes me none And thus are you belov'd alone That are pris'd infinitely dear Yet as in our Northern Clime Rare fruits though late appear at last As we may see some years b'ing past Our Orenge-trees grow ripe with time So think not strange if Love to break His wonted silence now make bold For a Love is seven years old Is it not time to learn to speak Then gather in that which doth grow And ripen to that fairest hand 'T is not enough that trees do stand If their fruit fall and perish too Epitaph of a stinking Poet. HEre stinks a Poet I confess Yet wanting breath stinks so much less A Ditty to the tune of Coseferite made by Lorenzo Allegre to one sleeping to be sung Ah wonder SO fair a Heaven So fair c. And no Starr shining Ay me and no Starr c. 'T is past my divining Yet stay May not perchance this be some rising Morn Which in the scorn Of our Worlds light discloses This Air of Violets that Sky of Roses T is so An Oriental Sphere Doth open and appear Ascending bright Then since thy hymen I chant May'st thou new pleasures grant Admired light Epitaph on Sir Edward Saquevile's Child who dyed in his Birth REader here lies a Child that never cry'd And therefore never dy'd 'T was neither old nor yong Born to this and the other world in one Let us then cease to mone Nothing that ever dy'd hath liv'd so long Kissing COme