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 Hâ—Nâ—Y Pâ—Iâ—POINT Father to the right Honorable ROBERT Earle of Kingston VVHat 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 Aeâ—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 Aâ—ARD of Fauston 1635 AS the poore Birde when Summers height resignes Her high Meridian to the â—cy signes VVhich 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 â—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
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 Elâ—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 VVho 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 VVhich 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 sâ—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 fâ—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 Renownâ—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 VVithin 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
Truthes Epitomy here doth lie On that worthy woman CASSANDRA POVVTRELL 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 â—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 VVidow and a VVife 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 Tho'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 whaâ— 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 WOODVVARD Wife of THOMAS WOODVVARD Esquire THy Countries losse and griefe of minde The â—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 think st 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 hadâ—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 VVHy 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 mastâ—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 VVHy 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 Nâ—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