Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A73532
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An elegie on the death of Prince Henrie. By Sr William Alexander of Menstrie, gentleman of his Priuie Chamber
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Stirling, William Alexander, Earl of, 1567 or 8-1640.
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1613
(1613)
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STC 340; ESTC S125155
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3,062
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11
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AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE HENRIE By Sr William Alexander of MENSTRIE Gentleman of his Priuie Chamber EDINBVRGH Printed by Andro Hart and are to be solde at his shop on the North-side of the high street a litle beneath the Crosse 1613 With Licence AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE HENRIE IF griefe would giue me leaue to let the world haue part Of that which it though surfetting engrosses in my hart Then I would sow some teares that so they mo might breed Not such as eyes vse to distill but which the hart doth bleed As from a troubled spring like off-spring must abound So let my lynes farre from delight hoarse as their Authour sound I care not at what rate that others pryse their worth So I disburthen may my minde and powre my passions forth Though generall be the losse one shelfe confounding quyte The Kings chiefe joy the kingdomes hope all the worlds deligh And that each one of those a diuerse wound giues me Whil'st all concurring would increase what not increas'd can be Yet mine owne part when weigh'd so deepe impression leaues That my soules pow'rs all so possess'd no others it conceaues How can my hart but burst while as my thoughts would trace The great Prince Henries gallant parts and not-affected grace◠Ah that I chanc'd so long O wordly pleasure fraile To be a witnesse of that worth which I but liue to waile How oft haue I beheld a world admiring it His Martiall sports euen men amaze his wordes bewitch their wit Whose worth did in all mindes just admiration breed When but a childe more then a man ah too soon rype indeed Still temperat actiue wise as borne to doe great things He reallie shew what he was a quint-essence of Kings With stately lookes yet mylde a Majestie humaine Both loue and reuerence bred at once entys'd yet did restraine What acting any where he still did grace his part A courtlie Gallant with the King a statelie Prince a part When both together were O how all harts were wonne A Syre so louing to behold so duetifull a Sonne He more then all his state his fathers fauour weigh'd And gloried more him to attend then when else-where obey'd But heauen enuied the earth that one it so should grace Who was not due vnto the world though lent to it a space And straight they tooke their owne who now no more appeares Euen when the Spheares muses joyn'd did serue to count his years What wit could not perswade authoritie not force An vnion now at last is made ah made by a divorce Both once did one thing wish and both one want do waile Thus miserie hath match'd vs now when all things else did faile We might as all the rest so this exception misse I rather we had jarr'd in all or we had joyn'd in this This the first tempest is which all this I le did tosse His cradle Scotland England tombe both shar'd his life and losse O how the traitrous world by flattring hopes betrayes And scornes the confidence of man who stil through danger strayes But most of all the great when at their fortunes hight Oft huge disasters do confound not lookt for till they light That states which seem'd most calme straight stormes in waues involue Who gathered were for greatest joy with greatest griefe dissolue That Macedonian Syre whose victories were ryfe The day which did his daughter wed did part him selfe from lyfe French second Henrie to slaine in like sort was seene As to triumph there with the rest death had inuited beene For whilst he tilting was when all his troupes among A broken trees flow'n spark did proue more then his scepter strong That Goth who vanquish'd Rome and thousands did destroy Euen when his bryde bent to embrace died in his greatest joy The last yet first French King for courage valour wit Who by the sword acquyr'd the Crowne fram'd for a scepter fit Whil'st mustring all his might being farre from feare or doubt He fraughted France with armed troupes as bragging all about Then whil'st his hopes most high euen kingdomes did appall Hein that greatest pompe surprys'd a villains prey did fall Thus hath it fatall beene confirm'd in euery age That who did meet to acte great parts went weeping from the stage Is it that God euen then would hautie thoughts disbend Or that such times as eminent vyle traitours most attend So when suspected least O Ocean of annoy Lo mourning mirth preuented hath griefe encroach'd on joy Yet not in such a sort as with some in times past Whose life being oft inuolu'd in blood blood did dispatch at last But he still sacred went not violated hence The glorie of a Gallant youth a paterne for a Prince What brest so barbarous is which vertue can not charme No hand no nor no hart in ought could do or dreame his harme Since by his sight not blest all count themselues accurst By whom the world was big with hopes which did not die but burst Tyme did contract it seem'd his course so short fore-seene That worth in youth which all his age should haue extended beene For O to what strange hight had his perfections flowne Had they as first still by degrees proportionablie growne But superstition then had statues made of gold And some might haue Idolatriz'd as many did of old The fates it may be stay'd what after might him trap As in Campania Pompeyes death preuented had mishap He happie was in this which few haue beene before When all opinions purchas'd were to venture them no more For all perswaded are as acted in effect That he might haue perform'd as much as mortalls could exspect Thus went he from the world when with the best thought euen Whil'st though but flourishing on earth yet a ripe fruit for heauen The Lord oft twixt the King and dangers huge did stand And many so to saue him sau'd as life of all the Land For scorning all their crafts who vglie euils did found What priuat plots did God disclose what open force confound Yet when he was to part O what a wondrous oddes Who was by nature the Kings Sonne but by adoption Gods Nought vrging else his end saue nature that declyn'd Bright Angels did beare hence that flowre as other flowres the wind Both Deuils and men when joyn'd to kill for whom God cares May draw a starre as soone from heauen as hurt one of their haires And whom he will remoue when as their time once comes No guards can guarde no Physick helpe one fit force o'recomes But ah that treasures losse which I can not disgest Is still the center of my minde the point where it must rest And each great part of his which I did earst perceiue My fancies representing new do thoughts attendance craue What wonder though my plaints be thus for him imploy'd Who my affections free till then when Virgins first enjoy'd And heare me happie Ghost that fame may spread them forth I vow to reuerence and enroule the wonders of thy worth That euen though chyldlesse dead thou shall not barren be If Phoebus helpe to procreat posteritie for thee Thus where that others did abandon thee with breath As still aliue I trauell yet to serue thee after death FINIS To his Majestie THE worlds affection now this tragick tryall proues Heauen heape mishaps vpon his head whō it not highly moues But though the weight be great which makes each hart to bow That men when mad rage not so much as reason doth allow And that thryse Royall Syre since that it first was knowne All by imagining your griefe haue doubled so their owne Yet since to many due waste not on one your cares As all your subjects waile your state haue pitie Sir on theires Least that this griefe though great a greater doe out-go If from your sonne turn'd to your selfe you eeke not end our wo. A SHORT VIEW of the state of man MVST wretched man when com'd where woes abound Ere to the Sunne vnclose his eyes to teares Whom when scarse borne one straight to prison beares Loos'd from the bellie in the Cradle bound Then rysing by the rod he doth attend The misteries of miserie at length And still his burthens growing with his strength Huge toyles and cares his youths perfection spends Last helping Natures wants O deare bought breath He must haue eyes of glasse and feete of tree Till lyke a bow his bodie turnes to be Which age hath bended to be shot by death O o I see that from the mothers wombe There 's but a litle steppe vnto the tombe S.W.M. FINIS