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
carride even And questionles hee findes them now in heaven For upright justice is the path that bringes Man to the presence of the Kinge of Kinges He â—uilyes Motto every morne did scan None feedes on justice but the upright man He serv'd our Soveraigne James our lawrell Kinge â—â—ke him that did our Israellâ— gloryes sing He Knight-hood gave him for his Zeale Love Truth And dignifi'd him in his prime of youth Honors doe seldome come without desert For time makes vice or Vertue most apert Truth like a Columne does the one support Time Lawier-like does the other court His Love Zeale Goodnes Truth Piety Strong creditors with Soveraignity So pleas'd our glorious King Charles of same For to investe on him a servants name In his new fabrick in which mystery He ended life in great Tranquillity Which â—â—â—bury the house of Lanâ—aster And Iohn of Gauntes shall evermore everâ— Not coveting honour for the Agardes names But it perpetuating to their fames Muse thou art in a Lab'riuth ' an Maze His Vertues questionles thy spirits daze For thou hast lost thy supine major part Th' unbounded boundlesse goodnes of his heart There Vertue kept her seat Apolles line In his contention was not halfe so fine So true refined and so full of grace The Carde'nall Vertues there strove for a place Thrice happy he that liveing loveing dyes When Vertue strives for due preeminencies This Maxime to his age even from his youth He did prefer friendship goes still with truth Reguardlesse of a tâ—â—e friendes small offence True friendship aimes at perfect eminence Those Centryes where thou liv'dst doe blazon forth Thou liveing had'st their harts now dead thy worth Lives still with them that time cannot decay Till all dissolves and time sweepes all away Thou liv'dst in peace and so dide and like thee May all men goe to true Eternitie On the same IF Marble monuments tell to future daies Th'â—habiters good deedes glories honour praise Why should not thine say something since in thee Goodnes rests to perpe 〈…〉 e Thou had'st a schollers knowledge and best parts And liv'dst sole Mâ— of the liberall Arts Thy goodnes needs hoe testate for thy deedes Like a true Gard'ner rooted 〈◊〉 ill weedes Leaving the supple plantes Herbes and Flowers Befiting coronets of vertues bowres No tribulations ever shooke thy brest Patience did evermore support thy creste Resolvde on that ould Sâ—crates did sing Meekenes ' is the greatst Trophe of a King Where power wantes there Eâ—â—y son'st is knowne But where thine lay thy mercy was most showne Thy love charity liberality Were all express'd in true humility The just mans merits by his deudes are sound The bad mans are like waters cast on ground Thy life unspotted was thy end as cleare As Jupiters in his ascendant spheare The Romans when their famous Consulls dide Petitioned their Oracles to divide Their goodnes 'mongst their kindred so may thine By that meanes they will all be made divine Wert not a sin to wish we should desire Aectias Botles againe for to inspire Fresh life 't is said that they are stuff'd with breath But there 's no conqueror comes after death Ould Faussons joy farewell for there thy name Shall last as long as honour time or fame To thy dead Herse thy honourd friend this gives That love is firmest after death still lives On the pattern of modesty ELIZA TEVERY daughter of GERVASE TEVERY of Staplefoord Esquire VVHy did the Lilly Paunce and Violet weepe The Marigold ere Sun-set in did creepe At whose refiexion she us'd for to rise And at his way-gate to close up her eies Why were the beaten waies with flowers strovvne And set with needy Lazars hanging downe Their mournefull heades why did the Pulpit mourne At if prepared for some Funerall urne And yet the Temple was with garlands hung Of sweeâ— smelling Flowers which might belong Vnto some bridall not heaven knowes the cause T' was otherwise decreed in Natures Lawes Those smelling sweetes with which our sense was fed Were for the buriall of a maiden-head Which made an Antumne just in the mid-spring And all things contrary their birthes to bring Herbs Plants and Flowers contrariously grew Because they now receiv'd not natures devv The needy beggers hung their heads for thee Thou matchlesse Map of maiden modesty From whose faire handes they had an almners pay As often as they met thee every day The sacred Temple where thy holy fires Of incense was powr'd on in chast desires Was thus prepard and deek'd on every side To welcome thee as her sole soveraigne Bride Whose goodnes was inimitable whose vertues shone Like to the Sun in his bright Horizon The maiden vestalls that with watry eies Bore thee to 'th Church for Vesta's sacrifize Were all in white carracts of innocence Prefiguring thy greater eminence So great their losse that with watery eiene They offer teares still to thy Virgin shrine And if that teares sighes or praiâ—es could save thee What would not they expresse now to have thee Sacred divinity allowes of no such wish Therefore emparadie'd soule rest thou in blisse Thy neighbours-â—â—d a share in thy great fall But most thy parents in thy funerall Vnparallel'd piece farewell ther 's no Grace But was transparent in thy maiden face And when thy Virgin blushes did appeare They show'd like Phoebus in our hemâ—â—phere Or like the â—ofie blushes of the morne When he th' enameld Zodiacke does adorne Her tender yeeres were free from hatefull pride Nor were her lookes with red-look'd anger dy'd She had with Martha a most zealous hart But did with Mary choose the better part Her losse was piteous yet lesse to be wailde Since she on Cherubins high heaven scalde Where 'mongst the Hierarohies she sits and sings Sweet Hymenealls with the King of Kings On ould JOHN CVRS'EN of KEDLESTON Esquire IOHN CVRSON Anagramma So I runne on IOHN CVRSONE Anagramma Honour is sure Which Anagrammiâ—de thus 't is cleere and pure So hee ranne on His honour now is sure On the same THy childrens losse and countries praise Thou Crowne of age life and long daies In thee a happines still appeares That could'st tell o're so many yeeres Achilles in thy prime of youth Uâ—sses in thy sager grouth Lib rall yet fiugall foe to none Vertues choise companion Enrich'd with all her sacred partes The Muses friend and nurse of Artes. Earth use him gently for his fate Never livde at under-rate The VVorme scarse so much goodnes joy'd Since the great deluge earth annoy'd Gone is the hospitable cloake And where fire was thers now no smoke Then that in â—ll things did'st excell I wish mee with thee so farewell On that renowned and Hospitable Gentleman JOHN PALMER of Kegworth Esquire SMall briefes containe large matters and By some partes the whole we understand Rich Diamonds though set In lead Are not for worth lesse valued Their sparkleing beauties most are seene When night would hide them with a Skreene Though earth hath hid thee in her wombâ— Yet thy great worth lives in thy tombe Thy goodnes was unparalleld Thy charity by noâ—e excelld Thy bounty learning love and name Are Trophes of thy countries same They have more recordes of thee two For thou did'st that none ells did doe The poore man welcome had from thee Before the rich mans bravery He on thy bounteous Table fed And was with all things cherished Nay Palmer-like thou did'st assay To fetch them in from the high way And with thine owne sleece made and spun Cover the lame the blinde and dumbe The Lazar might not starveingly Thou coverdst his necessity The rich might not the poore oppresse The just mans cause thou didst redresse Thy house was made an hospitall And plenty cride ' y are welcome all The stranger might not thirsty passe For there was Tempors full brim'd glasse Prefiguring his thirsty soule Might be refresh'd but not made fowle As Zephyrs bottles such was his minde Sweet calme and free loveing and kinde Great pity Death did in a rage Send Palmer on a pilgrimage Nere to returne for in his losse He Kegworthes sorrow did engrosse And yet he left a merry one Whose worth 's inferiour to none A Patriot of true deserts A nursing father to all arts All men are Palmers Pilgrime meeke He compass'd earth high Heav'n to seeke The Saints receiv'd him into blisse The earth her Palmer still doth misse FINIS Imprimatur Exaedib Londin Sa. Baker Apr. 22. 1636. Hector Boctiuâ— and Aencaâ— Sylvius in their descriptioâ— of the Rivers of Scotland Tay said to bee the most noble River in Angus Iohannes Major Guiccardine 〈◊〉 Gildas in the Expul of the Danes A most pious Princely gift 100. per Annum and confirm'd by Charter The Lord Rich married the Lady Anne daughter of William Earle of Deton shire Not of him that was the Terror of France though all the rest were brothers of his Line A famous Chappell and the Tombe of his noble ancestours by him erected over her in the Parish Church of Wilne in Derby-shire Being his â—â—der brother To the Lady Bur 〈…〉 ut
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
all mens hartes Liberall and Authenticke Artes. If love to musique does deserve A thankefullnes from every nerve Chiefly the Organ of the eare Whose atribute is all to heare If charity deserve to be A vertue for necessity Since hee that gives unto the poore Hourely encreaseth his large store He wisely does his Talent lend And may it doubly so expend If love to subject Prince and state Free from envious pride or hate One that ne're us'd for to oppresse Without thoughts of covetousnesse One that his whole life so dâ—d sway As meerely careing for to day If one in whom these worthes did dwell Deserv'd to bee the non Pareill Of goodnes surely such a one Deserv'd from us a parting groane Nay a Rich Trophe o're his herse Adorned round with his owne Verse If such a one was worthy praise Then he deserv'd the sprig and Baies For he had these from natures store And a thousand vertues more Which abâ—e are to tell his story Fraught with honour fame and glory Which are able for to depaint His life a mans his death a Saint On William Willoughby of Mascam Esquire who died at Celson SOme say Death does brave things I thinke it true â—nd yet it stands ambiguously too Some say thou slew 〈◊〉 wâ—th a sling A tricke to scare Pâ—ds with a pretty thing And bravely thou knockest Sisera ith'head A manly part to Naile a man starke dead Wolves facilely doe prey upon the sheepe When as the carelesse Shepheard lies asleepe 'Mongst multitudes of Pagans Sampson fell Bragge of that Trophe there thou quit'st thee well Yet boast not much of that poore sacrifize He would have killd thee had he had his eies Great Alexander of an Ague dide And Tailour-like thou bodkindste Casars side And Troyes great Hector fell too not alone Thou kill'dst him cowardly hundreds to one But here thou kill'dst perfection in this man Rivolets nay Seas of sacred vertue ran For this sweet man of men this Willoughby The Graces mourn'd and cruell Destiny That never yet did good for him did moane 'Cause he from earth so suddenly was gone Just in the Summer of his growing age Began thy malice to breake forth in rage And like a trembling theefe thou didst steale in And murder'dst him that scarse knew how to sin Well thou hast done thy worst the best is ours He lives in spight of thee 'mongst sacred Powers Time will not court thee as she us'd to doe Because thou kill'dst his Sonne not twenty two Thrice happy he that lives well and so dies Growing a Prime-rose in Gods Paradice Reader behold that Phoâ—nâ—x here he lies Vntill another from his ashes rise On HENRY VVORRALL of wysoll Esquire VVHo lies there thinke von Read and see 'T is not the Map of miserie Nor he which does this world controule Whose money is his life and soule His feeling sense his eies and eares Hee s dumbe hee s deafe he nothing heares Without it beyond these t is his god For that absented he lives odde Tenne i' th' hundred hundreds to one His god and he will keepe one roome Thou art deceiv'd hee s not here Then reade not lest thou shed a teare This sacred place affoords not rome For such a one to reare a tombe No Tempe ever had a birth Of so much goodnes love and worth Who though in honour hee s not great In goodnes he is all compleat VVoo't have mee speake a verity Here lies the Mappe of charity One that did daily at his Doore VVith his owne hands releive the poore One that did never lend on use And yet to lend did ne're refuse One that did never once engrosse Yet sould to all and liv'd by losse One of those men lov'd not to make Actes for Law but conscience sake He 'mongst the wisest was held one Most fit to write on his own stone For which high heavens have enrold Him in a Throne of purest gould From hence he was translated there To be a Starre fixde in the spheare For us to wonder and admire A man compos'd of heavenly fire He never did the poore oppresse But in their wants did give redresse His countries griefe he left behinde They can no more such fathers finde Worrall though dead we have thee still In thought in word in deed in will Thy memory cannot decay Till all dissolves and turnes to clay Wood'st thou have truths Epitomie Know Vertue dy'd and then dy'd hee On the Worshipfull Mrs GREASLEY Mother of the Lady BVRDEAVT of Formarke LEt it suflize that all I speake of thee Will come farre short of thy great memory But as small briefes great Volumes do containe So those few lines may at thy goodnesse aime In part though not in whole 〈◊〉 and therefore I Offer up these to thy posterity Thy Birth was noble thy education such As had from Vertue Vertues sacred touch In truth and true religion thou did'st stand Full many yeeres as Sea-markes to the land Guiding the Mariners that in dangers were Vnto their wished Ports and havens cleare And unto those that did the truth approve Thou wert a lampe of faith burning in love With Christ and with his spouse the Bride and Groome What greater Pillars can support thy tombe She needes not many beautys t' adorne her That has the Bridegroome for her chiefe mourner She was in Children happy in parents bless'd Of her cheife happynes she 's now possess'd In patience calme as sleepe her Love Zeale True emblemes of a pious common weale To Anger flow the winds did not contract More swift motion then she to a good act Then Madam 't is your comfort that she is Emparadic'd in perfectnes of blisse No soothing after Toombes and ashes shee Is absolute in true felicitie For which in stead of Cipres Olive Baies May best be worne by you that live her praise On the Renowned JOHN Lord DARCY of the North. GReat buildings by their owne contexture stand So doe thy honours propp'd up by no hand True glory was thy aime marke and renowne And thou in heaven hast a glorious Crowne Great vessells of their owne weights never sinke 'T is overpoising or that which they drinke Which makes them sande thy well trim'd Boate Did on this Worlds Sea a long time floate Ballans'd with honour without wracke or leake No stormes nor tempests could her strong keele breake Till heaven emparadic'd her in the haven Of blesse eternall making all joyes even What was her fraught Religion Piety Repentance servent Zeale Anxiety Goodnes Grace and Honour Pilots were Guiding the steâ—ne vnto the Starry Spheare Where Angell brightnes yields reflexion Ambassadour-like to greet this paragon The cardinall Vertues follow Humility That sacred sister of Nobility True love in whom all noble honour staith Sweet Charity the first borne child of Faith Patience Diligence Liberality That yields a hand to due necessity Rich Temperance that does all ills controule And Chastity the Beauty of mans soule A happy guard but thrice more happy
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
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
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