my brest I come And mourne before thy Herse such Griefe's exprest Best by a silent tongue and vocall brest For these sad words in these white sheets they be The walking Ghosts of my dead Poëtry Which haunt thy Grave the place which does enclose More of my treasure then the world yet knows More then I have to lose again and more Then richest nature can againe restore More then my hopes can aime at here or can Be recompens'd in one that 's meerly man A treasure can indeed no more be lost Then be forgot 't is but secur'd at most Since 't lies so safe what 's left I 'll cast all in This Mite-devotion of my widdow'd Pen Could sighs breath'd out from sorrow's clouded nest Call it thy living tomb or my dead brest Prevaile and blow thee back againe or teares Shour'd on thy Corps raise a new spring of years Could Sobbes and dolefull groans sent from the heart The last sad Gasps wherein our hopes depart Or be so pow'rfull as to mollifie The Fates or make thee think it sin to die Thy friends whom thy far-spreading death bereft Of Joyes and senselesse as thy body left Would borrow of surviving passion To antedate thy resurrection Could whitest Innocence with sweetnesse mix'd Could Piety in Resolution fix'd Could inward Grace in outward beauty set As true Gold in a Gilded Cabinet Could sweetest Inclinations in a mind Not warp'd by favour nor through passion blind Could what 's a miracle a pious youth Ag'd in Devotion and Religion's Growth Could each or all of these have set a rate Upon a mortall death might venerate And through religion be afraid to weare Those sacrilegious spoils it now does here We had enjoy'd him longer and in him Those vertues which so beautifi'd the Gemme Wer 't thou no more sweet soul but as of late My dearest Freind I durst expostulate With death and sicknesse and thus seem to be In danger of a name in Poëtry Could threats or flatt'ries force or wooe the Grave Onely to take what aged nature gave Could dire Anathemaes belch'd out with noise The loudest thunder of a Poët's voice Fright death and excommunicate disease I 'm sure thou had'st not bin so soon at ease I know not which had giv'n more cause t' have griev'd That now thou die'st or then so many liv'd Were vertue but a name in thee no doubt Our words might swell so big as speak it out Or were our sorrow passion Reason might Enter the lists and hope to win the fight But 't is above this straine we mourne not one Forc'd Sigh we have strain'd tear or modish Groane Such as the zealous Hypocrite puts on When he should mourn for 's lost Religion No mourners of the Poste whose Grief's a trade Who arm'd with Iron words so come t' invade Death with their Execrations murther fate With Curses as prophane as then too late Our sorrow's Christian and our verses be Our due Devotion no starch'd Elegie True he whose dryer soul would boast a power Beyond what 's mortall and forbear to showr Down pensive tears upon thy ashes must Crumbling to ashes too mix with thy dust None can but grieve for thy Mortality Except a soul that 's much more dead then thee And yet he only mourns aright that shows A soul as innocent as vertuous As thine whose actions write insteed of Griefe An harmlesse Comment on thy spotlesse life A life so good so chast it seem'd to give Us a short tast of that which Angells live And what 's most true in all Goods here we meet This was its Commendation Short and sweet The fairest morning of a man the dawn Of an aeternall day On 's clay was drawn The lovely'st picture of a lovely'r soul On this the Divine Image almost whole Man in his stature in 's forme more then man In purest Innocence a Christian His nature soft his body such as stole From Heav'n a lodging for so sweet a soul Nature as in the Ermine fairly drew His duties ' Embleme in his spotlesse hue Who so observ'd that rarest caution which Appear'd when e're he was to passe the ditch Wherein too many welter and lie drown'd Chusing the softest not the firmest ground Would almost say more then in Complement Nature not vertue made him Innocent To see so young a soule stand all alone I' th' world as vertue 'twixt two vices one Assaulted now by one then by another And neither leare to one nor cringe to t'other Made me first see the businesse he had For Heav'n gave him no leasure to be bad Whose race with so great haste to Heav'n was run 'T was almost finish'd e're we saw 't begun O pious soule who know'st no paralell To die so young when yet thou liv'dst so well To see so choyce a Gemme lye all alone Amidst a croud and yet caught up by none Must speake a vertue more then naturall Which struck that secret rev'rence into all To see so faire a flower oft beset With weeds and thistles and to flourish yet Retain it's Beauty and its sent and be Ev'n guarded by 't 's malignant Enemie Argues a vigour more then Earth can give And more then ought but Heaven Could receive Those pritty tempting bates which lye and hemme Youth in and prey on those would feast on them Could in his more resolved Count'nance move A smile at most and of disdain not love Those thundring Oaths the highest Embloss'd Pride Of brave discourse which the swolne Deicide Enam'lling all his talke with that rude grace In a Bravado spits in Heav'ns pure face Spread such an horrour o're his soule as 't seem'd The tender'st part of what was thus Blasphem'd So constant at 's Devotion as though His soule did nothing but his Heaven know How eas'ly went that soule to God each day Which made it thus it's taske to learne that way For him to goe to Heaven 't was no more But trace the foot steps he had made before Knowing that he must run that wins the Goale It was his care thus oft to breath his soule What e're might bring to Heav'n to him 't was all Becomes so perfectly habituall It was as hard for him to do amisse As 't was for others to obtaine their blisse Where others with amazement gaze and spie A Phancy'd lustre which puts out the eye He saw and seeing loath'd and loathing shun'd Did not his reason with his sense confound His words were such as onely his could be Sweet perfumes breath'd from that rich Spicery Which did embalme his soule whil'st here it lay Bury'd within it's Sepulchre of clay He liv'd as if his arrand hither were To beg of each a passion each a pray'r So Heav'nly were his soul's sweet motions all To rest below had been unnaturall So doth that noblest element of fire Fight with it's fuell and to heav'n aspire And when that 's vanquish'd and it upwards gone Lives the more pure though after seen by none His busnesse here below
was not to wast A life or stay 'till some few minutes pass'd All that he came to doe was this no where He had to leave 's mortallity but here His blessed soul came hither but to shew That all that goe to Heav'n must this way goe Had it been possible a soul should bound So high without a fall upon the Ground Could man enjoy aeternall life and not First dye then had he never been forgot Heav'n would have priz'd such jewells much more high Then to expose them to each vulgar eye But since the purest Di'mond e're it stand The pride and Glory of a Noble hand Must first endure the file and not think much T' abide the Lapidarie's ruder touch Even so his richer soul now safely set In God's more wide and Glorious Cabinet Enamell rich as those bright Orbes e're wore Was here plac'd to be Cut and polish'd ore Such was his entertainment here that day Which first gave life first took his health away Born but to practice his mortallity Only to learn how to be sick and dye Nature grew jealous at his birth she saw A face so sweet so brave a soul in awe Of her own work she stood and lest it should Grow more then man and deifie her mould She sent him not abroad but as we do Our Prisâ—ners with his churlish keeper too His guard's a sad disease which does essay To stifle 's soul in his infected clay And when she would have walk'd abroad to view What Nature made of old or Art anew Clapp'd bolts and shackles on each faculty And made her life a death who could not die Till leaning too too heavy on the wall It had so weakn'd caus'd at length its fall And now the joyfull soul escaped is Into a fair aeternity of blisse O Happy soul in this thy misery For having try'd so long what t is to die Thou quickly did'st thy work without all pain And go'st to rest aeternally again Whil'st others drop or stumble in Heav'ns gave Him leave to walke softly into this grave Such Flowr's are not cut down but drawn up hence By their bright Sire's attractive influence No sudden raging Fever parch'd his clay And in an instant scorch'd his life away But as wax in the Sun-shine when 't has felt That warmth does rather sweetly yeeld then melt And seems to smile upon its kinder fates And to embrace the wounding raies dilates And kindly spreads it's selfe and wooes it's death Longing it's last embraces to bequeath So did his melting body yeelding lie Smiling upon the Courteous Cruelty Of such a kind disease which in each limbe Did seem to wast it selfe much more then him Who saw him breath his last would conclude thence He whisper'd Death in 's eare to fetch him hence They seemd to strive which should yeeld first of these His feeble body or his weak disease He did espouse his sicknesse was in love With that which first could seat his soule above Angry with his Phisitians who did try To kill the Death brought Immortality His sicknesse to his body was born twin As every soul since Adam to it's sin Such entire friends that both must be or neither Since both were borne both live both dye together But why miscall we't sicknesse or disease Which is his Conduct to aeternall ease Which Heav'n sent hither with him lest when hurl'd Now here now there in a tumultuous world He might forget where 't was his bus'nesse lay This softly pulls and tells him that 's the way If ere it pinch'd so hard as fetch'd a groan It quickly sends a slumber to atone The breach of friendship as an early taste Or soft praeludium to aeternall rest So like the sisters were in him his breath Did onely tell us which was sleep which death His last successive breathings did increase In such proportion'd measures that to cease Did seem Impossible what e're may be The adverse dictates of Philosophy His breathings pass'd in such proportion As each respected that aeternall one When by his long disease his patient brest Did seem to be more then was fit opprest And made us sometimes over apt to say His spirit was as heavy as his clay We sinn'd against his piety which thus Sequestred from 's malignant dust and us That purest soule which up to Heav'n was gone In holy raptures of Devotion When e're we judg'd him to be sad or dull 'T was absence but no heavinesse of soul He was a study'ng whil'st he here did stay Onely to make choice of a dying Day And 't was no wonder he dispatch'd so soon Who goes with th' Sun shall come to Heav'n at noon 'T was not too soon to goe when God did call His fruit was ripe before his flow'r did fall Angels could not too soon their Hooks here bring 'T is ever Harvest where there 's such a Spring He saw but little dislik'd more the world Unsetled alwayes round about him hurl'd To fixe there were not to stand still but reel Who would live to be broake on such a wheele Yet did he try Towne Country and did see Some Reliques of an University But nought could force his stay much more he might Have seen but strove to be at home ere night And now no wonder if such Flow'rs do fade Set in so lean a soyle so cold a shade As is the barren world that 's here below No such faire flow'rs on such foule dung-hils grow Just blowne he was when Heav'ns all-searching eye In love with 's beauty and his fragrancie Streight plucks him up and gives him this new name A Saint inth Bosome of blest Abraham This is his name And now whom I before Did love and honour I must learne t' adore He now has happ'ly chang'd his mortall state And 't was his aemulation not his Fate That Death so early call'd a soule so chaste Argues his timely ripenesse not it's haste It was my happinesse when I could call Him friend not startled at a Funerall But since 't is more his blisse thus to acquaint Himselfe with Angels canoniz'd a Saint By Death 's owne hand I must aesteeme it more To be his vot'ry now then friend before He was not borne for us alas we must Not thinke such Iewels fitted for our trust His Goodnesse was our losse Heav'n often spares Lesse blessings for a greater terme of yeares We measure Good lives not by yeares but houres 'T is much that we can say he once was ours That we once saw him is enough to boast And 't is the noblest bragge to say we 've lost And yet we have not lost our Saint unlesse In an aeternity of Happinesse We well may lose our selves in thinking how Heav'n is so mindfull of poor things below As lend us so long his sweet presence when It selfe thus picks him out from other men So when the Glorious eye of Heav'n doth goe To view the wonders which we call below We use to say he sets and falls when there He 's no lesse high or bright then he was here His course is one and Constant though we call What our owne Nat'rall darknesse is his fall Hee 's not of life but we of him bereft The sorrows we have found those he has left Going to 't all the morning now at Even We see him step over the Grave to Heaven All joy to thee in Heav'n blest soul whil'st we Here weep and groan and pray to rest with thee T is not thy fate that we thy friends bemoan T is not thy death not thy losse but our own We nee'r shall find our joies again 'till we Can die and lose our griefs in Heav'n with thee But we disturb thy sacred dust now close Wrapt up securely in a sweet repose We not so prize thy soul as hope to buy It back by th' cheap expences of an eye Why should'st thou now from all thy joyes descend Unblesse thy selfe so to reblesse thy friend When we 'd enjoy thee next 't will be a light Task for thy sake to bid the world Good-night We eas'ly shall passe through the Grave and death To come to thee we 'll run quite out of breath Such pious journeys still successefull be He 's sure to go to Heav'n that comes to thee Mors iter ad vitam An EPITAPH on the same ASke you what 's by this Marble meant Thus said the soul which this way went Friend I am gone There nothing lies but dust and stone Would'st thou be here Step in and leave thy body there Why at the door Do'st stand and talk I 'm far before Would'st be where I Now happy rest Dispatch and die So shalt thou be that in thy selfe thou seek'st in me Strike through this stone make hast to tast know What I enjoy but cannot tell thee now Another KNock not but enter why do'st fear His ashes sleep his soul 's not here VVhat here thou see'st this breathlesse dust Liv'd seav'nteen yeares Chast Good and Iust. VVhen here it could no better be 'T went home ro Immortallity This Grave which by its death became The sole surviver of the * * PITT He being the last heir male of the family name VVas left its Heir 'till that day when These ashes shall revive againe And up to those blest mansions sore VVhither the soul went long before FINIS * The two tops are the Church and your house
Piae Iuventuti Sacrum An ELEGIE on The Death of the most vertuous and hopefull young Gentleman GEORGE PITT Esq Sen: Herc Fur Act 3. Prima quae vitam dedit hora carpsit Even that first hour wherein man lives Takes one hour from the life it gives Printed in the Yeare 1658. To THE MOST VERTVOVS AND THEREFORE MOST DESERVEDLY HONOURED LADY Mris ALICE PITT With all due Service and Devotion is humbly Dedicated the following Elegy At the Funerals of her onely and worthily Beloved Sonne Mr G. P. MADAM SInce You can be so Charitably kind To let us share the Blessings of your Mind Since of the Comforts of your Wombe your Son You could allow me part and still had done Had not our wretched lives curs'd Mistresses His Progresse Fear'd Envy'd our Happinesse It seems But just I should be sharer to As of your Ioyes before soe sorrows now Not then to joy with you it had but bin My Misery 't were , not to grieve my sin That was my Priv'ledge This my duety is That Gratitude Commands Religion this Nor dare I mourne by halves The whole man he Must weare noe party-colour'd livory Such as indeed the joy-dissembling Heire Too oft at 's Father's funerall seems to weare when turne him inside out you 'll eas'ly find Much diff'ring colours in his cloak and Mind My sorrow's die'd in graine I onely have Just so much life as keeps me from the grave Your Bounty cloaths the outward man in black His Death would not allow my soule to lack Her Mourning-suit who in respect to you Has clad her Maid all in close mourning too Your Goodnesse calls on one and here you see My bold griefe multiplies that one to three Upon the weak staffe of a splitted Quill My Creeple Muse comes halting up the Hill And humbly at your feet does prostrate fall The devout'st mourner at this Funerall Your sorrows rais'd her from that Bed of ease Where she so long had hugg'd her own disease And had expir'd long siuce a prey to death But that your sighs brought a supply of breath Hearing your groans she started up and see No Sun appear she straight cries out-'Tis he And with a trembling eye roaving about At length she spies that mournfull HARROVV out Seeing this * two-top'd Hill for now there 's odds Betwixt your house and that which once was God's Though these made one 'till some more wise then we Durst preach it Schisme to live in unity Seeing these tops two blackest clouds o'reshade God's frown the one your sadnesle t'other made She calls it her Parnassus and does run In hast to take leave of her setting sun The Deity inspir'd her was your Son Whose vertues made your teares her Helicon But may this fountaine soon run dry that streame No more occasion'd on so sad a theme O rather may my Muses last breath be Exhal'd in this unwelcome Elegie O may she rather spend her rustick Rithme Upon the reigning vices of the time And with her betters only reap these gaines An happy Curse of Silence for her pains Had she not in this sin which she has done Serv'd the sad mother more then happy son She had not in so deep a note sat down And groan'd But up to Heav'n had flown In lofty numbers such as might become The Sainted off-spring of your happy wombe I cannot blame your love which did contrive So many waies to keep this Flow'r alive Though in a lovely garden here he grew Made for such Flow'rs alone as he and you Though you did well those lawfull hopes to nourish To see him in this garden thrive and flourish Though such endeavours with Religion stand Yet did your pray'rs still contradict your hand You wish'd him blest your own experience shows That no man 's so before to heav'n he goes I know you grudge him not his early rest Nor think his blessing lesse 'cause so soon blest Who soonest goes this journey runs his race With as much ease as speed and takes his place Highest in Heav'n we who stay here behind Laden with sins and sorrows we shall find The entrance much more hard and there must be Content to sit lower by much then he This is your Blessing that for seav'nteen yeares You have possess'd what now you lose with teares That heav'n intrusted you with that rich prize In love of which it selfe did sympathize With you and us That you have been so long His Nurse 'till he can speak the Angells tongue And beares his part in that sweet quire that siug Loud Halleluiahs to their God and King May that bright Glory which now Crownes the Son Attend the Mother when her race is run There may you meet where endlesse comforts may And shall mak 't an aeternall Holiday Till when my alter'd Calender shall bâ—â— Two letters for this day in every yeare A black one for your losse an other Red To signifie the happy day he sped In Heav'n May all the vertuous family Still live so innocent so happy die May Heav'ns warme rayes revive your joies and keep Your Hopes awake untill your Bodies sleep In peacefull Graves and all your Soules do flye In triumph up to Immortality ON The Early but happy death of the very Hopefull young Gentleman my once most dear and Honoured friend GEORGE PITT Esq Dying of an haereditary Consumption at 17 yeares of age THus flitting are our best of Joyes and this The misery attends too early blisse To have a friend which I must lose O blesse Me Heavens with no such fading happinesse Whil'st here I breath O let me rather be As free from friends as Immortality So shall no dying joy to me bequeath A living sorrow by its hasty Death Sorrow hath to the height its selfe improv'd When we have lost what we can say we lov'd What shall I call my Passion then who have Bury'd more then one Heaven in his Grave I lov'd and lost to tell you what and when Were but to love and lose him o're again Great Griefs are dumb in these sad lines I show What 't is my Griefe would say were it not so What others might call words here are but weak Expressions onely signes that I would speak Could I speak out my lines should have no end My Griefe bee'ng more then words can comprehend And yet no wonder if each sigh each teare Falling upon his dust new-moulded were And unto us articulate now seeme Rebounding from so Elegant a theme As Memnon's statue without soul or sense When warm'd and mov'd by th' pow'rfull Influence Of Heaven above did seem in gratitude To blesse the power whence 't was with life indu'd So may his shining soul which now is gone Triumphant far above the Stars and Sun Dart down a Courteous and enlivening ray To actuate our souls as those our clay And make us such inâ—eed as he should have All speaking monuments about his grave Till then like one whose losses strike him dumbe With this sad Paper on