LACHRYMAE MVSARVM Quam cuâ—eret â—acrymans augusti Herois in vruam Musa tuum Niobe corpus et Arge tuum Vt fiueret Morbi Dolor aemulus utque tumeâ—at Pustula sic tumeat Lachryma mille oculis Flete Deâ—e Britonum hunc Florem tellure repostuÌ„ Expromta in Lachrymas Castalis unda riget LACHRYMAE MUSARUM The Tears of the MUSES Exprest in ELEGIES WRITTEN By divers persons of Nobility and Worth Upon the death of the most hopefull Henry Lord Hastings Onely Sonn of the Right Honourable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Heir-generall of the high-born Prince GEORGE Duke of Clarence Brother to King EDWARD the fourth Collected and set forth by R. B. Dignum laude virum Musae vetant mori Hor. London Printed by Tho. Newcomb 1649. The Names of the Writers of these following ELEGIES Earl of Westmorland Lord Falkland Sir Aston Cokaine Sir Arthur Gorges M. Robert Millward M. Tho. Higgons M. Charles Cotton M. Tho. Pestel sen. M. George Fairfax M. Francis Standish M. I. Ioynes M. Samuel Bold M. I. Cave M. Phil. Kindar M. Robert Herrick M. Iohn Denham M. Io. Hall M. I. B. M. Iohn Benson M. I. Bancroft M. Will. Pestel M. Tho. Pestel jun. M. R. P. M. Io. Rosse M. Alex. Brome M. Edward Standish M. R. Brome Upon the death of the most hopeful young Lord The Lord HASTINGS A Remembrance from a Kinsman IS there a bright Star faln from this our Sphere Yet none sets out some newer Kalender Do the Orbs sleep in silence Is the Scheme Struck dumb at th' apprehension of the Theme I shall not challenge Booker here nor will I Call up the Mathemat-like dreams of Lilly To search the reason sift Prognosticks out How this so sad Disaster came about Since that to every one it is well known The best and precious things are soonest gone Such Grief by th' cause is heightned to excess And where that falls expression goes less Yet if we 'd scan why thus he 's Hasting hence His name may give you some intelligence The World with him this opposition had He was too good for it and that too bad WESTMORLAND On the death of my worthy Friend and Kinsman the Noble Vertuous and Learned Lord HASTINGS FArewel dear Lord and Friend since thou hast chose Rather the Phoenix life then death of Crows Though Death hath ta'n thee yet I 'm glad thy Fame Must still survive in Learned Hastings Name For thy great loss my Fortune I 'll condole Whilst that Elizium enjoys thy soul FALKLAND A Funeral-Elegie upon the death of Henry Lord Hastings Son to the Right Honorable Ferdinando Earl of HUNTINGDON c. KNow all to whom these few sad Lines shall come This melancholy Epicedium The young Lord Hastings death occasion'd it Amidst a storm of Lamentations writ Tempests of sighs and groans and flowing eyes Whose yeelding balls dissolve to Delugies And mournful Numbers that with dreadful sound Wait this bemoaned Body to the ground Are all and the last Duties we can pay That Noble Spirit that is fled away 'T is gone alas 't is gone though it did leave A body rich in all Nature could give Superiour in beauty to the Youth That won the Spartan Queen to forfeit truth Break Wedlocks strictest bonds and be his wife Invironed with tumults all her life His yeers were in the Balmy Spring of age Adorn'd with blossoms ripe for Marriage And but mature His sweet Conditions known To be so good they could be none but 's own Our English Nation was enamour'd more Of his full Worths then Rome was heretofore Of great Vespatian's Jew-subduing Heir The love and the delight of Mankinde here After a large survey of Histories Our Criticks curious in Honour wise In parallelling generous souls will finde This youthful Lord did bear as brave a minde His few but well-spent yeers had master'd all The Liberal Arts and his sweet tongue could fall Into the ancient Dialects dispence Sacred Iudaea's amplest Eloquence The Latine Idiome elegantly true And Greek as rich as Athens ever knew The Italian and the French do both confess Him perfect in their Modern Languages At his Nativity what angry Star Malignant Influences flung so far What Caput Algols and what dire Aspects Occasioned so Tragical Effects As soon as Death this fatal blowe had given I fancy mighty Clarence sigh'd in heaven And till this glorious soul arrived there Recover'd not from his Amaze and Fear Had this befaln in antient credulous times He had been Deifi'd by Poets Rhymes That Age enamour'd on his Graces soon Majestick Fanes in Adoration Would have rais'd to his Memory and there On Golden Altars yeer succeeding yeer Burnt holy Incense and Sabaean Gums That Curls of Vapour from those Hecatoms Should reach his soul in heaven But we must pay No such Oblations in our purer Way A nobler Service we him owe then that His fair Example ever t' emulate With the advantage of our double yeers Let 's imitate him and through all affairs And all encounters of our lives intend To live like him and make so good an end To aim at brave things is an evident signe In Spirits that to Honour they incline And though they do come short in the Contest 'T is full of glory to have done ones best You mournful Parents whom the Fates compel To bear the loss of this great Miracle This Wonder of our times amidst a sigh Surrounded with your thickst Calamity Reflect on Joy think what an happiness Though Humane Nature here conceits it less It was to have a son of so much worth He was too good to grace the wretched Earth As silver Trent through our North Counties glides Adorn'd with Swans and crown'd with flowry sides And rushing into mightier Humber's waves Augments the Regal Aestuarium's braves So he after a Life of Eighteen yeers Well manag'd as Example to our Peers In 's early youth encountring sullen Fate Orecome became a Trophey to his state Didst thou sleep Hymen or art lately grown T' affect the Subterranean Region Enamour'd on blear'd Libentina's eyes Hoarse howling Dirges and the baleful cries Of inauspicious voices and above Thy Star-like Torch with horrid Tombs in love Thou art or surely hadst oppos'd this hie Affront of Death against thy Deitie Nor wrong'd an excellent Virgin who had given Her heart to him who hath his soul to heaven Whose Beauties thou hast clouded and whose eyes Drowned in tears of these sad Exequies Those fam'd Heroes of the Golden Age Those Demi-gods whose Vertues did asswage And calm the furies of the wildest Mindes That were grown salvage ev'n against their kindes Might from their Constellations have look'd down And by this young Lord seen themselves out-gone Farewel admired Spirit that art free From this strict prison of Mortality Ashby proud of the honour to enshrine The beauteous Body whence the Soul divine Did lately part be careful of thy Trust That no profane hand wrong that hallowed Dust The costly Marble needs no friend t' engrave
Upon it any doleful Epitaph No good man's tongue that office will decline Whilst yeers succeeding reach the end of Time ASTON COKAINE Upon the Death of HENRY Lord HASTINGS SInce that young Hastings bove our Hemisphear Is snatch'd away O let some Angels Wing Lend me a Quill his Noble Fame to rear Up to that Quire which Hallelujah sing Sure Heaven it self for us thought him too good And took him hence just in his strength and prime When Vertue 'gan to make him understood Beyond the Peers and Nobles of his time Wherefore 't will ask more then a Mortal Pen To speak his worth unto Posterity Whose judgment shin'd 'mongst grave and learned men With true Devotion and integrity For which in heaven the Joys of lasting Bliss He reaps whilst we sowe Tears for him we miss But I no praise for Poesie affect Nor Flatteries hoped meed doth me incite Such base-born thoughts as servile I reject Sorrow doth dictate what my Zeal doth write Sorrow for that rich Treasure we have lost Zeal to the Memory of what we had And that is all they can that can say most So sings my Muse in Zeal and Sorrow clad So sang Achilles to his silver Harp When foul affront had ' reft his fair delight So sings sweet Philomel against the Sharp So sings the Swan when life is taking flight So sings my Muse the notes which Sorrow weeps Which Antheme sung my Muse for ever sleeps ARTHUR GORGES EPIGRAM Upon the death of the most hopeful Henry Lord Hastings Eldest son of the Right Honorable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Heir general of the high-born Prince GEORGE Duke of Clarence Brother to King Edward 4. 'T Is a Mistake Lord Hastings did not die But 't was our Hopes and his great Parents Joy That did depart Is he said to decease That raigns in Glory now and lives in Peace Yet may we gently mourn not that he 's gone But left us till the Resurrection Our Joy ought to be more since he doth get A Heavenly Crown for an Earths Coronet Then let us cease our Tears for if we grieve Too much too little surely we believe ROB. MILLWARD Upon the death of my Lord Hastings THese are thy Triumphs Death who prid'st to give Their lives an end who best deserve to live Dull useless men whom Nature makes in vain Or but to fill her Number and her Train Men by the world remembred but till Death Whose empty story endeth with their breath Stay till Old-age consume them when the Good The Noble and the Wise are kill'd i' th' bud Such was the Subject of our Grief in whom All that times past can boast or times to come Can hope is lost whose Blood although its Springs Stream from the Royal loyns of Englands Kings His Vertue hath exalted and refin'd For his high Birth was lower then his Minde But that the Fates inexorably bent To mischief Man and ruine his Content Would have this Sacrifice the Sisters might Have been affected with so sweet a sight And thought their hastie Cruelty a Crime To tear him from his Friends before his Time THOMAS HIGGONS An Elegie upon the Lord HASTINGS AMongst the Mourners that attend his Herse With flowing eyes and wish each Tear a Verse T' embalm his Fame and his dear Merit save Uninjur'd from th' oblivion of the Grave A Sacrificer I am come to be Of this poor Offring to his Memory O could our pious Meditations thrive So well to keep his better part alive So that in stead of Him we could but finde Those fair Examples of his Letter'd Minde Vertuous Emulation then might be Our hopes of Good men though not such as He. But in his hopeful progress since he 's crost Pale Vertue droops now her best Pattern 's lost 'T was hard neither Divine nor Humane Parts The strength of Goodness Learning and of Arts Full crowds of Friends nor all the Pray'rs of them Nor that he was the Pillar of his Stem Affection's Mark secure of all mens Hate Could rescue him from the sad stroke of Fate Why was not th' Air drest in Prodigions forms To groan in Thunder and to weep in Storms And as at some mens Fall why did not His In Nature work a Metamorphosis No he was gentle and his soul was sent A silent Victim to the Firmament Weep Ladies weep lament great Hastings Fall His House is bury'd in his Funeral Bathe him in Tears till there appear no trace Of those sad Blushes in his lovely face Let there be in 't of Guilt no seeming sence Nor other Colour then of Innocence For he was wise and good though he was young Well suited to the Stock from whence he sprung And what in Youth is Ignorance and Vice In him prov'd Piety of an excellent price Farewel dear Lord and since thy body must In time return to its first matter Dust Rest in thy melancholy Tomb in peace for who Would longer live that could but now die so CHA. COTTON For the Right Honourable LVCIE Countess of HUNTINGDON 1649. From her Honours humblest Servant T. P. Her Soliloquie or her Meditation 'T Is mystick Union Man and Wife Yet scarce distinct from Single life Till like the Sun a Son arise And set them Both before their eyes No sweeter braver fairer sight Then thus to stand in our own Light And such a Son I joy'd Ay me Was ever such a Son as he And felt what fervent spirits of Love Orbs of Maternal Bowels move I wou'd not shun those outward snares Of Shape of shining eyes and hairs Which still the more they catch or wound More pleasing still their power I found And it is lawful godly too To love what Gods own fingers do Whose Angels still are sweetly fac'd Himself with perfect Beauty grac'd But eager Vertue from the Clay In words and actions making way To Sense in All that heard or saw Became a fierce almighty Law And stoop'd all hearts that were not stone Or drown'd in Malice or in Moan Like mine So overgone with Wo My very Reason bids it go Nor lies it in the power of Wit By Reason to recover it The Rational Reply By Reason to recover it Sans forlorn Hope or wings of Wit Who serves you his main Battel brings Heark how the feather'd Tempest sings Your clouds of Grief transpiercing quite Or hurrying to disordered Flight Then Sorrow vanquisht on his Herse Rears Trophies of victorious Verse First let us ask Impatience why At gentle Death's approach we cry Sweet Favourite of heaven that flies With Cupids face but Hermes eyes Whose Rods and Snakes and seeming harms Our souls in slumber wisely charms For that poor Spark call'd Life the brand The Rush we carry in our hand Which dropping and defiling spends Death gives Delight that never ends O mad mistake Sea-tost a Calm And wounded we reject a Balm Rabide for want of Rest we keep A bawling and refuse to sleep Dead-weary tir'd yet scorn to stay And Cripple hurl our Crutch away
much know Departing hence where Good and Bad souls go Cha. Those souls which ne'er were drencht in pleasures stream The Fields of Pluto are reserv'd for them Where drest with garlands there they walk the ground Whose blessed Youth with endless flow'rs is crown'd But such as have been drown'd in this wilde Sea For those is kept the Gulf of Hecate Where with their own contagion they are fed And there do punish and are punished This known the rest of thy sad story tell When on the Flood that nine times circles Hell Chorus We sail along to visit mortals never But there to live where Love shall last for ever ROB. HERRICK An ELEGIE Upon the death of the Lord HASTINGS REader preserve thy peace those busie eyes Will weep at their own sad Discoveries When every line they adde improves thy loss Till having view'd the whole they sum a Cross Such as derides thy Passions best relief And scorns the succours of thy easie Grief Yet lest thy Ignorance betray thy name Of Man and Pious read and mourn the shame Of an exemption from just sense doth show Irrational beyond excessive Wo. Since Reason then can priviledge a Tear Manhood uncensur'd pay that Tribute here Upon this Noble Urn Here here remains Dust far more precious then in India's veins Within these cold embraces ravisht lies That which compleats the Ages Tyrannies Who weak to such another Ill appear For what destroys our Hope secures our Fear What Sin unexpiated in this Land Of Groans hath guided so severe a hand The late Great Victim that your Altars knew You angry gods might have excus'd this new Oblation and have spar'd one lofty Light Of Vertue to inform our steps aright By whose Example good condemned we Might have run on to kinder Destiny But as the Leader of the Herd fell first A Sacrifice to quench the raging thirst Of inflam'd Vengeance for past Crimes so none But this white fatted Youngling could atone By his untimely Fate that impious Smoke That sullied Earth and did Heaven's pity choke Let it suffice for us that we have lost In Him more then the widow'd World can boast In any lump of her remaining Clay Fair as the gray ey'd Morn He was the Day Youthful and climbing upwards still imparts No haste like that of his increasing Parts Like the Meridian-beam his Vertues light Was seen as full of comfort and as bright Ah that that Noon had been as fixt as clear but He That onely wanted Immortality To make him perfect now submits to night In the black bosom of whose sable Spight He leaves a cloud of Flesh behinde and flies Refin'd all Ray and Glory to the Skies Great Saint shine there in an eternal Sphere And tell those Powers to whom thou now drawst neer That by our trembling Sense in HASTINGS dead Their Anger and our ugly Faults are read The short lines of whose Life did to our eyes Their Love and Majestie epitomize Tell them whose stern Decrees impose our Laws The feasted Grave may close her hollow Jaws Though Sin search Nature to provide her here A second Entertainment half so dear She 'll never meet a Plenty like this Herse Till Time present her with the Universe JOHN DENHAM To the Earl of HVNTINGDON On the death of his Son My Lord COuld any Tears our Miseries remove Redeem our Losses or asswage our Love Blest were you though you paid for ev'ry Tear As rich a Jewel as the West can bear And did for ev'ry Sigh or Groan dispense An od'rous Tempest of Masle Frankincense But these impossible Wishes cannot finde A place and are but scatter'd by the Winde The Laws by which the World is govern'd are As Indispensable as Regular A perisht Flower can from that Central fire That lurks within its seed next Spring aspire Unto its former life and beauty But Pityable Man when once his eyes are shut Is no more seen but past recov'ry lost A tender fleeting Form a Bloodless Ghost And 'las that God-like Youth that did amaze All Expectations and faln Vertue raise Beyond her known Idea's He in whom So many Noble Bloods had found their home Like some fam'd River whose proud streams are great Because that Other Rivers therein meet He that was onely like Himself hath quit His Cage of Clay I saw a paleness sit Upon his lips and lurid darkness break And chase the Orient Purple of his cheek I saw his Eyes seal'd to eternal Night And all those Spices which Corruption fright Straw'd on his Waxen Limbs He 's gone he 's gone And cruelly fled and yet not he alone But Courage Sweetness Innocence and Truth And all those sweet imbellishments of Youth And all those full Perfections which engage Our praise and cast a reverence on Age And all those Arts which by long toil acquir'd Do make men either useful or admir'd All which he mastred not as others who By lame Degrees to a Full stature grow He at the first was such what other men From Climate Humour Temper Custom gain Nature endow'd him with and though she please To d'all her works at leasure by degrees In this vast Miracle she her self surpast And shew'd at once Perfection and Haste Nor was there any thing in him to weed To prune or straighten that Celestial Seed The Stars had shed into him could not flow To Loosness nor yet poorly under-grow Nothing in him was crooked lame or flat But Geometrically proportionate Nor had he that which the severely Wise Deplore in Men and would abolish Vice His was a Snowie soul a pure Essence So clearly shining in' ts first Innocence That He did that Opinion true declare That Vice and Evil utter Nothings are Nor was his Knowledge other that pure Minde Was too Aethereal and too refin'd To know or common Paths or common Bounds His was like Lightning which all Sight confounds And strikes so swiftly that it seems to be Rather the object of the Memory Thus did he oft his Tutors sense prevent And happily surprise him in 's intent Thus he o'er-run all Science like a King Conquering by approach as if that every Thing Stript of its outward dross and all refin'd Into a Form lay open to his Minde Or his pure Minde could suddenly disperse It self all ways and th'row all Objects pierce Yet whatsoe'er into his Minde did pass Though writ in Water did remain in Brass Yet has this Genius made a sad depart Maugre those strong Resistances of Art â—hich the wise-pow'rful MAYERN who can give â—s much as poor Mortality can receive Could like a Father make maugre the Vows And holy Ardences of a melting Spouse Maugre that strength of yeers which had not known His tender Cheeks blossom'd by their first Down Maugre those Hopes which did so bravely feign That a great Race should spring from him again A Race of Hastings's whose High Deeds should raise New lustre to their Grand-sires Images But 'las these Hopes are now meer Dreams become And all those Glories
Author of all earthly things Must have his will on Lords as well as Kings Nor is the Root so faded but hath power To plant a Graft that may produce a Flower To equalize the Loss you so lament And cure the Malady of Discontent Cease not to mourn yet let not inward Grief Cause a Despair since heaven can give relief They 're Angels guard him King of kings hath sent Where 's difference 'twixt a Jayl from Parliament Cease then to weep for he and Angels sing Halle lujah in Heav'n with Charles our King EDWARD STANDISH To the Memory of the Right Noble and most Hopeful Henry Lord Hastings Deceased A Way my Muse or bid me hence from thee No Subject for thy help nor Work for me This Story yeelds For by thy dictates I Never spilt Ink except in Comedie Which in the thronged Theatres did appear All Mirth and Laughter What should we do here Amidst an Inundation of such Grief As to be dry'd up cannot hope relief Till the Last firy day Yet since 't is so How can we scape our shares of general Wo And pardon me Thalia your sublime Spirit since this Vicissitude of Time Has found no cause to smile nor have you been But Mourner-like and but by Mourners seen And though you cannot express Sorrow I Must be allow'd to shew Mortality And grieve without your aid No painting forth Or Flourishes of Art on Weight and Worth Are requisite This Story is too true To be made more perspicuous to our view By adding Fiction to 't All may be said Or written in few words Lord Hastings 's dead But who can stop at this when these few words An Argument wide as the World affords Of Grief Yet see th' expression to prevent It stupifies us with Astonishment Which dumbs us and benums our Faculties And like an Over-charge within us lies Such as in its Report the Canon breaks No less this Sorrow threatens ere it speaks Now let Sigh-tempests and Tear-torrents rise To pour out Marble-hearts th'row melting Eyes For this dear Loss when we are forc'd to say The Hope of Huntingdon is turn'd to Clay Henry Lord Hastings He Here let me stay Sad World I tell thee Who he was not What That would o'er-swell the Volume Read thou that In the precedent Elegies here writ By Masters of best Eloquence and Wit Read and mark well his Character and know They do of Truth more then Affection show On this ingenuous Subject none could lye Though ne'er so much inspir'd with Poetry Enrich thy Knowledge once by having read More Vertue then is Living of one Dead They are march'd on Now I bring up the Rear And not without as True and Salt a Tear As the Van-leader of this solemn Train Onely to thee I utter this again Thou World Read and Collect all here exprest Of Excellencies on this Lord deceast And adde with it all thou canst think is good And all that thou canst wish were understood To be thine own to all is said before Great Hastings was and is all that and more RIC. BROME HEre was the end of the Book intended to have been and so was it Printed before these following Papers were written or sent in Of all those the Noble Reverend and worthy Writers nominated in the Catalogue without their due Additions of Title or listed contrary to their Degree or Quality a Pardon is most humbly desired for the Collector whose Crime of Ignorance grew out of the want of timely Instruction POSTSCRIPT ELEGIES Written by M. Andrew Marvel M. M. N. M. Ioannes Harmarus Iohannes Dryden Cyrillus Wyche Edw. Campion Tho. Adams M. Radulphus Mountague Upon the death of the Lord HASTINGS GO intercept some Fountain in the Vein Whose Virgin-Source yet never steept the Plain Hastings is dead and we must finde a Store Of Tears untoucht and never wept before Go stand betwixt the Morning and the Flowers And ere they fall arrest the early Showers Hastings is dead and we disconsolate With early Tears must mourn his early Fate Alas his Vertues did his Death presage Needs must he die that doth out-run his Age The Phlegmatick and Slowe prolongs his day And on Times Wheel sticks like a Remora What man is he that hath not Heaven beguil'd And is not thence mistaken for a Childe While those of growth more sudden and more bold Are hurried hence as if already old For there above They number not as here But weigh to Man the Geometrick yeer Had he but at this Measure still increast And on the Tree of Life once made a Feast As that of Knowledge what Loves had he given To Earth and then what Jealousies to Heaven But 't is a Maxime of that State That none Lest He become like Them taste more then one Therefore the Democratick Stars did rise And all that Worth from hence did Ostracize Yet as some Prince that for State-Jealousie Secures his neerest and most lov'd Ally His Thought with richest Triumphs entertains And in the choicest Pleasures charms his Pains So he not banisht hence but there confin'd There better recreates his active Minde Before the Chrystal Palace where he dwells The armed Angels hold their Carouzels And underneath he views the Turnaments Of all these Sublunary Elements But most he doth th' Eternal Book behold On which the happie Names do stand enroll'd And gladly there can all his Kinred claim But most rejoyces at his Mothers name The gods themselves cannot their Joy conceal But draw their Veils and their pure Beams reveal Onely they drooping Hymeneus note Who for sad Purple tears his Saffron coat And trails his Torches th'row the Starry Hall Reversed at his Darlings Funeral And Aesculapius who asham'd and stern Himself at once condemneth and Mayern Like some sad Chymist who prepar'd to reap The Golden Harvest sees his Glasses leap For how Immortal must their Race have stood Had Mayern once been mixt with Hastings blood How Sweet and Verdant would these Lawrels be Had they been planted on that Balsam-tree But what could he good man although he bruis'd All Herbs and them a thousand ways infus'd All he had try'd but all in vain he saw And wept as we without Redress or Law For Man alas is but the Heavens sport And Art indeed is Long but Life is Short ANDREW MARVEL On the untimely death of the Lord HASTINGS Son to the Earl of HUNTINGDON IT is decreed we must be drain'd I see Down to the dregs of a Democracie Death 's i' the Plot and in his drunken mood Swills none of late but streams of Noble Blood Was 't not enough the Hatchet did hew down Those well-grown Oaks and Pillars of the Crown But that the tender Sapling too must fall Thus to inhanse the Kingdoms Funeral Ye Widow'd Graces and ye Muses too Bring your Perfumes with Tears and Flowers bestrew This sacred Temple where ye once did sit Crowned with all the pomp of Youth and Wit 'T is HASTINGS he that promis'd to appear What