Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A08187
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The three sisters teares Shed at the late solemne funerals of the royall deceased Henry, Prince of Wales, &c. R.N. Oxon.
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Niccols, Richard, 1584-1616.
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1613
(1613)
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STC 18525; ESTC S113235
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10,952
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42
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still Against the mallice of Proud Ignorance Then to him dead who gaue while he did liue Such grace to you all gracefull glory giue On you disdain'd of golden vanitie He dain'd to looke and knowing sapience To be the Garland of Nobility Did daily seeke your wisedomes influence But he is gone and few doe now remaine That doe not you and all your Arts disdaine Where are the worthies of those antique dayes Who woont their Crownes and Scepters laid aside To girt their conquering browes with sacred Bayes For which their names be now eternized They late did liue in him that now is dead And are with him againe rapt vp in lead For few doe now the sacred Nine esteeme That haue the gift of Mydas golden touch Science diuine a fruitlesse thing they deeme And count the learned base for being such O then let all that learned are lament His losse whose life was learnings ornament And you braue spirits of the warre-Gods traine That loue to beare the bold Bellonaes shield And with your swords eternitie to gaine Delight in battels and in bloodie field Mourne you with vs your Mars hath lost his light And in deaths clouds is now extinguisht quite Who like himselfe is like to looke on you That with an open hand and minde so free Will giue to men of Armes their prayses due Which woont great Brittaines brasen wals to be Now in the Helme the glory of the field Foule spiders still their mansion house may build If death had giuen him leaue to lead you on And guide you through the crimson paths of warre Against the sonnes of strumpet Babilon Or those Philistines that her Champions are You with your swords were like to dig a Tombe Wherein to burie all the Pride of Rome Of Rome that would and will be Monster-head Of all the world who was so holy giuen That she of late with hot deuotion led VVould with one blast haue blowne me vp to heauen Such hot hell-fierd zeale let all times know Since time before the like could neuer show For this had HENRY liu'd to lift his hand To hunt from hence Romes Rats that daily feed Vpon the fat and glory of my land And in my wounded bosome daily breed I by his arme like euer to be strong Vpon the gates of Rome had grau'd this wrong For I did thinke and who but so will thinke Had he but liu'd that neuer in this land A fuller cuppe of glory I should drincke Then that which I did hope from HENRIES hand For twice foure Henries haue beene Lords of mee All which could not show greater hopes then hee Not Edwards battailes when such deeds were done That Cressies and Poiteres were drown'd in blood Nor those of Henry when such fame hee woone That France did stoope and at his mercy stood I did not thinke should be so great in fame As those which hope did promise in his name Him oft though young vpon a war-like steed Like Ioue-borne Perseus mounted I haue seene VVhom with such goodly grace he hath bestrid As Horse and man had but one body beene Teaching him stand stoope stop turne leap and spring Caper curuet pace praunce and trot the ring His riper iudgement in such vnripe yeeres And knowledge in the Theoricke of warre Which as I feare when future ages hears They hardly will beleeue wee may compare To th' ancient Romans whose graue wisedome gaue Rome all her Pride and made the world her slaue As bounteous Heauen with vertues and with arts Th' immortall part of man in him did grace So Nature in constructure of those parts VVhich death too cruell did too soone deface The grace of all good feature gaue to him In euery Muskle member ioynt and limbe A manly sternenesse sat vpon his brow Yet mixed with an aemiable grace The silken blossomes gan to bud but now Vpon his downy chin yet in his face Was seene such iudgement as in age appears How then could death destroy such hopeful yeeres But why doe I like man made out of dust Seeme 'gainst great heauen vaine arguments to frame Nor highest Ioue nor Death haue beene vniust Taking from earth what earth could neuer claime His soule from vs for our foule sinnes complaints Is rapt to heauen to dwell among the Saints Ah wretched England now I turne to thee To sound heauens iudgements in thy sottish eares And if still deafe thou Adder-like wilt be And not be mou'd with pitty of these teares Yet on thy selfe some kinde compassion take Doe not sleepe dead in sinne at last awake Why dost thou hug thy sinnefull selfe as safe In the soft bosome of securefull sloath Dreadlesse of thine owne danger why do'st laugh In face of heauen whose lookes are full of wroth Why dost thou seeke to make thy euill good As vice in vertue should be vnderstood Turne yet deare country turne thee now at last Be mou'd with this late sudden blow from heauen And let these teares still tell thee what is past Least carelesse found a greater blow be giuen For though thy losse be now laid out on beere Forget him not thou canst not finde his peere Except his royall Brother who begins Like hopefull bud to promise goodly fruit For whose deere life repentant of thy sinnes Offer to heauen thy prayers and suppliant suite For now on Charles my hopes transferred be Since Henry dead I neuer more shall see Thus sad shee sigh'd and downe her selfe did throw Euen downe againe vpon the cold hard stone With whom her Sisters as wood-Culuers doe Vpon the bared branch made pitteous mone Vntill at length the second Sister rose And in these words did vtter forth her woes Albana A Mournfull subiect should with mournfull skill Be painted forth in letters fraught with tears then help soone help me to some turtles quil Who for her deare loues losse griefes burthen beares VVhich with sad Sorrowes drops may euer flow That with true Passion thou mayst write my woe Neuer did Turtle mourne on branchlesse bow Her deerest make dead dropping from the tree With more lamenting griefe then I doe now Deere HENRY dead dead HENRY deere to mee For though thou hast my Sisters teares before Yet I haue cause to mourne as much or more To Albion Monarch of this Iland all Till death his life vntimely did exspell VVhen with Alcides on the coast of Gaule Fighting beneath his conquering Club he fell I wretched I the second Daughter am And at the first hight Albana my name Of Noble Abanact Brutes second Sonne I was so nam'd who ouer me did raigne Till slaine in battaile by the barbarous Hume His Brother Locrine did my cause maintaine And on proud HVMBER did reuenge his blood Who drown'd did leaue his name vnto that flood And since that time though wrathfull heau'ns haue frown'd With many a bitter storme vpon my coast Though in the depth of woe I haue beene drown'd For many sonnes whom I haue timelesse lost Yet neuer any griefe did touch
disdaining this vaine puffe Of Giant-Pride in men did ope the treasure Of Ioues fierce wrath with sterne stormes did cuffe The earth and seas in signe of their displeasure The King of Gods as he but cast a looke On them below made all the kingdome tremble A strange amazement Prince and subiect strooke Their former hopes now sudden feares resemble A cloud of SORROVV couer'd all the Coast The Sunne of COMFORT that had woont dispread His gladsome beames as hee his light had lost In dolefull darknesse hid his glorious head Then droop't great Albion and did hang the wing Which late aboue the clouds did vaunt to flye The Peacock plumes which from her pride did spring Did shed their colours all did vade and dye The noble youth to warlike practize giuen The brood of Mars which daily great did grow Whose harts with hope did leape as high as heauen VVander deiected in blacke weedes of woe Disturb'd in thought to thinke what cause could force So suddaine change of things that seem'd to stand Immutable by West I kept my course Still vp the Riuer by the Northern strand Vntill I came to that great house of FAME That sacred Temple built by KINGS of yore Th' admired workmanship of whose faire frame Excels all others that haue beene before There Time hath rais'd vp Trophies all dispred VVith shining Gold and monuments of Fame To many Kings and great Heröes dead And there for euer hath engrau'd their Name VVhose goodly building as I stood to see And wondred at the Architects rare hand An vnthought accident did hap to me As in the Temple I did gazing stand There did I see which I shall euer rue There to haue seene a dolefull Herse erected To which as to a Prince no reuerence due Or right of Royalty was there neglected The royall Badges that were set about Did seeme to me to mourne vpon that Herse The Lordly Lyon seem'd not halfe so stout Nor th' Vnicorne as he was woont so fierce A dew of dolefull teares was standing seene Vpon the louely white Rose and the red The Thistle was not as was woont so greene The Flowre-deluce did seeme to hang the head But woe is me that which was most in me The cause of woe O let it no be told Was three faire Ladies whom I there did see Three fayrer Ladies eye did neare behold They daughters to a famous Monarch were Though now their royall robes were laid away In stead whereof they mourning stoales did weare And at their feete their Crownes and Scepters lay On the cold ground all carelesse they did sit As loathing nice respects about that beere And with their hands for such sterne vse vnfit Alas the while did rend their golden haire Their brests they fiercely smot where liu'd their woe And their sad eyes dispairing of releefe They vp did lift whence streames of teares did flow As heauen accusing guilty of their griefe Their griefe was such that euen the marble stone As mou'd therewith a weeping moysture beares Yea now to thinke vpon their pitteous mone My frailer eyes doth drowne these lines in teares And at that time I felt my greiued heart So peirc't with pitty of so sad a sight That drawing neere I prai'd them to impart VVhat was the cause of their so rewfull plight Then vp arose the fayrest of the three VVho sighing deepe as if her hart would breake After some pause as soone as breath was free To let forth griefe these bleeding words did speake Angela AH what delight of speech can be to those who when they speake in vaine do spend their breath Man he may heare but cannot help our woes For hee is subiect vnto Tyrant DEATH To Tyrant Death that hath done this despight Ah then in liuing speech is no delight In vaine my tongue in vaine thou dost vnfold The helplesse harmes of our hart hidden griefe In vaine it is such Sorrowes should be told VVhereas no hope is left to finde reliefe All is but vaine where nothing may auaile Except this one thing left to weepe and wayle To weepe and wayle his losse for euermore Vpon whose life my hopes did whole relye O then into these eyes what powre will poure A floud of Teares that neuer may be dry That I vnto the dead his due may giue And show how I him lou'd when he did liue I am the eldest borne of Daughters three To Albion chiefe of mighty Neptunes sonnes VVho iealous lest his seed commixt should bee VVith other mortals round about vs runnes And from the world as being in doubt to lose vs Hath made his waues a siluer wall t' inclose vs. Logris my Name was once so call'd before By great King Locrine Brutus eldest birth But since that mighty people tooke this shore The war-like SAXONS famous through the earth Hight Angela my Name hath euer beene Such was the name of their victorious Queene And since that time that name of mine like Thunder Hath borne a dreadfull sound through seas and land The worlds great Idoll Rome at whom with wonder The Nations round about doe gazing stand As sodaine blow her necke of Pride had broken Hath quak't when shee hath heard my name but spoken But why doe I thus vainely vaunt my power And boast my greatnesse now alas brought low Since cruell DEATH hath cropt as faire a flower As in my garland euer yet did grow Was neuer Flower more hopefull growne then he Though he is dead and withered as you see If Iron sides were giuen me from aboue That sighing would indure and neuer breake Yet could I not expresse my countryes loue Vnto this dead yong PRINCE nor could I speake His prayses due had I a voyce of Brasse So vertuous Noble and so wise he was VVas woe the while that now he is not so Sonne to the Fame-grac'd Monarch of this I LE VVho with his royall Brother who doth grow To hopes that doe my present griefes beguile Betwixt them two alone did seeme to share The heritage of GRACE and vertues rare But vnto him to him that now is gone Heau'n at his birth so gracious was and free That as it should haue tooke delight alone To giue to him what gifts could giuen be In that blest houre of his faire birth it shed All gifts of grace vpon his royall head The Hony sweet he suckt from learned writs VVas as heauens Nectar to delight his tast Himselfe the best aboue the best of wits In learnings lore shot vp and grew so fast That all in him admir'd these nobler parts Discourse and practize both in worthie arts Then help yee sacred Sisters euery one Leaue your delightfull songs and sportfull games About the pleasant springs of Hellicon And sitting with vs on the banckes of Thames Lament with vs for you haue cause to mone Maecenas now is dead is dead and gone The sectaries of your deuiner skill By the dull world dispis'd hee did aduance And them with Princely power protected