Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	henry_n	king_n	prince_n	7,937	5	6.0693	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A29640	Lachrymæ 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 ... ; collected and set forth by R.B.	Brome, Richard, d. 1652?; Dryden, John, 1631-1700.	1649 (1649)	Wing B4876; ESTC R2243	29,474	101

LACHRYMAE MVSARVM Quam cu●eret ●acrymans augusti Herois in vruam Musa tuum Niobe corpus et Arge tuum Vt fiueret Morbi Dolor aemulus utque tume●at Pustula sic tumeat Lachryma mille oculis Flete De●e Britonum hunc Florem tellure repostū 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