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A12936 Funerall elegies, vpon the most vntimely death of the honourable and most hopefull, Mr. Iohn Stanhope, sonne and heire to the Right Honourable Philip Lord Stanhope, Baron of Shelford vvho deceased in Christ-church at Oxford, the 18. of Iuly, 1623. 1624 (1624) STC 23225; ESTC S117785 22,141 76

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haue made or else excus'd a soule The Roome mournd where he lay the weeping stones Ioyn'd with his friends in their relenting mones Death migt haue well mistaken being sent For one to see so many that wayes bent The Father three times offerd to haue payd Him-selfe for his Sonnes ransome had Death stayd His hasty hand hee had found many more That had bin fitter to haue payd this score Alas he was but in the blossom yet Of tender yeeres though aged for his wit Hee had some insight into euery Art That to Nobility might adde a part His Parents reapt as much ioy from his spring As many childrens Haruest home doth bring But hee is fled away to passe the time Hee ow'd to vs in a farre better Clime There shall his Summer and his Haruest bee Where hee shall neuer any Winter see Then Parents grieue no more for he 's in ioy Doubt not wipe yours his teares are wip't away Death tells mee he was old enough to die And young enough to liue eternally Geruase Warmstrey Alumnus WHat fatall booke is this which doth declare That Noble Stanhop's house has lost her heyre A Sermon preach'd at Shelford ah tisso Stanhope is layd in Earth these lines of woe Demonstrate he is dead yet stay wer 't he Oxford would put on sorrowes liuery Each Colledge mourne in ashes euery Hall Looke like the Embleme of a Funerall Christ-church would sink in ruine were he gon On whom shee built her hopes foundation Dulnesse has seaz'd vpon me can I reade That vertue 's slaine yet iudge not Stanhope dead Betweene which two there was such league that o● Could not subsist the other beeing gon In Churches why should Death triumph and bee Hanging vp Banners of her victory What siege of Honour has shee won Is' t all That shee has payd to Fate one Funerall And that of feeble youth yong Stanhope dyes ' Cause else shee knowes not where to tyrannize It had beene Iustice if some hoary head Had felt this deadly dart and perished To bee vniust is Death's iust attribute For shee did murder him not execute But why should wee her murders thus relate Death 's but the Executioner of Fate Fate was to blame whose too too greedy hand Did breake his thred of life as loth to stand The leisure for to cut it with her sheeres And so at once rob'd him of many yeeres This is not all his theft's farre greater yet In robbing him Fate rob'd vs all of wit For Stanhope might haue liu'd a worke to raise Which mought frō Sydney's Temples pluck the Bayes At least haue equall'd him such hopes his braine Did promise to the world to bring againe But wee haue lost him strangers which but heare How good he was are forc't to shead a teare Well may his Father say hee is vndone Hee onely knew the worth of such a Sonne Let others thinke it strange that griefe should bee As bold as death to worke a Tragedy Thrice did his Father sound as if his Ghost Would take a Farewell of his son that 's lost Yet wher 's your wonder here at such a sight I would not think it strange to dy outright So would hee but one Death cannot suffice T' expresse his griefe therefore hee after dyes And could his sorrowe quit his son from Death Hee 'd neuer leaue to grieue whilst he had breath Will. Hemmings Alumnus TRiste onus Hexaphori moestaeque Epicedi● turbae Inuitant lachrymas ore madente pias Occidit alma Hebe patris spes gloria fratrum Qui partu primus funere primus erat Vendicat hanc Natura hanc moesta Academia prolem Arsque suam petit hanc Nobilitasque suam Laurea cum moesca certat numerosa Cupresso Charta istos cineres et leuis vrna petunt Sed de virgineo ne sit discordia vultu Mors citiùs praedam vendicat atra suam Igne crepent gemmae Domini noctescit ocellus Huic gemmae nusquam gemma superstes erit Pingues quos tantùm capiti modò sparsit odores Iam caput et plantas corpus et omne linant Sed tamen vnguento meliori funera lauit Dum soluit nimijs imbribus ora parens At toti lachrymae non suffecêre dolori Pars erat in vultu plus tamen intùs erat Quid miserande Pater langues animoque liquescis Cur fugit exanimis membra supina cruor Siste Pater gemitus et vitae parce ruenti Vitam non satis est huic tribuisse semel Pace tuâ valeant manes permitte quietem Et praeter famam murmura nulla sonent Manibus Augustis non pandit Cerberus aulam Iam canis aethereus regnat astra parat In Eundem HIc splendidius decus Parentū Orta stemmate nobili propago Funestum posuit citò cadauer Et compagine spiritus soluta Languentis malè corporis fauillae Extincta est Lachrymas mouent sorores Et moestae Tragico sonant boatu Dum Parcea indociles fauore flecti Primae stamina dissecant iuuentae Quis non exequijs liquescat istis Et fati scelus improbet seueri Sed fundant Tetricae minas sorores Non condet Libitina saeua Famam Vita perfruitur beatiori Extentoque diu superstes aeuo Vitam artis trahit sepulchra ridet O pectus iuuenis Vale quietum Solennes feretri rogos superbi Dum plaudit famulante musa cantu Et coetus iuuenûm modestiorum O sit terra tibi leuis Precamur Terrae tam leuis antè qui fuisti Franciscus Minne Alumnus ANne ego te Iuuenem Stanhope putabo Senemue Cuius verna dies gloria cana fuit Cuius in decimâ vix quintâ aestate senectus Imperat puerum non puerum esse sinit Sic non iustus eras non fortis doctus ad Annos Sed potuit virtus praecipitare dies Non data longa tibi est facta est longissima vita Nec viuendo breuis sed moriendo fuit Iohannes Donne Alumnus NObilis atque sagax properae virtutis alumnus Et patris patriae gloria prima suae Occidit impubis raptus trieteride quinta Eheu quàm Parcas iam rapuisse pudet Vidêre vt multa canum virtute sorores Crediderant viridis qui fuit esse senem DEATH alas could none but hee Suffice thy greedy Tyranny Wel thou knowst that thousands more Long haue run vpon thy score And with all humility Yeeld themselues as due a fee. Thy subtile cruelty is spide Whilest in one a thousand dy'de Hadst thou tane Achilles Dart Strucke and then releas'd that smart Thou hadst done well Once or twice It was thy sport to let him rise Out of his Bed Now he stray'd Too farre with thee now he stay'd So Apollo slew his friend Hyacinthe against his minde Whil'st the Quoit that he had thrown Smote his gentle Play-mate downe Grieue not then for him that 's gone See Death's sorry for what 's done Let no cryes oppresse your eares Dry O dry