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A03203
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A funerall elegie vpon the death of the late most hopefull and illustrious prince, Henry, Prince of Wales / vvritten by Thomas Heyvvood.
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Heywood, Thomas, d. 1641.
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1613
(1613)
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STC 13323; ESTC S123365
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7,095
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24
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all Tempests free So thousand Hels could haue no power o're Thee If neither Heauen Earth Nature nor yet Hell Or would not or else could not act thy ruine If none of these such sorrowes might compell Both to this present Age and Times ensuing What was it then or who Muse canst thou tell Resolue the world and to their generall viewing Present the cause why in his prime of yeares So great a people should be washt in teares It was not Fate his vertues and choyce graces Gifts both of Heauen and Nature mixt with state Had in his bosome chose such soueraigne places That he was arm'd against all power of Fate Nor Time though he before him driues and chaces Minutes dayes months and yeares till he call late Euery new season to haue sau'd his Prime From his own daies he would haue lent him time I must excuse Age and extent of yeares For they alacke the while nere saw each other Oh had they met we then had spar'd these teares And sau'd this griefe which is too great to smother So milde so graue so reuerent Age appeares He would haue ioy'd to imbrace him as a brother As youth his hopes he would haue striu'd to raise His fortunes beeing cloath'd in ancient dayes The Muses and the Arts I can acquite For they are all too good to act such ill Preposterous 't were to thinke them opposite So farre to their owne life as seeke to kill Him through whose eies they did receiue their sight And to whose practise they consin'd their will Whose actions were his deeds in whom they saw All vertues grac'd with a Maiesticke awe Nor would the Muses haue giuen such occasion Of their owne teares which they so freely shed What purpose then what motiue what perswasion Hath bene the cause that we lament him dead Or how came Death to make this proud inuasion And casket vp this gem in stone and lead Himselfe could not for he was all perfection Bring his faire body to this low deiection 'T was that which shattered Sylo made the earth Gape and at once deuoure both Tribes and Tents That made the sphears showre fire all Natures birth Confin'd into one Arke that all discents Degrees and Titles in one generall dearth Swept from th' earths face that beyond all extents Limits and bounds incenst Ioues indignation To drowne the world in a deep inundation What monster may we call this Sinne our sinne When one alone and but one that of pride Cast Angels from the highest Cherubin All their bright gloryes in the Abisme to hide Since many millions we are wrapped in As vgly and as horrid deepe sinnes dy'd In bloud and death no wonder if they pull This wrath on vs to make our griefes more full They were our selues then that our selues haue made Thus haplessely distrest thus inly sad Yet as we reade to haue the rage allai'd Of a deepe gulfe the Romans notice had From th' Oracle that breach could not be staid Till Romes best Iewell stopt it Curtius clad In his best Armes and mounted on his steed To saue a People did a Torrent feede So since this best of Iewels England stor'd Hath stopt the gaping entrailes of the graue Let after ages of this Prince record Hee freely gaue a life a land to saue As gold the Misers God by them ador'd Depends vpon the Sunne from him to haue His purity of Temper and as glasse Showes th' vtmost vertue that the fire can passe By which they haue the purenesse not to bee Others then what they are strange formes to take And loose their natiue esse euen so Hee Being the perfect'st worke Nature could make Cannot conuert to Dust and Earth as We Or his first Beauty in the graue forsake Since Nature in his birth to him hath done More then to Glasse or Gold the Fire or Sunne The more we ioy'd to see his vertues grow The greater are our sorrowes for his lacke Excesse of ioy begets excesse of woe Oft generall weale precedes a generall wracke Oh! why should our best pleasures perish so Like waters that passe by but ne're run backe And yet to make vs euer thinke of Teares Though the waues fleete the Riuer still appeares I 'le show the cause Ioue seeing earthly Pleasure By Man so honoured that the Gods he hated Being ador'd by Mortals aboue measure Cal'd her to Heauen there to be new instated Shee straight disroabes her of all Earthly Treasure As all must needes do that are so translated Greife banisht Earth whilst Pleasure heere made stay Finding her Habite steales it quite away And in that forged Roabe shee hath deluded The world with fading ioyes and transitory For since shee first into that shape intruded There was on Earth no true essentiall glory All constancy from Mankind is excluded Ioy hath no permanence finde mee a story That euer hath recorded Man so blest But happied once he hath bene twice distrest To tell his worth were but to adde to sorrow Like him that being rob'd still casts the summe The present fright so much from griefe doth borrow That the instant feels not whence the passions come The extasy once past when on the morrow The cause is weighed the voyce no more is dumme The eies that had their conduits stopt before Now freely runne and the hearts griefe deplore No Oracles were weightier then his words Those that should counsell him hee could aduise Art had in him her Mansion Princes swords Should defend Art and Art make Princes wise They had ioin'd league his fluent braine affoords A Library of Knowledge and vnties The knotted'st soryte faire Pernassus well The Muses did abandon there to dwell As Mettals by the sound so could he try The flashy from the sollid when they spake Cleere was his iudgement as his spirit was hye His smile was mercy but his frowne did shake His aime was to know Art and Chiualry Saue when to heauen he did his vowes betake He studied Man but to be better farre Then man can be He was halfe Loue halfe Warre Hee was not swaide by Fauours but Desart Merite not Flattery still inioy'd his pay Hee would aduise before he spar'd his Heart But lending it not easily tak 't away Hee had that constant Vertue not to start Or let in his designes his iudgement stray Those that were next him and his Fauours wore May speake him better not lament him more Before he grac't he would both proue and know He was not idly lost nor rashly wonne His maine was Vertue none might neere him grow But such as truely knew to chuse or shunne Good things and bad to punish he was slow But apt to pardon Hee was as the Sunne Amid the Planets seeming so diuin'd That all about and neere him he out-shin'd Posterity with greater admiration Then I can blaze him shall embrace his Fame Those deluges of Teares showr'd from this Nation Rather to blemish seeme then blanch his name Since all our Elegies begot from passion
A FVNERALL Elegie Vpon the death of the late most hopefull and illustrious Prince HENRY Prince of Wales Written by THOMAS HEYVVOOD Quid numeras Annos vixit maturior Annis Acta senem faciunt haec numeranda tibi LONDON Printed for William Welbie dwelling in Pauls Church-yard at the signe of the Swan 1613. To the right Honourable Edward Earle of Worcester Lord of Chepstoll Ragland and Gower Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter Maister of the Horse and one of the Kings most Honourable Priuy COVNCELL AS to the most compassionate in this generall mourning right Honourable I dedicate this Funerall Elegy to your gracious protection wishing with my soule I might haue had a more pleasing subiect both for my Pen and your Patronage but since the Heauens haue giuen vs this cause it is a duty to entertaine the occasion and an vnswerable negligence to omit it pitty it were that Pen should euer more cast inke that would not make the whitest paper mourne in so vniuersall a sorrow To whom then may I so aptly consecrate these Teares as to your Honour whose entire zeale to the Prince liuing as I am confident equal'd the Best so I am no lesse assured your sorrow for his death hath exceeded the most and if I may offencelesse speake it contended with the greatest Accept I intreate your Honour this my obliged duty to him and euer acknowledged seruice to you wishing all future occurrences to be true and essentiall causes of your ioies and this last the last of your Teares Your Honours most Affectionately deuoted THOMAS HEYVVOOD TO THE READER WHy should I vnto any priuate Peere Commend these sorrows for a Prince like deere To all sorts Sexes Titles and estates Liues there a man that when his friend relates This Princes Fate though he before were glad With surplusage when he but thinkes we had But haue him not though he knowes hee 's Diuine And cannot betterd be his eyes droppe brine If I may mongst these sad ones then include The Gentle Base the Polisht and the Rude If from the Head to th' Heele this Land complaine As well the learn'd Clarke as the ignorant Swaine If neither Country Citty Campe nor Court Hath scap't this deluge but we may report All drench't in 't euery man to haue wept his turne And still in heart though not in habit mourne To thee ô Reader whoso-ere thou be I dedicate this Funerall Elegie But thou that canst not read canst thou but heare If thy attention can but force one teare Eor that it is as welcome to thy hand As vnto those I loue that vnderstand Thine T. H. A Funerall Elegie Of the late most High and Illustrious Prince HENRY Prince of Wales IS all the Land in sorrow and can I Still silent be when euery Muse exclames On Time on Death and on sad Destiny FOR HENRIES losse cursing the fatall Dames Mournes Christendome and in a generall cry Vp-roares her griefes whilst some weake Phisicke blames Accusing Galen of his want of skill That where he once can saue doth oft-times kill Others on Soueraignty that hath giuen power To Princes others forset liues to saue Yet to their owne Times cannot adde an hower Or keepe their bodies from th' abortiue Graue Oh greedy Earth whose hunger could denoure So choyce a gem thou neuer leau'st to craue More rauenous then the most raging fires Earth still the more it eates the more desires What Muse shall I inuoke To whom commit The guidance of my weake vnable braine Whose humble thoughts neuer aspired yet A pitch so lofty or so high a straine A subiect for my weakenesse farre vnfit As neuer hauing like cause to complaine Was euer like to this seene heard or read Th' Hope of three kingdoms nay the World is dead Whom shall I blame for this great Crosse of Crosses This present want which Earth cannot supply To generall Europe the great Losse of Losses Had we put all our sinnes to vsury Could they haue yeelded vs such Drosse of Drosses Had all the world deuis'd one Tragedy And drawne the proiect from a thousand yeares From the spectators could it draw more teares This Vniuerse imagine a Theater Nations spectators and this land a stage Was euer Actor made by the Creator That better scean'd his part vnto his Age 'Mongst all compos'd of fire aire earth and water So grauely yong and so vnmellowed sage Whose Trunke the Tombe exacts as of a detter Subiect or Prince none euer acted better Nay who so well yet as oft-times we see Presented in a lofty buskind stile Achilles fall Thersites to scape free The eminent Hector on the dead-mans file Numbred and rank't when men morebase then he Suruiue the battell of lesse worth and stile So thousands haue suruiu'd these mortall brals Whil'st amongst millions standing Henry fals Whom shall I blame for this Iust heauen oh no Starres are their eyes and with so many seeing What cloud can hud-winke all besides we know The Maker that gaue Them and Vs our being Whose out-streacht hand steares all things here below The imprisned soules frō their base bondage freeing Being all goodnesse he can neuer erre Then vnto whom shall we the blame transferre To Earth we know she naturally breeds Both Trees for vse and Plants that onely spring But neither beare nor build both flowers weeds Simples hearbes roots and euery other thing For smell or pallat that delights or feeds Should faire Pomona to Vertumnus bring Her choycest store she could not deck her bower With such a sweet faire odoriferous flower Is not the Earth a Mother and could she Contentedly part with her best-lou'd Sonne In whose creation Nature was so free That to compose him she was halfe vndone Her store she had so wasted for to be As he was late Ages must backward runne And her great Ware-house as in it first pride With her first plenty must be new supply'd It was not Earth then sure might it be Nature Would she her choycest worke-manship destroy Her best of fabrickes both for beauty stature And all perfections mankinde can enioy And in his growth before he was full Mature Vnto her owne pride could she proue so coy As to this height of spight to haue transcended To spoyle so braue a worke ere 't was full ended Vnlesse I could imagine one so fond To build a gorgious pallace but to race it A cunning painter that hath gone beyond His skill in a faire picture to deface it Before the world his cunning vnderstand For one to make a rich suit and ere grace it Cut it to shreds Imagine these to be Else from his sad fate I must Nature free On whom shall I this blacke aspersion cast Vpon the Furies Fiends and Hagges below And say that Hell had hand in 't at the last Although I hate Hell I l'e not iniur't so As stands Ioue's Tree whom lightning cannot blast So high so broad so greene this plant did grow As is the Lawrell from