the Lady Katherin Baronesse Ogle worker to the right Honorable William Earle of Newcastle and the most noble Gentleman Sr. Charles Cavendish VVHen the two Tables first were writ in stone By the All-mighty which made all of none They certainly were left us for to show How in this life our times we should bestow Why may nâ—tâ— then boldly forrage on To write a truth without detraction Thy sacred vertues cannot lodged be Surer in Grave then in the memorie Of thy deare issueâ— that emboldens me To write thy merits in an elegy That Tree must needes be good when as the fruit Is alwaies ready for the taste and tooth I meane in leason For Divinity Allowes to each plant full maturity Hadst thou bene one of common birth or gone Above thy female sexe in but in one Rare gift my mournfull elegies then might As offred incense doe thee funerall rite But when so many rarities conspire In one selfe person fit for all t' admire Small wonder then if my amazed eies Are dazel'd with diviner rarities And I of sense and wonder quite bereft Si ce for to praise thee ther 's scarse one way left For thou wert all divinity so rare Few earthly creatures might with thee compare So sil'd with knowledge sanctitie love zeale As if by prophesie thou couldst un vaile All holy mysteries thy every word Had reference to the Almighty Lord In Hymns and Soliloquies thou didst pay Thy Orisons as incense every day Or balme powr'd on his Altars therefore we Counte it a blessing to remember thee Whose good deedes we may aime at but not touch 'T were a Herculcan labour and too much For women to aspire or match thy worth One Phoenix dead ther 's yet no more come forth Out of thy ashes and yet thine owne faire birth Has brought a second blessing to the Earth Like spreding Vines they bout his tables grow And like the lovely Olives stand in row In these thou still dost live thou art the Tree These stemmes of honour all are growne from thee 'T is not a few poore lines that can pourtray Thy ample worth the Muses lost their way Seeking to discribe thee then blame not me If I come short of thy known memory Whose every word was all perfection And what I now write meere detraction I cannot reach unto thy ample story That was so fraughted with Zeale Goodnes Glory Humility was thy hand-maide and she Has wafted thee to immortalitie Where sacred ravishingâ—s thou hear'st above Whiles we on Earth doe memorize thy love Bouls o're retaines thy Corpes the whole VVorld thy fame Ther 's nothing here dead of thee not thy Name On the right Honorable WILLIAM last Earle of Devon-shire who married the most noble Lady CHRISTIAN Sister to the Lord BRVSE and lyes inter 〈…〉 d in DERBY I Make no doubt but from the Muses quire Some more sweet singers nobler and higher Have offred to thy shrine yet let not me When others pay live in obscuritie Without acknowledgment 't were a sin indeede At which even Heathens doe us farre exceede Ingratitude is baâ—e my treas'ry poore Yet â— le lâ—nd some things from my Muses store Thy honours gain d not more unto thy name Then did thy vertues in thy Funerall flame Nay wert thou now alive there is none that dare Thy living vertues then for to compare For thou wouldst thinke we flattered but now Thy death shall all suspition disavow T is sin for to bely the dead yet we Hold goodnes speakes all truth not flatterie I want that rhetorique which the men of Rome Did joyntly beare unto dead Tullies tombe Yet I 'le not danbe thy utne since that there Can be no fowle things where ther 's no fowle eare Thine ancestors of noble birth and fames Whose good deedes have eternized their names Whose zeale of faith fealty to Prince Detracting envy can no whit convince With all those stratagems she workes to eate Into a free brest void of malices seat Th' art not more honourd by thine ancestrie Than they are triply dignifi'd by thee Since all their honours thou didst multiply And soe didst leave them to posterity For to be great-borne is not the meere cause Why men receive lowd popular applause But to be good-borne does transcend the great Goodnes makes greatnes for to be compleat And she was thine inherent vertue strove In various waies all vices to remove In France thy honours there did gaine renowne From the most Christian wearer of that Crowne Those courtly favorits that gazde on thee Said that thy lookes promisd maturitie Eâ—en the greatst Pheeres of France no more did wish But the Alliance of a Cavendish They thy admirers were and thou the Man In whom whole rivolets of vertue ran Not by conceiv'd hopes for in thy face Were Characters of honour set in grace With vertues never found out nor yet thought With sacred sanctity thy hart was fraught With còurtesie courage bounty wisdome What greater trophies can adorne a tombe Honour learning knowledge piety The holy blessings of some deity But that which makes these to perfection grow He who had all these could be humble too But that 's a blessing from eternity Successively given to thy family Humility is a robe of high renowne And 'mongst the card'nall vertues weares the Crowne These made the Princely Dolphin t' admire thee And all the French Pheeres in love desire thee And with a mourners sorrow waile thy losse When thou from France the English seas did crosse Thy parting from them was as if some groome Should leave his Bride and journey farre from home Yet hoping to enjoy her lord againe In ' midst of anguish gave release to paine He that from strangers had these favours showne VVhat graces then deserv'd he from his owne As great Embassadours of eminence From forreigne Princes doe their suites commense Are in all pompe and honourable port Receiv'd and grac'd by persons of the Court Such is the Princes will soe was this Man of men Vnto his native home receiv'd agen And married unto the Princely line Of noble Bruise beyond the River Tine Of whom some noble branches still remaine Whose honours part of their great worths retaine The one engraffd in warlike Rich's Armes The other ready to sing warr's Alarmes Then came each Poet with his sprigge of Bayes With all the Muses to set forth his praise Into whose Palmes he evermore did powre Such heapesas Jove in Danaes lap did showre Thus like a goodly Fabricke did he stand Admirde and honord by all in our Land Especially by sacred majesty In whose true service he did live and dy Lov'd of his Country honour'd of the state And his mortality dide free from hate For which the Muses to his memory Have now noe other song but Elegy On the right Honorable JANB Countesse of Shrewsbury Wife to the right Honorable EDVVARD Lord TALBOT of Shrewsbury last of that family dedicated to the right Honorable the Lady JANE CAVENDISH Daughter
VIRTVS POST FVNERA VIVIT Or Honour Tryumphing over Death Being true EPITOMES of Honorable Noble Learned And Hospitable Personages VVILLIAM SAMPSON Printed by JOHN NORTON 1636. A Proeme To the right Honorable and most nobly deserving Lord WILLIAM Earle of New-Castle Barron Ogle c. Right Honorable CAESAR did adventure to write his owne acts heroicke deedes by commentary and very well he might I that with Virgils gnat have nothing to write of my selfe save misery have assaied to write the lives Pious and vertuous deedes of others not that by this they are immortalizde for their owne Worthes Vertues Hospitable and Pious deedes united have eternized themselves My full scope modest aime is to perpetuate them on Earth that posterities unborne may not let such Honorable Religious vertuous acts as your nobleprogenitoâ—s have done daily do performe slip into oblivion but as in a christall mirror we may here behold them as from the beginning we had our sa cred lawes in the first table writte your Honour is the Sanctuary to whose high Altar of goodnes I alwaies flie too for redresse in all extreames â—one whom I know with Anaxeritis had rather receive a cruse of cold water from your Poore Sinetis then a goblet of rich aromaticke or cretan wine from a flattering Gnatho the God of Heaven earth blesse you my honorable Lady my Honorable Mecenas and all your noble and Honorable families and posterities sending you your harts wish Temporall Eternall Your Honours humblest Creature WILLIAM SAMPSON To the right Honorable most Religious and truly noble Lady CARISTIAN DOVVAGER Countesse of Devon Mother to the right honorable WILLIAM Earle of Devon and to the right Honorable the Lady Aâ—n Riâ—h her honours sole Daughter Right Honorable Fame and Envy that usd to be sworne enemies of the dead either in detracting or saying too much in this place subject themselves Envy submits and fame continues her resolution which is to divâ—lge unto the world deedes of Honor Piety and Truth worthy of Fames Trumpet To your families your Honour and your issue these properly belong you are the needle by whom these Sun-dialls of Charity hourely and daily goe 't is you that lengthen and not lessen these Charitable and most Religious deedes begun by your progenitors of blessed memory I neede not say with Horace Tn recte vivis si curas esse quod audis For the lives and actions of this family all tend to divine honour Heaven continue it and with it long daies and happy ones and send that noble stem your Honourable Son that lovely branch of Honour a Hâ—lcyon gale that he may safely arrive at your feete for a blessing and continue an arme of comfort to your Hnnor and all this most Honorable family To whom and to your Honor I rest an humble servant WILLIAM SAMPSON To the right Honorable CHARLES Lord Vis-count Mansfeild Son and heire to the right Honorable my singular good Lord WILLIAM Earle of Now-castle Barron Ogle c. Lord Leiftennant of his Majestics too famous Counties Nottingham and Derby SOle heire of thy great fathers vertues I Present these Funerall odes unto thine eie Wherein though young like to Tully's Son You may perceive what great deedes have ben don By your progenitors deigne then to read These living Trophees of true honour dead Though wise Cratippus reach you yet behold How vertue robes nobility in gold We know there is a Sun because his light Apâ—'y distinguishes twixt day and night Your Ancestors like to th glorious Sun Have led the way you Honours race mâ—â—st râ—n Your infant Honours like to a welcome Spring Are by the Graces mark'd for vertues King Live there and grow there never may I see A fall'oth Leafe in your progenitrie Shine in thy Princes favours and appeare Like the bless'd Sunne when as hetrotes the spheare Let no cloud blemish thee still may your eâ—e Aime at the graces of high Majesty Out-grow thy honord fathers goodnes then Th art honours Map the non-pâ—reill of men Your Mother weares the wreath of goodnes you From such faire Trees must neede a Trophy grow Blessâ—d be you ever may I still deserve Next my devotions them and theirs to sâ—rve Your honours servant till Death VVilliam Sampson In laudem Authoris LAudabunt alii vel Classica vatis Achaei Phaliscus Vel Dircaei Candida Cigni Carmina sive Lyrâ Flaccum Sophoclemve Cothurno Insigneis aut pectine Bassum Sunt quibus unum opus est numeros celebrate Maro nis Plurimus in Nasonis honorem Aptum dicit amoribus alter singula singlî Me nec tam lasciva Propertî Cynthia Teia fides nec tam percussit avena Quam nostratis moesta poetae Quicquid habet Laurus Jovis arbor Populus Ilex Hac Cupressi fronde plicatur Hic gravis et brevis est operosus castus acutus Tales lectores facit Autor Ph. K. Mr in ar tâ— An Elegie ON THE RIGHT HONORAble Elizabeth Countesse of Shrewsbury wife to the right Honorable GEORGE Earle Shrewsbury Mother to the right Honorable William Earle oâ— Devon Sir Charles Cavendish who married Katherine Barronnesse Ogle Henry Cavendish who married the Lady Grace Talbot and Mary Countesse of Shrewsbury wife to the Lord Gilbert which Mary was Sole builder of the second Court of St. Iohns in the famous Vniversity of Cambridge Frances Lady Peirpoint This Countesse Elizabeth was Erectoresse of the two famous fabricks of Chatts-worth and Hard-wicke and sole foundresse of the famous Almes-house in Derby Grand-Mother To the right Honorable William last Earle of Devon VVilliam Earle of Newcastle Robert Earle of Kingstone Sir Charles Cavendish Countesse of Pembrooke The Countesse of Arundell Countesse of Kent Great Grand-mother to the right Honorable VVilliam Earle of Devon-shire The Lord Matreveâ—s Charles Lord viscount Mansfield Henry Viscount New warke Charles Cavendish Henry Cavendish Esquires WHile Scottish Angus up to heaven doth raise Her River Tay with inexpressable praise While Bamfe Louthan Fife and Devern sing And ould Legea braggs of her Dane King While Northern Tweede disjoyning them us Saith of her selfe slâ—ees most conspicuous Shall I our silver Thames Severn and d ee Trent Owze and Avon of one qualitie Forget nay to your praise I 'le bring My Alpine peakish Dove whose fertile wing Yeeldes Milke and Honey till her selfe shee trill Into swift running Darwent on the hill And lastly though a litle rivolet Tâ—out yeelding Crawley shall in measure jet You boast of stately Turrets births of high rate There in an equippage I 'le meete your state You bragge of stately fabricks guilded Towres Whose splendor both the eye and sense devoures My Muse shall meete you there too but her wing Must some sad Funerall notes and dirges sing This blest Eliza this bright Diamond Which long-time grew upon our peakish stronde Graceing the sertiâ—e quarries wa st not strange That Hills and Rocks their sterilnesse should change Yeelding a fruitfull eedenes as if shee
Country still laments him and doth weepe Since he that was her eie is falne asleepe Staley retaines but his impurer part Heaven hath his soule his best part we in hart On the right Honorable HENRY Lord STANHOT of the North Knight of the Bath Son to the right Honorable PHILIP Earle of Chesterfield and KATHERIN his noble Countesse Anno. 1634. LIves there an eye of Honour did not weepe 'Cause thou so suddenly did'st fall a sleepe Oh yes even Vertues selfe did sadly mone 'Cause thou so suddenly to heaven was gone And yet this Crowne shee sets upon thy head Thy Vertues are alive though thou be dead Who ever knew thee did not waile thy fall Or wept not at thy solemne funerall Such hopes thy Country had such joyes the state And yet to see they both unfortunate Hopes had thy Country of a Patriot The state a Counsellour though new begot Borne Man even from his Cradle yet oh see How sudden vanishes maturitie Just like the Lilly fairest of the field Which does her bravery to th'sickle yield Or like the flower that opens with the Sunne And falls and dies before his course is runne Thus did this noble sprigge of honour fall Even from perfection to a Buriall And yet to say so were detraction Since he is gone hence to perfection For so much goodnes wisedome knowledge arts Such rare endowments and such sacred parts Such gravity as if experience had Invested him and in her robes him clad Such Activenes of body acute wit As if the Muses in his brest did sit And there kept court instructing him all rules And abstruse secrets of their holy schooles Nay what unto him did not they impart Urania had enshrind him in her hart And all these rarities to be complide In one not twenty one before he dide Great pity that a fabricke of this state Should crazy fall and subject be to fate But vaine are teares there 's litle to be sed For each of him is disinherited He had a brother who in 's prime of youth Allmost arriv'de unto his perfect grouth Pale death and time cut off whose most deere losse He did embrace with such a heavinesse That from his day of death unto his owne His Brothers dying day was ever knowne Entombd that day o th' weake in s chamber he Solemnely kept his brothers Obsequie There did his owne true worth his worth confine In meditations siting a Divine Rare presidents of Honor chiesly young What would his age have brought had he liv'd long But he is gâ—ne and with him went our teares For certainly he now needs not our prayers Yet such rare presidents ought not for to lye Entombd and buried in obscurity His joyes are full and now we may expresse More joy in him then cause of heavinesse He dies not that so dies but lives againe Immortally from anguish griefe or paine On CHARLES STANHOP first brother to the Lord HENERY and third Son to PHILIP Earle of Chesterfield KATHERIN his noble Countesse NO sooner are my Summer blessings come But streight comes Autumne and rough Hyems on Whose rugged browe proclaim 's sadde disasters Nights stormes tempests day-consuming wasters No sooner did our Sunne of comfort shine Nor bright Aurora with her silver shrine After tempestuous daies and dim-eide nights By their fresh beames and rarified lights But newly perfected in comes a storme Allmost as great as that but newly borne Eclipsing our fresh glories and in cares Makes us a fresh for to begin ould teares No sooner was our honourd HENRY gone And our late mourning weeds past putting on Our memory or backs I streightway does come The death of CHARLES that strikes all joyes dumbe Oh thou most sacred Jewell golden Time Thou pretious Jem of Jems thou all divine Thou fleeting shade unsubstantiall thing Thou that art nothing yet of all the King whoo 'd be lavish of thee this president Should make us chary how our Time is spent We may in thee behold how vaine is man In all his actions doe the best he can This goodly slower but yesterday new blowne By Times untimely sythe to day cut downe This goodly Garden in whom searse grew weedes This lovely full-eard corne that ne're lent seedes Fitting a seedenesse is tane from th' earth Before it had maturity or birth This lovely Pine-tree when his Aples shone With rosy cheekes like Phoebus in the Zone Is hewd and falne just in his Prime and growth Even in the early spring time of his youth But Death and Time are Twinns if one cryes on Thought is not swifter then the act is done Death thou art mercilesse and thy rigor such As makes us raile though it availe not much Me thinkes those paire of noblest brothers gone Those that of Vertue had Dominon Might have suffizd thy wrath or if not those Their Vertues might which did all worth enclose All worthes I say that might be thought or found In two so young there could not more abound Of if not those their Mothers showers of tears Which fell like raine sent from the weeping Sphears Who wept in pity too or if not these The new chang'd Virgins prayers might appease No sooner were they ty'd in wed-lockes bandes But thy inveteracies untwines their handes No sooner were those lovely Turtles pairde Scarse of those rites and ordinations sharde Which God for man decreed I streight way thy Ire Sweepes all before thee like Promethean fire Virgins will curse thee ever and forbeare The sacred Jugall wedding Ring to weare And so empoverish nature of her wealth Because thou rak'st up all her joyes by stealth But these cou'd not suffize thee he alone Was the Idea 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thou doatedst on His brothers like the two great Lampes of light That guilde the heavenly Orbes by day and night So grac'd thy Trophes wonne thee such renowne Without this third thou couldst not winne the Crowne But thou dealtst poorely to insinuate Enseebleing him I nay with the selfe-same fate And cause of sicknes which our Barons killd Killd him high providence must be fullfilld No strugling 'gainst the streame no stopping tide Birthes of this nature mortalls cannot hide The end of our creation was to die Death being the fine of all mortalitie Then cease to waile his losse his soule 's a Jeâ— Fixde in the Sun-raiâ—s like a Diadem Thrice honoured Lady count not that a losse Which even the Angels cover to engrosse With Davids sorrow mourne him while alive But dead doe not against your knowledge strive The losse of friends more sorrowes doe not get If rightly understood then benefit We sorrow for them when we thinke of Earth But when of Heaven and that most sacred birth We doe rejoyce and their joyes emulate Till we in happinesse possesse like state You have more sonnes and many more may have Leave mourning these then Earth is mankinds Grave On ROBERT POVVTRELL of Westhallam Esquire IF love to knowledge or good partes The Muses friend and true deserts A man enshrind in
to the right Honorable WILLIAM Earle of New-Castle YE sonns of Phoebus were ye drownd in Sacke Or Lethe did dull security slacke Your feeble spirits knew ye not she was gone That was sole governesse of Helicon She was the soule of learning love and grace Rowâ—e up your sack-braines die not in disgrace Let not each misers Herse adorned ly With your strong Verses stead of heraldry She was sole Queene of the Castalian spring Then to her feete your flowing numbers bring Come sprightly on and offer here your Bayes For she deservedly was worth your praise Since most ingratefull braine-sicke murtherers Court Parasites Vertues smotherers False Sonnes of Phoebus bastards of the Nine Since they their own worthes sing and conceale thine May that rare miracle ne're Created be Nor found amongst 'em wealth in Poetrie Well though I cannot sing yet you shall see Honour and â—ruth kisse in an Elegie Thy funerall Ode was not more full of fame Then mine shall be of truth let spite spite shame For Temper Goodnesse Liberality Stedfastnesse in faith Hospitality She was inimitable beyond compare No earthly Saint was so compleated rare Each day the poore kept market at her gates And tasted largly of her wonted Cates Had all commodities the mart afforded Yet payd for nothing all went backe rewarded Rich Charity the whiles when every buyer Has all for nothing and is payd for hyre Here goodnesse floated Hospitality Is the first staire leades to Eternity These she at Rufford every day did show As duely as she payd her morning Vow Which sweet Oblations every day did fly As incense offered to the Trinity Her soule set in her body was a Jem Inclosd within a Glorious Diadem Whose sparkling Inster reachd unto the Skyes Where like a starre it stands fix'd in our eyes Her minde was the gold cabinet of Art Richly compleated in every part Love Honour Knowledge Learning farre beyond The common straine of Ladies in our Land Who are not so annexed to the tie Of sacred knowledge as to nicetie Her youth spoke rare things her vertues greater She was rare 'i th first 'i th last compleater Such sacred comforts her sweet soule did give As that she fear'd not death 't was feare to live Was her affliction honoured she No TALBOT left of that great progenie That progenie I say even at whose looke All France have stood as with an earth-quake shooke Like crazy buildings when their pillars gone So have they trembl'd and for refuge flowne The name of TALBOT as a Bugge-beare still Affrightes their children from attempting ill If twatling rumour said but TALBOT's come At her report all mutinies were dumbe That famous TALBOT whose authentique name Was never touchd by tainture blot nor staine Not to historifie their high renowne A Shrewsbury was keeper of the Crowne Such were the unstain'd TALBOTS honours there Though now scarse mention of them is made here But honourd urnes and ashes what are those But reliques which our rotten tombes enclose What can out-last time rust weares l'ron away Small wonder then if our great names decay And yet her name and honourd memory Shall never fade till all consume and dy Her servants are her Chroniclers they found Those vertues from her cannot fall to 'th ground Northumberland thy deere losse does lament In them thy goodnes still is eminent What shall I say of her she was compleat And in two Maxim's rare borne good and great Great-borne by birth joynd with that stile of bloud But that which nobler was she was borne good Nay adde to that which may all mankinde vexe All vertues liv'd in one of weaker sexe Then sweetest Madam noblest Lady JANE You beare her memory her worth and fame And may you fairest Lady ever be As neere to her in deeds as pedegree You cannot misse her worth you have the shrine Of goodnes in you all parts speake Divine On the right Honorable ELIZABETH Countesse of Huntington Wife to the right Honorable FERDINAND Earle of Huntington VVomen lament her losse for here she lyes That from your female sexe deserv'd the prize The Graces met in this bright paragon And but for her had perishd long agon The Lacedemonians usde to sacrifize Vnto the Muses in most solemne wise To th' end their deedes might all be registred And Chronicl'd for theirs when they were dead If they did thus Ladies why should not you Pay to this pious Dame a holy due She to her sexe did all their vertues give Envy cannot deface them they shall live Till Time dissolves and this huge fabricke passe And all to Chaos turne as first it was What s'ever worth or merit could define In her as in a mirrour cleare did shine Those rich endowments sacred vertue claimes To be sole Queene of those she wore as chaines Making a true loves knot of goodnes she The Lady was of bles'd Humilitie Charity Love Zeale Religion Were the Ideas that she doated on Shee knew Court Ladies faults and did not tie Her faith unto her fashion her eye Aimd at the starry Court of Majesty Absolute in Love Zeale Brightnes Glory Honour loves not applausive multitudes But vertues selfe which verity includes Her soule was so engraffd in piety That she despisd all popularity She needed not those Platonicall Rings Of whom an ould Philosopher thus sings The vertue made invisible no no she Express'd all vertues in her modestie She on true honours Maxime did depend That conscience was the honorablest friend From dead Eliza of bles'd memory She did receive her Christianity A happy Mother makes a happy Childe She had her spirit and her nature milde Till pale Consumption made the way for Death Then sweet Eliza yeelded up her Breath On ELIZABETH WILLOVGH BY First Wife to HENRY WILLOVGH BY of RISLEY Baronet who lieth interr'd in the Parish of Wilne in Derby-shire VVHy did the birds 'i th hight of Summers prime Their wonted Chirpings leave which usd to chime Like silver sounding bells from springs or woods Which Echo iterates from running floodes The sil'y robinet did leave to hop And senseles sat upon the cold house top The Larke lay downe lothing to get on winge The Thrush had quite forgot her sonneting Sad Philomela from her pensive brest In all dull sorrows tunes her notes exprest Such mournfull dirges were by her begun As if that sorrow sorrow would strike dumbe Thy losse best woman was the cause why thus Both man and creatures were incongruous The Birds bless'd woman ruefully did mone Thinking their Phoenix was to Ashes stone But from thy flames few more such will arise In thee th' Arabicke perfection dies Thou Orphant's Mother and the Churches praise Great pity Time did not protract thy daies But let a stocke of vertues fall in thee Which able were to make an Historie Of ample goodnes these for to looke upon And dare to write 'em were detraction Thou hast bene long lamented yet no verse Nor showres of rhetorique can grace thy Herse Thou hast out-gone