Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
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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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Come from rent hearts and those that griese proclaime Confused thoughts the best conceits destroy And are more harsh then when we sing of ioy Being great in Name his study did agree To make Him great in Purpose and his deeds Answere his Stile His Goodnesse was so free It wanted bound one Royall action breeds A second still the end of one's to be The entrance to another that succeeds Honour the Manna of each generous Spirit Was to him as the Crowne he was to inherit For well he knew if Fire it selfe should hide By his owne Smoake it would it self betray Or if that Water should it selfe diuide As weary of the world and steale away Yet by the Reeds plac'd by the Riuer side She might be train'd and so be made to stay But Honour fled with it it beares His tracke No Time no Age can stay or call him backe His Spirits were all actiue made of fire Which saue in trauell can admit no rest High were his thoughts yet still surmounting hy're His very Motiues Industry profest To be in Action was his sole desire And not to be so he did most detest To end his Praise and proue him past compare To all his Fathers vertues he was heire He was but yesterday and now is faded Who when we held him deerest was then lost So Lands that thinke them saf'st are oft inuaded And when they least feare are afflicted most So the clear'st skies with blackest clouds are shaded So Pleasures thought most certain soon'st are crost For 't is a Maxime that shall euer stand Pleasure and Sorrow still march hand in hand As Hector had he suruiu'd Tray to see From Isliams lofty Tower his yong sonne cast Or such griefe Priam as it was to thee When worthy Hector both the first and last Of all Troyes hopes sunke dead me thinkes I see In Royall IAME's thy sorrowes quite surpast With double anguish trebole passions fired When he first heard Prince Henry was expired And you Maiesticked ANNE when Hecub saw Sweet Polymnestor all the poore remaine Of her braue Issue beat by many a flaw And to the shore forc'd by the billowy Maine Methinks from her face I your griefe could draw And you Prince Charles next of that royall straine In yong Polytes I your teares can tell That day in field his brother Troylus fell For you most hopefull Princesse I comprise Your passions in a Dame though not so faire Yet as those Times affoorded beauteous wise And with the best of that age might compare Your Teares I reade in bright Pollixen's eyes That sonne which shee beheld saw none so rare Though you but once she oft had cause of woe Her as in beauty you in griefe out-goe But in this plangor whom had I forgot You my Mecaenas oh it cannot be That I am so ingrate beleeue it not Though passion almost takes my sence from me Oh let me neuer weare so foule a spot As worthy Earle not to remember Thee Thrice noble Worster gaue my Muse first wing And from his bounty shee had voyce to sing So should my bosome harbour something new Ingratitude with me no way agreeing Then should I not remember whence I grew Or from what power I first receiu'd my being To mine owne heart I should not then be true First hands forget your vse my eyes their seeing My tongue thy office and my Muse her skill That nere more inke drop from her ragged quill Pious Aeneas still when I record A man in whom all vertues were compleate When Priam's best of sonnes fell by the sword How he abandon'd rest ioy comfort meate So oft haue I remembred you graue Lord Equall in vertues and your griefe as great All those glad hopes you from his life did borrow You in his death haue backe rapai'd with sorrow Yet why should you bewaile him since he 's past This Transitory raigne for one ay-during To vex your selues would but his soule distast He hath but left a Crowne of earths assuring For one immortall that can neuer wast Subiect to Time nor Age there 's no alluring Of mortall pompe can counteruaile the least Of heauens pure blisse so are there ioies increast Auerre we then and without contradiction The losse is ours but his eternall gaine T is his best good all be it our affliction That such a generall sorrow we sustaine Death that hath giuen him this new iurisdiction Doubles his ioyes as he augments our paine Then as we lou'd him let 's rejoyce in this The greater was our losse the more 's his blisse Not for Him then but for our selues lament He needs them not t is we haue vse for teares He soiournes where can come no discontent T is we that labour vnder sicknesse yeares Heates colds Distemprature of Element Dangers of body and th'amaze of feares From all mis-fortunes to the world decreed Of which we stand in doubt hee 's happy freed Not for him then but for our selues expend Soorses of sad and direfull lamentation Who see our Griefes liue and our Hopes haue end Since Death hath in one blow wounded a Nation Since Heauen no greater glories can extend Then she enioyes leauing vs nought but Passion Since should Death breake his Dart ne're shoot more He cannot cure the hurt he made before He that will act the wonders of his praise Shall finde the world a Theater too small Fame with her Trumpet shall his glories blaze Yet ere to their full height grow hoarse withall Whom who shall striue to imitate or raise An equall Hope to his needely must fall Prostrate confounded with his owne ambition So farre shall be precede him in condition Therefore what my Pen scants him in his merit With mine owne inward Passions I l'e supply More then an Earthly Prince hee 's now a Spirit Thron'd in a Kingdome vnto which the Sky Is but a Foot-pace euer there to inherit Beyond all Time to all eternity Where I lament not Hee is Thron'd and plac't I onely grieue that Hee hath made such hastle Thomas Heywood FINIS
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