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
perceive And bowing to the ground before took leave JO JOYNES A Funeral-Elegie upon the Right Honourable the Lord HASTINGS WHat Soil is this where nothing that is good Nor Vertues branch can live nor Beauties bud For thou wast both great Heroe on whose head The Muses and the Graces both had shed And pour'd out all their store for Form and Wit Vertue and Honour there did crowned sit As in their Temple where they chose to shine And being Deities made thee their Shrine Yea great Apollo thought once to resigne And make thee President of all the Nine For us poor Dwarfs in Science we thought fit To hold in Fee of thy great Giant-wit Those smaller parcels which we have of Art And pay thee Tribute each one for his part For thou wert second Verulam to disclose Nature's dark Secrets and if any pose 'Bout Metaphysicks he might answer'd be And read no other Suarez o're but thee Wherfore great Phoebus did at length combine With Hymen to perpetuate thy Line By matching with Astraea this seem'd fit To him that 's god of Physick and of Wit That in this ebbe of Justice Wisdom Grace Thou mightst be Stem and Root of such a Race As might revive dead Vertue and restore To present view what th' Heroes did of yore By quelling Monsters purging Ordures hence Of Vice and Sin that stain the Conscience And this we hoped all yea 't had been done Had not the Soil been England whereupon This noble Branch was planted but she hates Ever her gen'rous Plants here culminates Old Saturn enemy to all that 's good Eating his childrens Flesh swilling their Blood And England is his Sister Mother of Sins Stepdame to Vertues Nurse of Assasins A Soil that fosters Brambles Shrubs and Thorns Slaughter's the Lamb and sets up Beasts with Horns A Soil that nurses Briars Weeds and Rape But starves the Olive Fig-tree and the Grape Those Nobler Plants and glory of the Wood To all that know what 's Soveraign Sweet and Good Go travel then brave Soul take wing and flie From place accurst where nought but Perjurie Rapine and Blood do swagger and where all Must turn eith'r Country-Carl or Cannibal That means to live Noble here must be none Nor gen'rous Plants whilst Brambles hold the Throne Fly then from Babylon up to Sion there 's In Heaven both Monarch and an House of Peers Yea there are Bishops too with grave aspect The Churches Nobles all with glories deckt And there 's an Academ though here 's none now Where high Degrees are given to such as thou Doctors Virgins and Martyrs these are three Say ancient Fathers that have Dignity Certain Aureola's above the rest Because that these have earned Glory best Thou art these three Doctor in learned Lore Virgin as pure as any there before Save onely one and Martyr sure thou art If either Love or Fever plaid his part Hie then immortal Soul to thine own Sphere Where these three Crowns attend thee and shine there A glorious Constellation far above The frowns of Fortune or the pangs of Love S. BOLD An ELOGIE Upon the most lamented death of the Lord HASTINGS Onely Son and Heir to the Right Honorable the Earl of Huntingdon Deceased at LONDON 1649. TEach me dread Fate out of thy strong-clasp'd book Whose every Marble page as vast doth look As th' immense Volume of Eternity Whereto for Index serves Mortality Teach me dread Sire while I have time a while These two flat Contraries to reconcile Th' Effect to be and still and still subsist The Cause to vanish and yet ne'er be mist Goodness one main toward Subsistencie As convertible in the * Trinitie Of Being thus to pass as nothing were Dependent from it in this Worlds Matter And yet that Matter 't is suppos'd to be Except as truely Good no Entity The Riddles out th' Abstract HE took away Yet left the Concrete World Good still to stay To tell the Speculators of our time How meerly supernatural sublime HIS being in it was and if of HIM Our notions may be so shall we esteem No Loss b' our losing Goodness but 't more improv'd More highly honor'd and more dearly lov'd Then when 't was Consubstantial so shall all That but minde HIM grow Metaphysicall Rarely transcendent as HE was for Minde An Extract 'bove the mix of earth-Mankinde Such as to which Place Wealth Pow'r Goodness give To make them what they would be thought To live This Noble Top-sprig grew from such a Stem As well might serve t' adorn a Diadem To give and take a lustre whose bright rays Might have dispell'd the Fog of these black days Oh what an Expectation have we lost That now but t'have had such we are left to boast And with an impious Modestie shall blame Even Destiny that left us nought but 's Name A Name so glorious in what ere is Hie That it will stand inroll'd t'Eternitie Great Huntingdon's grac'd HEIR went from us hence A gracious Victim to high Providence Ad raptum primi Mobilis Domini C. C. raptim sic flevit deditiss familiae ejusdem Humillimus servus J. CAVE Upon the death of the Lord Hastings HEre Stay Tears until these Obsequies Have had their Rights perform'd Here here lies Th' Off-spring of the gods Apollo's glory The Muses Morning-star the true Story Of faign'd Adonis Whatsoe'er is said Of Angels bliss within this Tomb is laid Nature if ever as before of old Thou shalt form Vertue frame it of this Mold Flow Tears now flow amain to wash this Tomb And keep it fair until the day of Doom PHIL. KINDAR The New Charon Upon the death of Henry Lord Hastings The Musical part being set by M. Henry Lawes The Speakers Charon and Eucosmeia Euc CHaron O Charon draw thy Boat to th' shore And to thy many take in one soul more Cha. Who calls who calls Euc One overwhelm'd with ruth Have pity either on my Tears or Youth And take me in who am in deep Distress But first cast off thy wonted Churlishness Cha. I will be gentle as that Air which yeelds A breath of Balm along th' Elizean fields Speak what art thou Euc One once that had a lover Then which thy self ne'er wafted sweeter over He was Cha. Say what Eu. Ay me my woes are deep Cha. Prethee relate while I give ear and weep Euc He was an Hastings and that one Name has In it all Good that is and ever was He was my Life my Love my Ioy but di'd Some hours before I shou'd have been his Bride Chorus Thus thus the Gods celestial still decree For Humane Ioy Contingent Misery Euc The hallowed Tapers all prepared were And Hymen call'd to bless the Rites Cha. Stop there Euc Great are my woes Cha. And great must that Grief be That makes grim Charon thus to pity thee But now come in Euc More let me yet relate Cha. I cannot stay more souls for waftage wait And I must hence Eu. Yet let me thus
Author of all earthly things Must have his will on Lords as well as Kings Nor is the Root so faded but hath power To plant a Graft that may produce a Flower To equalize the Loss you so lament And cure the Malady of Discontent Cease not to mourn yet let not inward Grief Cause a Despair since heaven can give relief They 're Angels guard him King of kings hath sent Where 's difference 'twixt a Jayl from Parliament Cease then to weep for he and Angels sing Halle lujah in Heav'n with Charles our King EDWARD STANDISH To the Memory of the Right Noble and most Hopeful Henry Lord Hastings Deceased A Way my Muse or bid me hence from thee No Subject for thy help nor Work for me This Story yeelds For by thy dictates I Never spilt Ink except in Comedie Which in the thronged Theatres did appear All Mirth and Laughter What should we do here Amidst an Inundation of such Grief As to be dry'd up cannot hope relief Till the Last firy day Yet since 't is so How can we scape our shares of general Wo And pardon me Thalia your sublime Spirit since this Vicissitude of Time Has found no cause to smile nor have you been But Mourner-like and but by Mourners seen And though you cannot express Sorrow I Must be allow'd to shew Mortality And grieve without your aid No painting forth Or Flourishes of Art on Weight and Worth Are requisite This Story is too true To be made more perspicuous to our view By adding Fiction to 't All may be said Or written in few words Lord Hastings 's dead But who can stop at this when these few words An Argument wide as the World affords Of Grief Yet see th' expression to prevent It stupifies us with Astonishment Which dumbs us and benums our Faculties And like an Over-charge within us lies Such as in its Report the Canon breaks No less this Sorrow threatens ere it speaks Now let Sigh-tempests and Tear-torrents rise To pour out Marble-hearts th'row melting Eyes For this dear Loss when we are forc'd to say The Hope of Huntingdon is turn'd to Clay Henry Lord Hastings He Here let me stay Sad World I tell thee Who he was not What That would o'er-swell the Volume Read thou that In the precedent Elegies here writ By Masters of best Eloquence and Wit Read and mark well his Character and know They do of Truth more then Affection show On this ingenuous Subject none could lye Though ne'er so much inspir'd with Poetry Enrich thy Knowledge once by having read More Vertue then is Living of one Dead They are march'd on Now I bring up the Rear And not without as True and Salt a Tear As the Van-leader of this solemn Train Onely to thee I utter this again Thou World Read and Collect all here exprest Of Excellencies on this Lord deceast And adde with it all thou canst think is good And all that thou canst wish were understood To be thine own to all is said before Great Hastings was and is all that and more RIC. BROME HEre was the end of the Book intended to have been and so was it Printed before these following Papers were written or sent in Of all those the Noble Reverend and worthy Writers nominated in the Catalogue without their due Additions of Title or listed contrary to their Degree or Quality a Pardon is most humbly desired for the Collector whose Crime of Ignorance grew out of the want of timely Instruction POSTSCRIPT ELEGIES Written by M. Andrew Marvel M. M. N. M. Ioannes Harmarus Iohannes Dryden Cyrillus Wyche Edw. Campion Tho. Adams M. Radulphus Mountague Upon the death of the Lord HASTINGS GO intercept some Fountain in the Vein Whose Virgin-Source yet never steept the Plain Hastings is dead and we must finde a Store Of Tears untoucht and never wept before Go stand betwixt the Morning and the Flowers And ere they fall arrest the early Showers Hastings is dead and we disconsolate With early Tears must mourn his early Fate Alas his Vertues did his Death presage Needs must he die that doth out-run his Age The Phlegmatick and Slowe prolongs his day And on Times Wheel sticks like a Remora What man is he that hath not Heaven beguil'd And is not thence mistaken for a Childe While those of growth more sudden and more bold Are hurried hence as if already old For there above They number not as here But weigh to Man the Geometrick yeer Had he but at this Measure still increast And on the Tree of Life once made a Feast As that of Knowledge what Loves had he given To Earth and then what Jealousies to Heaven But 't is a Maxime of that State That none Lest He become like Them taste more then one Therefore the Democratick Stars did rise And all that Worth from hence did Ostracize Yet as some Prince that for State-Jealousie Secures his neerest and most lov'd Ally His Thought with richest Triumphs entertains And in the choicest Pleasures charms his Pains So he not banisht hence but there confin'd There better recreates his active Minde Before the Chrystal Palace where he dwells The armed Angels hold their Carouzels And underneath he views the Turnaments Of all these Sublunary Elements But most he doth th' Eternal Book behold On which the happie Names do stand enroll'd And gladly there can all his Kinred claim But most rejoyces at his Mothers name The gods themselves cannot their Joy conceal But draw their Veils and their pure Beams reveal Onely they drooping Hymeneus note Who for sad Purple tears his Saffron coat And trails his Torches th'row the Starry Hall Reversed at his Darlings Funeral And Aesculapius who asham'd and stern Himself at once condemneth and Mayern Like some sad Chymist who prepar'd to reap The Golden Harvest sees his Glasses leap For how Immortal must their Race have stood Had Mayern once been mixt with Hastings blood How Sweet and Verdant would these Lawrels be Had they been planted on that Balsam-tree But what could he good man although he bruis'd All Herbs and them a thousand ways infus'd All he had try'd but all in vain he saw And wept as we without Redress or Law For Man alas is but the Heavens sport And Art indeed is Long but Life is Short ANDREW MARVEL On the untimely death of the Lord HASTINGS Son to the Earl of HUNTINGDON IT is decreed we must be drain'd I see Down to the dregs of a Democracie Death 's i' the Plot and in his drunken mood Swills none of late but streams of Noble Blood Was 't not enough the Hatchet did hew down Those well-grown Oaks and Pillars of the Crown But that the tender Sapling too must fall Thus to inhanse the Kingdoms Funeral Ye Widow'd Graces and ye Muses too Bring your Perfumes with Tears and Flowers bestrew This sacred Temple where ye once did sit Crowned with all the pomp of Youth and Wit 'T is HASTINGS he that promis'd to appear What
LACHRYMAE MVSARVM Quam cuâ—eret â—acrymans augusti Herois in vruam Musa tuum Niobe corpus et Arge tuum Vt fiueret Morbi Dolor aemulus utque tumeâ—at Pustula sic tumeat Lachryma mille oculis Flete Deâ—e Britonum hunc Florem tellure repostuÌ„ 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
then others and Had all those rebel-Passions 〈◊〉 command Upon a loss so heavie as yours is Some Niobe had been a stone by this And we might plain have read her discontent On her still weeping Marble-monument Madame you shame the very Stoicks who But talkt of those brave matters which you do They could boast much and well discourse upon The patient suffering of affliction But when it came to th' point they ne'er came nie This acting part of your Philosophie But 't is no wonder that a Stoick you Out-strip I 'd see a Christian thus much do Shew me a Christian that a Cross will take So heavie freely for his Iesus sake Or that shall be presented with a Cup So bitter and willingly shall drink it up Well I had thought in point of suffring no-man Could me have stript but now I yeeld t'a woman And Madame this I am resolv'd upon Your heart is full of Grace or made of Stone FRANCIS STANDISH An ELEGIE Upon the death of HENRY Lord HASTINGS the onely Son and Heir of the Right Honorable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Deceasing immediately before the day designed for his Marriage FOrbear forbear Great house of Huntingdon T' engross this Grief as if 't were all your own The Kingdom has a share and every Eye Claims priviledge to weep his Elegie The Mirrour of our Age Lord Hastings dead And in his Urn our hopes thus buried And shall not we come in who share i' th' smart In your sad consort to lament our part We must or if that language be you say Rude and uncivil we intreat we may Alas our griefs swell high whilst inward pent They 'll burst our hearts unless we give them vent For pity then if not to spare your eyes Let our tears joyn to mourn his Obsequies Sweet souls alas when we have wept our fill You 'll finde enough of tears for you left still But stay What voice was that Methinks I hear My better Angel whisp'ring in my ear Words of another strain which purer are Then what my Carnal Muse suggesteth far What though our loss be great so great that none In our Age has exceeded it but One Yet this is not the way t' express our Pieties By making large Alembecks of our Eyes The greater our loss is the more 's his gains And whom our eyes think dead our hearts know A Saint in heaven who being there inthron'd reigns How can he take it here to be bemoan'd Away then with these Pagan Rites and be More Christian-like in your Solemnity And know he celebrates his Fun'ral best Who comes unto 't as to a Nuptial-feast And truely 't is his Nuptial-feast indeed Not that which Man meant but which God decreed A Marriage fit for him and in my sence Most sutable unto his Innocence A Marriage with the Lamb who took his sin First quite away from him and then took Him Why should we mourn then how can it but please us When young Lord Hastings married to his Iesus FRA. STANDISH On the incomparable Lord HASTINGS An ELEGIE TO speak thy Praises or our Sorrows now Are both impossible Alone they know Exalted Soul thy worth who now above Converse with thee by Intellect and Love Grief onely and dumb Admiration are The Legacies thou hast bequeath'd us here This onely woful Comfort 's left us now Our Misery 's compleat Fate knows not how Beyond this to inflict another wound They fear not falling that lie on the ground Not perfect Bankrupt was this Land till now Nor her sick lapsed desp'rate state below The hopes of all recovery till His fall We could not justly say we had lost All We could not say while he was yet alive Truth and Religion did not still survive There was a Church and Academy still All Vertue whilst he liv'd they could not kill Justice and Honour whatsoever 's good Was not yet fled from Earth to Heaven Still stood In him that Cypher for these many yeers Th' opprest and now quite ruin'd House of Peers All these not lost but outlaw'd did conspire To him as to their centre to retire But he is gone and now this carcase World Is into her first rude dark Chaos hurl'd Vertue and Knowledge now for Monsters go To grope out Truth henceforth how shall we do Or finde what 's Just or Sense To whom repair To let us know those things have been not are Further then him before you need not move To learn the Placits of the a Porch or Grove Or had you pleased to consult the Sprite Of the deep b Samian or c Stagyrite d Cordova's Sage or e him that did renown The scarce-before-him-known f Boeotian Town Rome Athens Sybils Oracles could teach Nothing not comprehended in his reach Was none so hopeful Instrument as he The savage World t' reduce from Levity Purge and restore our Manners and call home Civility to barb'rous Christendome For this great Work he furnisht was like those Upon whose sacred heads did once repose In shape of parted Tongues celestial Fire What they infused had he did acquire Unless we justly make a doubt wheth'r He At Eighteen could in full possession be Without a Miracle of all Tongues one Whereof to purchase asks an Age alone Him in 's own Language might have heard indite The Swarthy Arab or the Elamite What Athens heard or Solyma or Rome Of old that from his tongue did flowing come He that now drinks of Tyber or of Po Utters not that word that he did not know No more doth he that tastes the Streams of Sceine Or those of Celtica or Aquitain He was indeed a Miracle and we That Miracles are ceas'd may now agree How could we hope t' enjoy him being one Whose new profane Opinion says There 's none Besides this our own wicked Merits might Instruct us 'Twixt our Darkness and his Light There could not be a long Communion In vain therefore alas did we go on To light his Nuptial-Tapers and invoke Iuno and Hymen and the air to choke With ecchoing Epithalms the whilst above Th' Angelick Quire enflamed with his love Court him from us to those Celestial Bowers As fitting for their Consort and not ours So unto Heaven our thoughts being fixt on Clay In 's Fever's fiery Chariot he takes way The weeks first day sets forth and six days done As God had his his Sabbath he begun Thrice happie Soul whose Work and Labour gone Holds with thy Maker's such proportion Now whether he a Constellation be Intelligence or Tut'lar Deity Is hid from us 'T is great'st part of our cross Nothing of him to know or feel but 's loss Which though we could not read in leaves of Fate Thy Tow'rs O Ashby did prognosticate Which fell the dutious ushers to his fall There was no further use of them at all Since he must fall for whose sake they had stood Not be at all as to no end 's as good This these Prophetick Buildings did
buried in his Tomb Too rigorous Fates 't is but an envions sport To make those Lives that are most brave most short Or in destroying Heroes do you finde A way so oft to Massacre Mankinde Or cannot milder Heaven one Influence throw To make one thing Glorious and Lasting too But there 's a difference 'twixt Heav'n and Earth And those things which from Each receive their birth On Earth the finest things fade soonest there Ill-boding Meteors the most short-liv'd are And yet my Lord since that Celestial fire That is shut up within us doth aspire Being once freed like an ambitious Flame Unto that Fountain from whence first it came With what a glorious Brightness is He gone May we suppose that so augustly shone Even th'row his Clay What ravishing Transports now Seize on that Intellect How doth it glow With fresh Illapses of the purest Light Free from the Bondage of chill Sense and Night How do the ghosts with admiration gaze On this great Shade With what a proud amaze Some look on what he was whiles others ween With emulous Sorrow what he should have been Whilst that his Love exalted by its Loss Does more sublim'd intuitive species toss And swoln above it self serenely move In that great Centre of Light Life and Love Where I must lose him For can I express What He 's that am not He But this confess My Lord that since you measure by his bliss Your Wishes this his Apotheosis Where part of you is Deifi'd must call Your Acclamations but no Grief at all He 's now at peace disturb him not with Fears Nor violate his Ashes with your Tears J. HALL In obitum Henrici Domini Hastingii Filii FERDINANDI Comitis Huntingdonii unici Simulac Unionis totius Angliae pretiosissimi EPITAPHIVM HIc* Gemma est pro quâ Venus Cum Pallade Juno Antiquam litem tresrenovâre Deae Vincere erant omnes ipso Jove Iudice dignae Vincere sed cunctae non potuêre Deae Ergo memor strages quantas lis prima dedisset Jupiter hanc Gemmam condidit hoc Tumulo Anglicè Here lies a Jewel for which strove Pallas Iuno and Queen of Love Iove being Judge they all were thought Worthy to ha 't but all could not Remembring therefore what great Wars Fell out upon their former Jars Iove to prevent the like to come He lockt this Jewel in this Tomb FRANCISCUS STANDISH In Honour to the Great Memorial of the Right Honourable Henry Lord Hastings deceased Late the most Hopeful Onely Son and Heir apparent to the Right Honourable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon BLush ye Pretenders to Astrologie That tell us Stories out of Ptolomie Kepler with others what shall be this yeer Th' effects of Saturn joyn'd with Jupiter But could not tell us that our Sun should Set To rise no more within this Sphere nor yet Th' Effects we have since felt That such a Star For whose vast Loss we now sad Mourners are Its much-admired Influence should withdraw And be No more to us Ye ne'er foresaw This had you but predicted long ago We might have been prepar'd for such a Blowe But Oh Accursed-Envious-Fowl Disease Within thy Circuit could none other please Thy Palate Was thy Thirst so great That onely Noble Blood must quench the Heat Hadst thou miss'd him we could have spar'd thee Store Or with thy Phangs hadst mark'd him and No more Our Curses had been spared nor should we Have call'd thy Footsteps a Deformity But thus to seize on Honour Beauty Youth And at one Draught Carouse them plainly doth Convince us That with Death thou didst agree To Storm this Fort which else had kept out Thee Cupid no more be stil'd a Deity Thy Bowe and Quiver may they shatter'd lie And Hymen henceforth be thine Altars raz'd Thy Priests be dumb thy Temples all defac'd Since that for This your Pow'rs conjoyned were To sport your selves with this so Noble Pair Why were your Torches lighted in their Eyes Pretending Nuptials meaning Sacrifice What Advocate will dare to justifie Or Story match this Matchless Tyranny But 't is in vain in vain we do Increase Our Woes complaining which are Numberless But Fate we serve not search thy deep Intents Nor dare we Quarrel at those cross Events Accoast us daily We would onely pay The rites of our poor Tears t' his Memory Had this our Loss been but a Private one 'T had been the loss yet of a Precious Stone But as a Mighty Rock shrunk from his place Unfixeth all about it is our Case Should we now drain the Fountain of our Eyes And bring in Rivers ' stead of Elegies Could we at once weep Blood and rend our Hearts Still we should come far short ' his great Deserts Since then there is no Vertue in our Tears To warm his Bloodless Limbs since w' ought to bear Our Crosses with smoothe brows and to submit To Heaven's Decree who best knows what is fit Thrice-Noble Pair of Mourners at this Hearse Who claim Chief Priviledge Why do your Tears Still issue forth Oh do not lend a Voice To Grief so sad and make so shrill a Noise Ecchoing Fruitless Groans that fill the Skie And thus Lament his state ye should Envie There is a time for Tears but certainly There is a time to lay those Sorrows by Resolved therefore on the Question We Will doat no more on Earth's Inconstancy For If to Man and Beast the Lot's all one What Priviledge have we to build upon If the tall Cedars must be Levell'd why Should humble Shrubs expect Security Resolved also Their Condition 's best Whom Heaven hath taken to Eternal Rest Whither Great Soul th' art fled and now dost raign Above in Majestie neer Charles his Wain I. B. Upon the much-lamented death of the Lord HASTINGS HOw richly is thy Sepulchre adorn'd With how much State thy Obsequies perform'd Drest in their Sable Robes each Muse out-vies The other in their mournful Elegies Mournful indeed since thy own Loss sends forth A Grief as great as living thou hadst Worth Our Pens grace not thy Herse enough it wears The mournful Livery of thy Country's tears Widowed ere Married to thy Parts that so Thy Love writes Maid yet is half Widow too All good men mourn she weeps 'cause thou art gone Fain would I die to be thus wept upon JO BENSON Hosp. Lincoln To the never-dying Memory of the Noble Lord Hastings c. The meanest Son of the Muses consecrates this ELEGIE WHat will my cloudy forehead never clear Shall I the arms of Sorrow ever bear Crost bout my Skeleton and shall mine eye Be like Aquarius Pitcher never dry O surely never Grief from yeer to yeer Rents my poor Heart and makes his Home-stead there Affliction gripes me as young Hercules The gasping Snakes Nor can I hope for ease When noble Hastings in whom Hope did lie At Anchor is storm'd hence by Destiny And like a Paphian Rose but newly thrust Out of its Green Bed blasted into
Callis unto Tagus shore A Minute to an Age Lead-Oar to Gold So precious was that Gem now Caskt in Mold If Passenger thou ask whom this may be Thus Thron'd on such an height of Dignity I may not tell but blushing when each Letter Terms my speech rude because 't is spoke no better Ghess by the Sequele see the Mourners all Ev'n drunk with Asps and Cockatrices gall Pensive to death view next th' Attendants see How each one droops because it was not he The very Steeds which drew that heavenly Load Went such a pace as if they 'd understood Their Master's fall so slowe yet full of grace As ne'er to come unto a parting-place Like hairy Comets pregnant with Mishaps Do seldom come alone but After-claps Of Princely Horrour issues of that Womb Such though in State are Waiters on a Tomb Lo here the Crest the Sword the Gantlet all Applauded Rites that speak a Funeral Like Comets come before and tell us plain Some Prince his Death or Noble Hero's slain I can no longer hold Look ye upon The Royal Arms and then say Huntingdon Hath now the largest share in this sad Fate Though Darby Suffolk Clarence great in State May challenge Blacks yet much more Royal Blood Centred in Hastings t' make a perfect Good Amongst this Throng of Nobles we may set A Stuart Tudor and Plantagenet None e'er disdain'd this Royal Loyal Stem Faithful to Church true to the Diadem Well might it be thought Honour to fix there Where God's sole Soveraign and the prime sole Peer So much of every Line of every Good Of every Vertue extant in their Blood Was here that as in him they lived all Sweetly united so in him they fall I here dare tell the mad Pythagorist Helyes his Transmigration now hath mist A Body so compos'd each Lineament So perfect full exact 's if Nature meant To shew her Master-piece and that possest With such a noble Soul as ne'er can rest In coarser Roofs it can no other fit There 's not a Subject capable of it Judge in three words he was at these young yeers A Synod Commons and an House of Peers His pure diviner Parts shew him but lent The World a Pattern for their Parliament Where ev'ry Member like a Loyal Soul Assists each other to compleat the Whole Of a just Temper Gracious and Good To God and Man kept close yet understood Apparent yet unvoic'd made known to all But to himself no ways Thrasonical Of what whole Ages might therefore in brief His Lords and Ladies highest Joy and Grief Should I attempt each Circumstance to scan Which makes the Grief unequall'd as the Man â—ight by oddes far sooner end this Strife 〈…〉 Dead my Self then This to th' Life Epitaph Here lies our Ages Paramont the Store Of Albions shame because it mourns no more And since the Fate is so if for his fall We cannot weep enough our Children shall JOH. ROSSE Upon the unhappie Separation of those united Souls The Honorable Henry Lord Hastings And his beloved Parallel WHat make I here how ill this place befits A Shrub to sprout i' th' Lebanon of Wits Mong such Caesarean Muses whose pure strains Out-soar the Clouds of Sublunary brains I 'ld quit the place but that I know I may Lament as much though not so well as they Thus Princely Eagles when together th' are Met at a Carcase yeeld the Fly a share The Tongs and Iews-trump too when they do come In Consort serve to fill a Vacuum And to compleat the sound though artless Tone So he that can't sing Elegies can groan Sad accident how pityable's Man Billow'd about this restless Ocean Born to be wretched who no sooner doth Begin to live or love but dies to both The Tennis-ball bandy'd 'tween Love and Fate Whom both do court yet both do emulate Whom like young Doctors Women use to kill To try Experiments and nurse their skill The Females Trophie Or if Love can't do 't To sink him Fate contributeth her foot To crush i' th' Bud. Thus the great Hastings di'd The Young-mens Glory and the Scholars Pride Envie 's just Zenith But why should I lament his death since he Loseth not by 't but 't is his LOVE and We She we 're undone for both have lost that All That She could Love or We could Vertue call One who by 's Learning did demonstrate that There is a Plebs in Brain as well as State And by his Studies labour'd to derive Nobility from Worth its Primitive Whom he that would mourn as he ought to do Must be the Poet and the Subject too Now others Obsequies are my Thanksgiving Nor mourn I for the dead but for the living Poor Hemistick that but began to be Inoculated when she lost the Tree She that had flam'd her soul with Hymens fires Who with full Sayls blown on with strong desires In reach of Hav'n in sight of Safety sinks Up to the lips in Nectar yet not drinks She that had past the Gulf of Love and Wo Which none but we that taste and feel can know Now must love o'er again and come to be New disciplin'd in Cupids A B C. How vast a world has she to range about How long a search ere she can finde one out Second to him An equal we despair Like Pallas born o' th' brain of Iupiter Riddle of Nature of unfathom'd parts Whose Brain was the Synopsis of all Arts Whose Soul whose Heart whose Person justly can Stile Lover Scholar and a Gentleman Whom loaden Nature did designe to die Unwedded being a Genealogie Unto himself and therefore thought it shame To live in any Issue but his Fame This Sun in 's Zenith totters now and falls And Death 's the Vigil to Loves Festivals Thus purest Lovers when their Ioy is near Are by 't struck dead as Cowards are by Fear Yet though he could not know what Joys wait on The Bridal-Bed but by privation Now woes the Angels and intends to be Wedded to them in their Virginity Yet are the Muses cross'd for had this hit We 'd joyn'd Yorks Wealth to th' Lancaster of Wit Sic flevit ALEX BROME An ELEGIE On the much-lamented death of the Lord HASTINGS A Lack good young Lord Hastings is he dead He 's rise again as sure as buried There 's Comfort yet that 's worth our Sadness then But yet w' are bound to grieve as to love men Shall I be silent then not to relate The Grievance of my Minde for this sad Fate Wanting the Learned Phrases to set forth In high Expressions such a Subject's worth Let deep Divines that long have studied Art Adorn their Lines to please I 'll write my Part. Then on my mournful Pen help Muses nine That he may drop a Tear that reads a Line When he shall know the grievous Sighs and Groans Of that sad Noble Race of Huntingdon Great pity 't is so young a Branch as He Should drop so sudden from so good a Tree But Heaven th'
The Nations sin hath drawn that Veil which shrouds Our Day-spring in so sad benighting Clouds Heaven would no longer trust its Pledge but thus Recall'd it rapt its Ganymede from us Was there no milder way but the Small Pox The very Filth'ness of Pandora's Box So many Spots like naeves our Venus soil One Jewel set off with so many a Foil Blisters with pride swell'd which th'row 's flesh did sprout Like Rose-buds stuck i' th' Lily-skin about Each little Pimple had a Tear in it To wail the fault its rising did commit Who Rebel-like with their own Lord at strife Thus made an Insurrection 'gainst his Life Or were these Gems sent to adorn his Skin The Cab'net of a richer Soul within No Comet need foretel his Change drew on Whose Corps might seem a Constellation O had he di'd of old how great a strife Had been who from his Death should draw their Life Who should by one rich draught become what ere Seneca Cato Numa Caesar were Learn'd Vertuous Pious Great and have by this An universal Metempsuchosis Must all these ag'd Sires in one Funeral Expire All die in one so young so small Who had he liv'd his life out his great Fame Had swoln 'bove any Greek or Romane Name But hasty Winter with one blast hath brought The hopes of Autumn Summer Spring to nought Thus fades the Oak i' th' sprig i' th' blade the Corn Thus without Young this Phoenix dies new born Must then old three-legg'd gray-beards with their Gout Catarrhs Rheums Aches live three Ages out Times Offal onely fit for th' Hospital Or t' hang an Antiquaries room withal Must Drunkards Lechers spent with Sinning live With such helps as Broths Possits Physick give None live but such as should die Shall we meet With none but Ghostly Fathers in the Street Grief makes me rail Sorrow will force its way And Show'rs of Tears Tempestuous Sighs best lay The Tongue may fail but over-flowing Eyes Will weep out lasting streams of Elegies But thou O Virgin-Widow left aâ—â—ne Now thy belov'd heaven-ravisht Spouse is gone Whose skilful Sire in vain strove to apply Med'cines when thy Balm was no Remedy With greater then Platonick love O wed His Soul though not his Body to thy Bed Let that make thee a Mother bring thou forth Th' Idea's of his Vertue Knowledge Worth Transcribe th' Original in new Copies give Hastings o' th' better part so shall he live In 's Nobler Half and the great Grandsire be Of an Heroick Divine Progenie An Issue whichâ—t ' Eternity shall last Yet but th' Irradiations which he cast Erect no Mausolaeums for his best Monument is his Spouses Marble brest JOHANNES DRYDEN Scholae Westm. Alumnus In Obitum Honoratissimi Viri Domini HENRICI HASTINGS INcipe lugubris Musa incipe nostra querelas Contineat Lachrymas nec Cytherea suas Excidit amplexu Musâ—rum abreptus Alumnus Pulchrior Idalio Sponsus Adone perit Cum celebranda forent laeâ—o connubia cantu Ferres accensas túque Hymenaee faces Pronuba praebebant piceas funalia flammas Iunonis subiit tunc Libitina vices Vertitur in moestum genialis sponda feretrum Fit vespillo priùs qui Paranymphus erat Flent omnes tristÃque irrorant imbre cadaver Et superat morbi lachryma fusa notas Pro virtute tuâ si vota superstite dentur Victima si pro te sospite digna cadat Vt Pietas Virtus Linguaeque Artesque supersint Nec pereat formae aut Nobilitatis honos Qui pro communi renuit se tradere Fato Non tibi sed Patriae denegat officium Occidis exemplar generosae norma juventae Insequitur morum magna ruina tuam Vita tibi dempta est sed nobis Regula vitae Tecum Nobilitas semisepulta jacet Graecia Roma tuam excoluit quotae Natio Linguam Qui totum excoleret te minor orbis erit Tantus es ut coeli tumulandus in orbibus esses Non satis in Tumulum terra Britanna patet At quid amator eras Musarum castra sequenti Permansiâ— puro sanguine sana cutis Mox ubi pectus amor Morbilli corpus adurunt Tabe omni costas fortiùs urit amor Protegis arte tuâ cultores Phoebe dolendum est Arte quod in Medicâ nil Cytherea potest Sponsa parata velut pulchrae virtutis Idaea Interiore animam concremat igne tuam I procul hinc conjux auges incendia fletu Vulnerat ex oculis ignea gutta tuu Est toleranda mihi duri inclementia morbi Virtus aut facies non toleranda tua est Exturget mihi Mens laxat Corporis arcta Vincula in amplexus non satis ampla tuos ExtendÃtque cutem partésque exporrigit omnes Ruptá que mille aditus per sua membra parat Exit Sponsi anima iâ—gremium Sponsaeque recepta est Non duo jam nexi mentibus unus erunt Totus amor totus nunc Spiritus I pete coelos Non Sponsus Christi sis modo Spousa tui CYRILLUS WYCHE Scholae Westm. Alumnus PVllâ hâc in Vrnâ saeculi Genius sui Reclinat augustum caput Natura multâ dote quem ditaverat Hominúmque coetu exemerat Mortalitatem nisi fateretur suam Intelligentiam putes Desideratiùs quis unquam vixerit PoterÃtve flebiliùs mori Meditentur alii busta suspendant Tholos Titulis onusti grandibus Quorum superstes fama Marmoribus manet Tribuenda non meritis suis Non poscit Hastings Funeris pompam hanc sui Sibi non Sepulchra postulat Epitaphiúmve quod recenseret quibus Sit ortus è Penatibus Pietate Factis Arte Linguis Inclytus Stat Ipse Monumentum sibi EDW. CAMPION Scholae Westm. Alumnus ARtibus Linguis Sanguine Nobilis Heros Vrnula tot dotes non capit unae tuas Vix capiti locus est in coelis quaere sepulchrum Terra negat Tumulo non satis ampla tuo Scribenti titulos mihi longa excrescit Honorum Pagina inceptis grandior illa meis Nescimus Patriam tua si modò lingua loquatur Esse suam credit Graecia Roma suam Non unus moreris funus non plangimus unum Sed strages hominum sed {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} obis Fama superjectam Coelo dignissima teâ—ram Rumpit ad similes te vehit alta deos Pallas virtutes artes donavit Apollo Mors tamen has ill as invidiosa rapit Parca parat sua tela parat sua tela Cupido Comburit corpus pustula pectus amor Festinat Citherea suas accendere taedas Accendit taedas invi a Parca suas Exornat Citherea torum Libitina Sepulchrum Illa suum sternit floribus illa suum Laberis ex Thalamo in Tumulum mirabile Spectrum Visus es Sponsae non procus esse tuae Sponsa tuam mirata luem restinguere vulnus Conatur lachrymis sed magis ardet amor Impatiens morbi ruit in contagia cura Tanta Tui est ut sit nulla relicta Sui Sit licet atra lues nil nisi pustula corpus Ibit in ampexus vel moritura tuos Et placuere tui magis exanthemata vultûs Quà m flores propriis qui rubuere genis Cum Sponsâ mea Musa tuâ te plangit amátque Cum linguis muta est sed mea Musae tuis THO. ADAMS Scholae Westm. Alumnus NObilium pueris bullae olim insignia Morbi Nos insignivit plurima bulla notis Me nuper languente infecit pustula corpus Iam mentem affecit Te moriente meam Morbi iterum videor tecum sentire dolores Quà m leve ferre meos quà m grave ferre tuos Partior ipse tui languores corporis O si Virtutes animae partiar ipse Tuae RADVLPHVS MOVNTAGVE EDWARDI MOUNTAGUE Baronis de Boughton Filius natu minor ex Scholà Westmonast FINIS Vana Salus hominis PIETATI SACRUM H. S. E. Quod mortale fuit I. N. R. I. Praestolans Epiphaniam depositun HENRICI Baronis HASTINGS Com. Venantoduni Haeredis designati Sobole antiquissimâ vere Regiâ prognati Quippe cujus Praenobile fluentum per Hungerfordios Piperelios à Ludovici VI Francorum-Regis origine devolvit Per Polos Masculo rivo è Venedotiae principe desilit Foemineo ductu è Clarentio è Lineâ Plantogenistarum Ebullienti Nevillorum Scaturigine è Bello-campo promanat Qui è Mortuo-mari prosilit Bello-campi per dispensatores ab Henrieo primo Angliae Per Nevillos Monte-acuto impetu ex Edv. I. Regio Noviss per Stanlaeos luculenter prolabitur ab Hen. VII sinu Terreni Sanguinis factus exhaeres Coelestem crevit haereditatem CLARITATEM SANGUINIS INGENII DOTIBUS SUPER A VIT. H. I. Trilinguis Sacer nec non Gallici Vernaculi idiomatis ornamentum Par decus artium Historiarum indagator Sagacissimus Omnifariae eruditionis Academia magnum Numen SED VICIT INGENIUM MORUM ET PROBITATIS CANDOR E C C E Suavitatis Suada Cor Gratiarum Sedes Amorum Votum deliciae populi dudum Nunc desiderium Divini amoris flamma Denuò Astrum Filius obsequenâ— Dominus benignus impubes â—thicus Senex Unicum familiae columen Pridiè Sponsalium proh Hymenaee Funere luit immaturo AT at Sanguine Christi longè maxumè Nobiâ—ior Sacrarum Literarum studio consultior Trini-unius cultu Sanctior cluens Raptus in patriam obiit Divi defuncti manibus ingens hoc doloris Amphitheatrum tota Gens Britonum L. M. Q. Posuit Gloria Dei est celare verbum Prov. Denatus A. D. MDCXLIX IX Kal. Iulii h PHIL. KINDEâ— a Stoick and Academick Philosophy b Pythagoras c Aristotle d Seneca e Plutarch f Cheronea * Ens Verum Bonum convertuntur Arist.