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A54668 A congratulatory elegie offered up to the Earle of Essex vpon his investiture with the dignitie of Lord Chamberlaine by Thomas Pilipot ... Philipot, Thomas, d. 1682. 1641 (1641) Wing P1993; ESTC R10826 1,899 8

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A Congratulatory ELEGIE Offered up to the Earle of ESSEX Vpon his Investiture with the Dignitie of Lord Chamberlaine By Thomas Philipot Master of Arts of Clare Hall in Cambridge London printed 1641. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE ROBERT DEVOREUX Earle of Essex Lord Chamberlain of his Majesties Houshold My Lord BE pleased to accept this grain of Incense offered up to your name on the Altar of a reall heart and if I have erred in my devotion stile it the sin of an hallowed ignorance rather than the crime of any wilde presumption daigne to confer upon me the Epithete of Superstitious rather than the attribute of prophane since the latter issues from a defect of Worship and the former results from an excesse of adoration My Lord your name is followed with such a train of acclamations that I should have appeared dull even to stupidity if I had not been wakened with their alarme to the expression of my zeal which I have endeavoured to improve by powring it forth into this Congratulation and if it be too inconsiderable to intitle it selfe to so great a Patron set upon it the noble character of your mercy and let it derive that from your charity which it could not hope to finde from my selfe the remission of many errours The lowest hearts are the fittest sacrifice for the highest Altars Therefore though this Poem cannot lay claim to your Lordships praise suffer it to pretend to your Lordships pity though I have no sublimity of Phansie to marshall me amongst the chiefest of Poets yet I have humility which shall ranke me amongst The humblest of your Lordships adorers THOMAS PHILIPOT A Congratulatory Elegie offered up to the Earle of Essex upon his Investiture with the Dignitie of Lord Chamberlaine My Lord T Were malice to your fame not to comply With the worlds publike joy and amplifie My thoughts to such extent of mirth they might Digest themselves to action and indite Something to shew that I had found the art To write with inke compounded with my heart For every vulgar spirit can improve His joy to shouts and can exhale his love To clamorous acclamations which he Is eas'ly steer'd to be that sympathy Which does the people in one vote combine And like a thred does all their hearts entwine So when a Lute string is but touch'd each string That does confine upon it seemes to ring A peal of musicke too and the first note Repeats as it 't was eccho'd forth by rote But when a Poet writes he should distill And melt his very brain into his quill And strive to shake off all that envious weight Of earth which does controwle the growing height Of his exalted thoughts that being redeem'd From that rude heap of drosse which onely teem'd With faint and sickly numbers he might turne All soules and fire which might so clearly burne The flame might from his inke all dregges assoil And that dull juyce to air and spirit boil So that each drop his flowing pen lets fall Might be like that too immateriall This I pretend to if it be my crime T' ave wrapt my joy up in unseason'd rime I le weep so many teares for this offence They shall to every line some salt dispence To which although I could no brain impart Into each word I have distill'd my heart For my extended joy did so dilate Each angle of it it did e'en estate A Pleurisie upon it which was then Dissolv'd and scatter'd when 't was by my pen Extracted into verse to celebrate Your rising like a star i th' sphear of State Who dart such chearfull beames forth that we might Turne superstitious and e'en court their light Which will to our enlivened State dispense Such a benigne propitious influence It will those clouds of discontent dispell Which did before in our Horison dwell And may you in this Orbe shine ever bright Not blear'd with any sullen mist or night Exhal'd from blacke detraction that you may Still with your beames improve and guild our day Still may you in your course as y 'ave begun Like Mercuries bright star move nere the Sun Like Aarons Rod may your Staffe fruitfull be And bud each year with a new Dignity May sprigges of hallow'd Mirtle on it grow May peacefull Olive spring from thence that so The world may be induc'd at your Decease To say your Staffe became the tree of peace May you be still inskons'd in every heart That when pale Envy has discharg'd each dart She tipt with malice 'gainst your name and found By their recoil they did her selfe but wound She may insert this in your Epitaph You innocence was whiter than your Staffe And when Deaths frost your blooming Honour nips And all your star-light suffers an Ecclipse By an eternall night and your great soul Having throwne off that dust which did controul Her glorious flight and purchas'd her release Soares up to Heaven borne on the wings of peace And innocence as here a star you shone May you shine there a Constellation And make it by this brave retreat appear You chang'd your life that you might change your Speare Which this assertion will with truth improve That your decease was onely a Remove And if weel 'd know the tombe that 's put in trust To be the Treasurer of your pretious dust May it be found after a stocke of cares Spent in its search orewhelm'd in good mens teares FINIS