Selected quad for the lemma: love_n
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A10308
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The most horrible and tragicall murther of the right honorable, the vertuous and valerous gentleman, Iohn Lord Bourgh, Baron of Castell Connell Committed by Arnold Cosby, the foureteenth of Ianuarie. Togeather with the sorrowfull sighes of a sadde soule, vppon his funerall: written by W.R. a seruaunt of the said Lord Bourgh.
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W. R., fl. 1592.
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1591
(1591)
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STC 20593; ESTC S110583
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7,617
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18
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for him selfe prouided them Then did he request him to breake his rapiers point auouching it was triall enough of their manhoods in that they had met in field and to scarre their faces and so returne and say they had fought But the L. Bourgh as one that lothed his former brags and detested y t dastardlike motioÌ„ told him flatly he scorned such pusillanimity nor came he to plaie boyes plaie Why then quoth Cosby my L. t'were best put of your spurres least they chaunce to hinder you Now had the deuill which all this while had béene absente from his seruant fitted him at length with a pollicie to worke his will and endamage his owne soule And now euen nowe the fatall houre was come wherein the bloudy homizide gaped to quench his thirst in bloud and to acte the tragidy of his former scelerous inuentions For as the L. Bourghe whose noble minde suspecting no treacherie knéeled downe putting his rapyer in his left hand and with his right intended to vnbuckle his spurres the monsterous treachetour taking the aduantage as it fell not like a Souldiour or a Gentleman but lyke a brutishe manquellour and murderous conspiratour voyd of all virtue and humanitye with all the violence his coadiutor the deuill could lend him ranne his rapyer twelue intches into his brest which stucke so fast as hee was constrained to set his foote vpon him and plucke it foorth and being cast downe with the force of the thrust Cosby that wicked and bloodye Cosby coulde not be content with one mortall wound nor might his insatiate furie be staunched except his vitall bloud streamed in sundrie conduites to gorge the fell outrage of his gréedie mawe therefore letting fall hys rapier tooke his dagger in his right hande and therewithall gaue him thrée and twentie woundes more Which scarse could suffice for that he feared if any breath remained in hys bodie his tongue might bewraye the manner of that horrible murther and therefore would not haue left so but that he saw rescue néere which made him take his horse to escape which was when he came vnto that place a lustie strong Geldinge as any is in England but he was no sooner on his backe but he presently fell lame and was not able to carie him suche is the iust iudgement of God that abhorreth murderers and wil not theyr villainie be concealed Besides for all those woundes which the Lord Bourghe had receiued it pleased God he should liue two or thrée houres after time enough to commit him selfe to his mercie and to reueale the treacherous manner of his death which hee did in the hearinge of the right honourable the earles of Essex Essex and Ormewood in a house in Wansworth whether hee was conuaied by the meanes of one Iohn Powell yeoman of the bottels in her maiesties house who comming to the rescue pursued the murtherer vntill hee shrouded himselfe in a thicke wood where he might easilie haue kept him selfe close a long time but that the prouidence of God hauing nowtaken place to punish where before the deuill had kept possession for sin he wold not suffer him to rest but so soone as it was night brought him backe to Wansworth and the first house he came to was y e house wherin y e breathles bodie of the Lord Bourgh lay wherunto he was no sooner approched which is a thing especially to be noted but his wounds bled more freshlie then when the were first giuen whereby the people in the house béeing agast at that suddaine and straunge spectacle made forthe to search for surelie they supposed the murtherer was not farre off he hearing the noyse of their comming fledde to Newinton where he was apprehended and caried to Nâ—wgate and from thence brought the fiue and twenteth daye of Ianuarie to the Sessions house in Southwarke where he was arrâ—ined and condemed of wilfull murder which murther he had committed the fourth day of the same month And thus haue I disburdened the heauy clogge of my gréeued conscience and done my latest duetie to him dead whom whilest he liued I loued and honoured Then Noble mindes whose heartes full of lenitie harbour no suspition of treacherie banishe all secure mildnesse from your soules that suffers eueriâ— base and ignoble Sicophante to enchroche into the leniry of your fauorable conceite And nourish not with your courteous countenaunce the contemptuous aspirers of inferiour reputâ—tion For thereby groweth such bosting vanitie from the baset insolent that would frame nobilitie to the inferiour tipe of their vnworthines As well is manifested by the sodaine death of this noble gentleman and the published villanie of this tâ—agicall murther a sufficient caueat for euery mistrustlesse minde to be admonished The sighes of a sad soule vpon the vnfortunate death of the Right Honourable the vertuous and valarous gentleman the Lord Bourgh The sighes of the Night THe gorgeous Sun hath spent his holy fire scowling clouds are wrapped arme in arme The morning to the salt sea doth retyre deadly sleep doth cast an endles charme Fore-figuring some euerlasting harme The Nights faire Queene doth bend hir iuory browes And gleames a gloomie beaming on the boughes And Mercurie forerunner of the euening Hath bathd his golden winges in clotted bloud And euery gentle plannet sitteth greiuing And that doth moue that euer firmely stoode A pitchie fogge doth couer euery flood And while the day breake striueth with the starres The Sunne and Moone maintaine continuall warres The mountaines sincke vnto the valleis deepe And riuers swell vnto the mountaines hight No pleasaunce doth his wonted order keepe A winde remoues the waues there teares doe sighe And liquide moysture turnes to sulphering drith So sorrow burnes when dreirie teares are spent And ouer heat doth make a soft relent A swannish tune becomes my morning song And in my sight hir feathers turnd to blacke No day is seene but night is ouerstrong For still the morning blush is turned backe Because no mourning eye shall sorrow lacke A quire of Owles instead of Nightingals With Elegies my fainting sorrow quailes The dewe that fals is like the sent of death And brings a mortal Serene with the fall A graue is all the pleasure of the earth and springing blisse is but as barren gall and with our feete we digge our buriall What booteth all the pride of boasting lust When martiall armour is a tombe of dust Buried aliue within the graue of Night Where darknes guideth my lamenting griefe I lie bereaued of my former light As one that in distresse did finde reliefe And placed sorrow in his soule for chiefe For that sweete lampe of life that I so loued Is from my wonted guidance quite remoued I loath the cheerefull ioy the day doth bring because the day mainteines the thing I hate Sweet is the musick that the Screchowles sing And in good time are Minutes ouerlate For in my fancie loue is blacke debate And when I see my withered senses striue Then do I
thinke my sorowes are aliue I looke and see the daughters of great Ioue That loude his noble vertues that I loue Sit sighing in a melancholie groue and to combine a coronet haue stroue Of all the plantes that in the field doe roue For that swet Lord I hold the world in skorning hate day night the euening the morning The sighs of the Morning Now as a mourning goddes comes the Morne Like to a wretched Pilgrime clothd in gray Hir lowring lookes like one that was forlorne Gusht showres of teares vpon that dismal day And when she saw his deepe mortal harmes She tooke my Lord within her louing armes Meeting the Lark that mounted with her notes Hir Christall bodie brusht vpon her breast by that suÌ„monce tunde their warbling throts To sing the burthen of my great vnrest And when I sigh the birds with heauie heigh Trebble their sonnets and approch me nigh If she had lost hir glimcing Lucifer That is familiar with hir bright vprise No sorrow could such greiuousnes inferre As now departed from hir tearefull eyes And if hereafter I do see hir cleare Ile flie from hir as an inconstant pheare Hir crimison Mantle fell into the Sea And almost made the Lordlie Neptune mad But when he knew the mourning of the day His royall hall with mistie fogge was cladde And vnderstanding of this sadfull end He sighed and said that he had lost a friend When as the Nimph did know this cursed hape what bruite soule did act that damned deed a heauie clangor of hir armes did clappe To bidde all true Nobilitie take heede How they did trust to flearing Sicophants Or fauoured proud contemptuous miscreants Between theire browes see mischefe fyrmlie knit And yet a fawning sweetnes in their lipps VVithin there harts doth ouglie treason sit And Adders venome from their pleasure sips Take heede faire Lordes and feare ye to embrace The marke of nature in a flattering face The Goddesse ending with a greuous sobbe Went vpp to tell within her statelie court How vice the noble did of vertue robbe And there did write his honors rare report When I beheld yt I was wel content And yet me thought I wisht the Nights assent The Third sigh of Winter My fire is greater than whole Forests flames Eternall Winter kindleth in my brest And in my heart a Regester of names Of balefull stormes the season hath imprest Somtimes the windes doe diue in to my hart And call them forth to renouate my smart Then euery storme doth take a seuerall limbe And in those limbes possesseth seuerall veynes And like Saturnus makes my bodie grimme By letting forth my bloud in paynfull streynes And when I sigh I raise a bremie storme So all my ioyes are spent in winters forme This winter commeth by that flowers fade Whose couler brought bright comfort to my sight Whose sweete perfume my ioyfull pleasure made Whose leaues reflexed like a starrie light The coward malice cropt it from the ground And now in sommer is no pleasure found As heauie as the frostie grayberdes weight Lieth congealed sorow on my heart And yet my burden seemeth but a sleight Lightning and thunder griefes and sighes doe part The one with sodaine flashes blinds mine eyes The other with a wasting terrour flies A frost of care hath nipt my springing youth My Sun is downe should make the yce relent And heaps of snow are gathered by my ruth All which are hillockes of cold discontent And if this wintering chilnes euer burst A washing storme must waist the frozen crust Then from the brasen prison breaks the winds And from their swelling mouthes do send out showers And driue me to the thought of that which bindes Bundels of thornes to build vp darkesome bowers Vnder that gloomy shade I sitte and sing The greeuous losse of such a pretious thing Wo is my Winter for so great a misse And in that season on his sadful hearse A hermitage Ile build shall be my blisse And call on age my yongnes to reuerse And in his worthie praise my pen shall dwell Whose vertue did all base contempt expell Ile sit vntill my breath ingraue this grace Vpon the stone doth couer his sweet corse Here vertue in a milkewhite mildnes staies Vntill eternall glorie by his force Conioyne his body to his pretious soule In his sweet bosome that doth all controule The fourth sigh of the Spring The Soueraigne of the Planets neuer rose But in a cloudie vale did shrowd his head His Chariote couered like a mourning hearse Reiected quit his golden furniture Ceres and Flora suffered such a dearth as neuer happened on the barren earth When first the cursed hand by cowards watch Did seperate that life that loude my light The spring did sprout but blacke was al hir sap The violete turned to a tawnie hew Dim was the rose yet yallow were the seedes For mourning minds betokening mournful weeds The wind with tragicke musicke wiffeth sighs Thorow the linnow stalks that shook the flours and Aiax bloud that breed the Hyacinth Congealeth care vpon the grassie bancks But then the daintie Lillie lost hir leaues they were bouÌ„d amoÌ„gst the reapers sheaues The loftie Pines did pine within the valleys and stood like stripped champions in a storme They that are cut daunce vpon the billowes are carelesse in the cold extreamest chaunces and as the deepest brookes do murmur least So they say little that did loue him best Vpon a springing oke doth keepe Joues byrde That letteth fall a feather euerie flight His sorrow lets the Iuie haue his growth That turnes the Eagle to the bird of night When Okes and Eagles die for griefe not age There feare and ruine runne in equipage Tmolus hir selfe whereas the Safron growes Hath intermixt hir spice with lothsome weds Blacke woll doth grow on the Arabian shrubs as hard as are the quils of Porcupins Of Rauons couler lookes the Cotton tree a glorious spring againe shall neuer bee Thus is my spring become the leaues decaie Where Charecters of endles griefe are writ The dewfull teares do trickle from the boughs That lost their cloathing when I lost my loue and aye to me my sorrow writs the worst My ioyes are barren and my selfe accurst If any care bee buried in the earth Some quaking furie send it from hir brest and leade my lumpe that being ouer prest I may conucie this dead time to my rest Where wrapped vp in bright archangels wings I may behold that which my comfort brings The Graces Funerall Since first the morning the euening mourned Since winter and the spring time are bereaued Of all the ioyes my inward losses breathed angels reioyce my loue is now receiued The Graces haue his louely bodie balmed and haue the centure of the earth perfumed Whereas that bodie shall not be consumed that which wrents the grouÌ„d is euer calmed Their golden robs his bodie now hath couered Dians Doues their Iuory brests haue plumed Which by his bodie yet aliue haue houered â—nd his faire resting is by heauen assumed Foure morrall vertues haue his soule conueied And spightfull fates his vertues haue deceiued And great Iehouah hath his worke surueied And with that blessed sacrifice is pleased Who knew my noble louer whilst he liued And will not say his vertues haue deserued In fames huge books to haue his name described And euery honour that hee had reuiued My wandring wit in sorrowes sourse is drowned wheÌ„ I wrought his praise the Muses frowned My shallow brain his noblesse hath not souÌ„ded Nor hath my pen his worthines renowmed Now hath immortall sorrow neare approached And on my mazing wretchednes hath ceazed And hath my ruler night againe conducted whose gaping horour cannot be appeased Then of his soules sweete safetie assured Which our redeemer by his death procured And since my sorrowes cannot be redressed They are embrac'te as euermore distressed FINIS