carride even And questionles hee findes them now in heaven For upright justice is the path that bringes Man to the presence of the Kinge of Kinges He â—uilyes Motto every morne did scan None feedes on justice but the upright man He serv'd our Soveraigne James our lawrell Kinge â—â—ke him that did our Israellâ— gloryes sing He Knight-hood gave him for his Zeale Love Truth And dignifi'd him in his prime of youth Honors doe seldome come without desert For time makes vice or Vertue most apert Truth like a Columne does the one support Time Lawier-like does the other court His Love Zeale Goodnes Truth Piety Strong creditors with Soveraignity So pleas'd our glorious King Charles of same For to investe on him a servants name In his new fabrick in which mystery He ended life in great Tranquillity Which â—â—â—bury the house of Lanâ—aster And Iohn of Gauntes shall evermore everâ— Not coveting honour for the Agardes names But it perpetuating to their fames Muse thou art in a Lab'riuth ' an Maze His Vertues questionles thy spirits daze For thou hast lost thy supine major part Th' unbounded boundlesse goodnes of his heart There Vertue kept her seat Apolles line In his contention was not halfe so fine So true refined and so full of grace The Carde'nall Vertues there strove for a place Thrice happy he that liveing loveing dyes When Vertue strives for due preeminencies This Maxime to his age even from his youth He did prefer friendship goes still with truth Reguardlesse of a tâ—â—e friendes small offence True friendship aimes at perfect eminence Those Centryes where thou liv'dst doe blazon forth Thou liveing had'st their harts now dead thy worth Lives still with them that time cannot decay Till all dissolves and time sweepes all away Thou liv'dst in peace and so dide and like thee May all men goe to true Eternitie On the same IF Marble monuments tell to future daies Th'â—habiters good deedes glories honour praise Why should not thine say something since in thee Goodnes rests to perpe 〈…〉 e Thou had'st a schollers knowledge and best parts And liv'dst sole Mâ— of the liberall Arts Thy goodnes needs hoe testate for thy deedes Like a true Gard'ner rooted 〈◊〉 ill weedes Leaving the supple plantes Herbes and Flowers Befiting coronets of vertues bowres No tribulations ever shooke thy brest Patience did evermore support thy creste Resolvde on that ould Sâ—crates did sing Meekenes ' is the greatst Trophe of a King Where power wantes there Eâ—â—y son'st is knowne But where thine lay thy mercy was most showne Thy love charity liberality Were all express'd in true humility The just mans merits by his deudes are sound The bad mans are like waters cast on ground Thy life unspotted was thy end as cleare As Jupiters in his ascendant spheare The Romans when their famous Consulls dide Petitioned their Oracles to divide Their goodnes 'mongst their kindred so may thine By that meanes they will all be made divine Wert not a sin to wish we should desire Aectias Botles againe for to inspire Fresh life 't is said that they are stuff'd with breath But there 's no conqueror comes after death Ould Faussons joy farewell for there thy name Shall last as long as honour time or fame To thy dead Herse thy honourd friend this gives That love is firmest after death still lives On the pattern of modesty ELIZA TEVERY daughter of GERVASE TEVERY of Staplefoord Esquire VVHy did the Lilly Paunce and Violet weepe The Marigold ere Sun-set in did creepe At whose refiexion she us'd for to rise And at his way-gate to close up her eies Why were the beaten waies with flowers strovvne And set with needy Lazars hanging downe Their mournefull heades why did the Pulpit mourne At if prepared for some Funerall urne And yet the Temple was with garlands hung Of sweeâ— smelling Flowers which might belong Vnto some bridall not heaven knowes the cause T' was otherwise decreed in Natures Lawes Those smelling sweetes with which our sense was fed Were for the buriall of a maiden-head Which made an Antumne just in the mid-spring And all things contrary their birthes to bring Herbs Plants and Flowers contrariously grew Because they now receiv'd not natures devv The needy beggers hung their heads for thee Thou matchlesse Map of maiden modesty From whose faire handes they had an almners pay As often as they met thee every day The sacred Temple where thy holy fires Of incense was powr'd on in chast desires Was thus prepard and deek'd on every side To welcome thee as her sole soveraigne Bride Whose goodnes was inimitable whose vertues shone Like to the Sun in his bright Horizon The maiden vestalls that with watry eies Bore thee to 'th Church for Vesta's sacrifize Were all in white carracts of innocence Prefiguring thy greater eminence So great their losse that with watery eiene They offer teares still to thy Virgin shrine And if that teares sighes or praiâ—es could save thee What would not they expresse now to have thee Sacred divinity allowes of no such wish Therefore emparadie'd soule rest thou in blisse Thy neighbours-â—â—d a share in thy great fall But most thy parents in thy funerall Vnparallel'd piece farewell ther 's no Grace But was transparent in thy maiden face And when thy Virgin blushes did appeare They show'd like Phoebus in our hemâ—â—phere Or like the â—ofie blushes of the morne When he th' enameld Zodiacke does adorne Her tender yeeres were free from hatefull pride Nor were her lookes with red-look'd anger dy'd She had with Martha a most zealous hart But did with Mary choose the better part Her losse was piteous yet lesse to be wailde Since she on Cherubins high heaven scalde Where 'mongst the Hierarohies she sits and sings Sweet Hymenealls with the King of Kings On ould JOHN CVRS'EN of KEDLESTON Esquire IOHN CVRSON Anagramma So I runne on IOHN CVRSONE Anagramma Honour is sure Which Anagrammiâ—de thus 't is cleere and pure So hee ranne on His honour now is sure On the same THy childrens losse and countries praise Thou Crowne of age life and long daies In thee a happines still appeares That could'st tell o're so many yeeres Achilles in thy prime of youth Uâ—sses in thy sager grouth Lib rall yet fiugall foe to none Vertues choise companion Enrich'd with all her sacred partes The Muses friend and nurse of Artes. Earth use him gently for his fate Never livde at under-rate The VVorme scarse so much goodnes joy'd Since the great deluge earth annoy'd Gone is the hospitable cloake And where fire was thers now no smoke Then that in â—ll things did'st excell I wish mee with thee so farewell On that renowned and Hospitable Gentleman JOHN PALMER of Kegworth Esquire SMall briefes containe large matters and By some partes the whole we understand Rich Diamonds though set In lead Are not for worth lesse valued Their sparkleing beauties most are seene When night would hide them with a Skreene Though earth hath hid thee in her wombâ— Yet thy great worth lives in thy tombe Thy goodnes was unparalleld Thy charity by noâ—e excelld Thy bounty learning love and name Are Trophes of thy countries same They have more recordes of thee two For thou did'st that none ells did doe The poore man welcome had from thee Before the rich mans bravery He on thy bounteous Table fed And was with all things cherished Nay Palmer-like thou did'st assay To fetch them in from the high way And with thine owne sleece made and spun Cover the lame the blinde and dumbe The Lazar might not starveingly Thou coverdst his necessity The rich might not the poore oppresse The just mans cause thou didst redresse Thy house was made an hospitall And plenty cride ' y are welcome all The stranger might not thirsty passe For there was Tempors full brim'd glasse Prefiguring his thirsty soule Might be refresh'd but not made fowle As Zephyrs bottles such was his minde Sweet calme and free loveing and kinde Great pity Death did in a rage Send Palmer on a pilgrimage Nere to returne for in his losse He Kegworthes sorrow did engrosse And yet he left a merry one Whose worth 's inferiour to none A Patriot of true deserts A nursing father to all arts All men are Palmers Pilgrime meeke He compass'd earth high Heav'n to seeke The Saints receiv'd him into blisse The earth her Palmer still doth misse FINIS Imprimatur Exaedib Londin Sa. Baker Apr. 22. 1636. Hector Boctiuâ— and Aencaâ— Sylvius in their descriptioâ— of the Rivers of Scotland Tay said to bee the most noble River in Angus Iohannes Major Guiccardine 〈◊〉 Gildas in the Expul of the Danes A most pious Princely gift 100. per Annum and confirm'd by Charter The Lord Rich married the Lady Anne daughter of William Earle of Deton shire Not of him that was the Terror of France though all the rest were brothers of his Line A famous Chappell and the Tombe of his noble ancestours by him erected over her in the Parish Church of Wilne in Derby-shire Being his â—â—der brother To the Lady Bur 〈…〉 ut
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
all mens hartes Liberall and Authenticke Artes. If love to musique does deserve A thankefullnes from every nerve Chiefly the Organ of the eare Whose atribute is all to heare If charity deserve to be A vertue for necessity Since hee that gives unto the poore Hourely encreaseth his large store He wisely does his Talent lend And may it doubly so expend If love to subject Prince and state Free from envious pride or hate One that ne're us'd for to oppresse Without thoughts of covetousnesse One that his whole life so dâ—d sway As meerely careing for to day If one in whom these worthes did dwell Deserv'd to bee the non Pareill Of goodnes surely such a one Deserv'd from us a parting groane Nay a Rich Trophe o're his herse Adorned round with his owne Verse If such a one was worthy praise Then he deserv'd the sprig and Baies For he had these from natures store And a thousand vertues more Which abâ—e are to tell his story Fraught with honour fame and glory Which are able for to depaint His life a mans his death a Saint On William Willoughby of Mascam Esquire who died at Celson SOme say Death does brave things I thinke it true â—nd yet it stands ambiguously too Some say thou slew 〈◊〉 wâ—th a sling A tricke to scare Pâ—ds with a pretty thing And bravely thou knockest Sisera ith'head A manly part to Naile a man starke dead Wolves facilely doe prey upon the sheepe When as the carelesse Shepheard lies asleepe 'Mongst multitudes of Pagans Sampson fell Bragge of that Trophe there thou quit'st thee well Yet boast not much of that poore sacrifize He would have killd thee had he had his eies Great Alexander of an Ague dide And Tailour-like thou bodkindste Casars side And Troyes great Hector fell too not alone Thou kill'dst him cowardly hundreds to one But here thou kill'dst perfection in this man Rivolets nay Seas of sacred vertue ran For this sweet man of men this Willoughby The Graces mourn'd and cruell Destiny That never yet did good for him did moane 'Cause he from earth so suddenly was gone Just in the Summer of his growing age Began thy malice to breake forth in rage And like a trembling theefe thou didst steale in And murder'dst him that scarse knew how to sin Well thou hast done thy worst the best is ours He lives in spight of thee 'mongst sacred Powers Time will not court thee as she us'd to doe Because thou kill'dst his Sonne not twenty two Thrice happy he that lives well and so dies Growing a Prime-rose in Gods Paradice Reader behold that Phoâ—nâ—x here he lies Vntill another from his ashes rise On HENRY VVORRALL of wysoll Esquire VVHo lies there thinke von Read and see 'T is not the Map of miserie Nor he which does this world controule Whose money is his life and soule His feeling sense his eies and eares Hee s dumbe hee s deafe he nothing heares Without it beyond these t is his god For that absented he lives odde Tenne i' th' hundred hundreds to one His god and he will keepe one roome Thou art deceiv'd hee s not here Then reade not lest thou shed a teare This sacred place affoords not rome For such a one to reare a tombe No Tempe ever had a birth Of so much goodnes love and worth Who though in honour hee s not great In goodnes he is all compleat VVoo't have mee speake a verity Here lies the Mappe of charity One that did daily at his Doore VVith his owne hands releive the poore One that did never lend on use And yet to lend did ne're refuse One that did never once engrosse Yet sould to all and liv'd by losse One of those men lov'd not to make Actes for Law but conscience sake He 'mongst the wisest was held one Most fit to write on his own stone For which high heavens have enrold Him in a Throne of purest gould From hence he was translated there To be a Starre fixde in the spheare For us to wonder and admire A man compos'd of heavenly fire He never did the poore oppresse But in their wants did give redresse His countries griefe he left behinde They can no more such fathers finde Worrall though dead we have thee still In thought in word in deed in will Thy memory cannot decay Till all dissolves and turnes to clay Wood'st thou have truths Epitomie Know Vertue dy'd and then dy'd hee On the Worshipfull Mrs GREASLEY Mother of the Lady BVRDEAVT of Formarke LEt it suflize that all I speake of thee Will come farre short of thy great memory But as small briefes great Volumes do containe So those few lines may at thy goodnesse aime In part though not in whole 〈◊〉 and therefore I Offer up these to thy posterity Thy Birth was noble thy education such As had from Vertue Vertues sacred touch In truth and true religion thou did'st stand Full many yeeres as Sea-markes to the land Guiding the Mariners that in dangers were Vnto their wished Ports and havens cleare And unto those that did the truth approve Thou wert a lampe of faith burning in love With Christ and with his spouse the Bride and Groome What greater Pillars can support thy tombe She needes not many beautys t' adorne her That has the Bridegroome for her chiefe mourner She was in Children happy in parents bless'd Of her cheife happynes she 's now possess'd In patience calme as sleepe her Love Zeale True emblemes of a pious common weale To Anger flow the winds did not contract More swift motion then she to a good act Then Madam 't is your comfort that she is Emparadic'd in perfectnes of blisse No soothing after Toombes and ashes shee Is absolute in true felicitie For which in stead of Cipres Olive Baies May best be worne by you that live her praise On the Renowned JOHN Lord DARCY of the North. GReat buildings by their owne contexture stand So doe thy honours propp'd up by no hand True glory was thy aime marke and renowne And thou in heaven hast a glorious Crowne Great vessells of their owne weights never sinke 'T is overpoising or that which they drinke Which makes them sande thy well trim'd Boate Did on this Worlds Sea a long time floate Ballans'd with honour without wracke or leake No stormes nor tempests could her strong keele breake Till heaven emparadic'd her in the haven Of blesse eternall making all joyes even What was her fraught Religion Piety Repentance servent Zeale Anxiety Goodnes Grace and Honour Pilots were Guiding the steâ—ne vnto the Starry Spheare Where Angell brightnes yields reflexion Ambassadour-like to greet this paragon The cardinall Vertues follow Humility That sacred sister of Nobility True love in whom all noble honour staith Sweet Charity the first borne child of Faith Patience Diligence Liberality That yields a hand to due necessity Rich Temperance that does all ills controule And Chastity the Beauty of mans soule A happy guard but thrice more happy
sooner went to heave'ns felicity I heard him sighing say good God that I Should languish in this vaile of misery Seeing so many able lusty and strong Some powerfull in estates great yet young Some tympani'de with honours potentates Grand Seigneiores governours of states That Midas-like with an Elixar touch Turn'd all to gould they handled quoth he that such As these can dy and leave this vaile of cares And I that loath it languish still in teares Because I cannot leave it love to my God Hath made my soule and body fall at od And from my dying breath I this impart Wishing those ould companions now depart Base fortunes goodes which to their harts men binde He estimated not Vertues of the minde Were his endowments his purchas'd store Gave sustenance and still releiv'd the poore With open hand and hart just like a ashowre Sent in dry Aprill so did he freely powre His bounteons almes like as the free Sunn Gives to all earthly things Vegetation Life and full growth shining alike on all From the lowest brambles to the Cedars tall So did his Charitable hand to all expresse Where just necessity was due cheerefulnes His garments were for warmth not wantonnesse By which he did humility expresse Implying vertue needed no gould lace To guild his russet coate with sacred grace Was his best suite there did he contemplate And in goodnes his soule ingratiate Loathing all vanities beneath the Moone Which are like shadowes after Sun set downe Night stormy tempests dangerous heats that fall Labour greise misery death the fine of all Him he most hated 'cause he dar'd not venter And with his pale dart naile him to the center Bringing him to those Moone eclipsed lights Where day light ever shines excluding nights Where peace and joy perpetually remaine Where death nor age nor any thing is vaine Vertue 's a castle which hardly can be wonne Till Death gives the retrait and cries be gone Or those Erispelas statuous tumours By long consumptions bred purgd ill humours Subjecting natures strong enforced meane Yet then in three things he wishde to be cleane Cleane in th' exterior part cleane in minde His soule assuredly he cleane did finde See what divinity pale weaknes brings Cleane soules delight not in corruptible things But faithles World who shin's most in thy grace Must expiate 't is God and natures race Life like an Autumne leafe shakeing flyes Now on the Tree it growes now falls now dies One minute brings us life that minute paine One minute brings us death that life againe On the right Honorable Hâ—Nâ—Y Pâ—Iâ—POINT Father to the right Honorable ROBERT Earle of Kingston VVHat siere thou be that hap's to cast an eye Vpon this monument Know here doth lie Vertues unparalleld piece goodnes grace Were hand maides to attend him in his face In never dying carracts thou mightst reade How meekenes and humility were displaide His charity I neede not here proclaime The needy handed by truth speake the same In courage Mars in patience Zephyrs winde Botl'd not so much sweetnes calme and kinde Judgements sole ground his tongue did solely speake And since hee s gone best judgments are grown weake Smooth Plato's stile and Cicere's Eloquence Survivde by him in him they did commence For from his lip 's such honnyde stile did come As would make Tully mute strike Rhetorique dumbe Not Aeâ—chilus such wanton laies did sing As he did heavenly sacred ravishing This makes the Muses mourne 'cause he is fled And not their tongues alone but phrase is dead Plato held swarmes of Bees so did not he Yet he from Plato gaind the maistery In his familiar speech now liv'd those Swans That of him sung heavenly Io Paeans Our latter age for Stile Sound Case and Tense Of former times would gaine preeminence Bounty Goodnes Hospitality The poores friend Foe to prodigality Patience neighbour-like Love and all Artes The Card'nall vertues of the inward partes Sweete consolations of all holy mindes Which like to chaines man to heaven bindes All mentall Vertues soveraignes of the soule He had in hart and did in minde en-roule What goodnes man could boast merit or raise In him th' Epitome was well worthy praise And yet he bragd not ostentation And his free thoughts were at disunion Farewell thrice happy Harry happy hee That leaves behinde him such a memorie Then reader when thou read'st and this name heares On this thou canst not looke without soome teares On the worthy Gentleman Sir HENRY Aâ—ARD of Fauston 1635 AS the poore Birde when Summers height resignes Her high Meridian to the â—cy signes VVhich scornefully dart through the watry Clouds To see Earths braveries in witherd shroudes The silly Larke then to salute the day Gets upon wing as though she would assay Some cheerefull notes to sing then beholding Faire Summer spent after the cheerefull spring Downe falls her notes a cherripping she keepes Yet knowes not well whether she sings or weepes She sings in thought of Summer but she cries To thinke of Winters â—ragicke miseries In this extreame all mourne for thy depart That living knew thee though now dead thou art Muse thou hast had much worke but now thy Pen Hath found a subject worth a Diadem Two noble Heuries worthes thou late didst sing This third deserves thy best of sonnetting Sad fate it proves to us when as your eyes From comicke streines sing tragicke Elegies Yet though we cannot contradict the Fates In spight of them we can bewaile our states Methinkes I heare the neighbour habiting groves Where with shrill bugles he did chant their loves In piteous order say who now shall guide Or man our harmelesse heards from being destroyde The brawny Oake growne Ash the Elme and Yewe In this sad season quite have lost their hue Their mountant armes like hunts-men alwaies seene Apparelled in Summers livery greene Looke not like July but Septembers wane When every flowre from Tellus brests are tane Thus every signe contrariously does goe Prefiguring calamity and woe Whence growes the cause why nature had assignd Thy losse deare Agard by them thus divin'd Yet th' art not lost thy one part lives on Earth Thy other in Elizium has new birth For thy unparalleld goodnes needes must stand As a remarkeable mirrour to this Land Let gentiles view their faces there they 'le finde An un-faind purity an up-right minde A conscience never went without a feast A happy burthen for a troubled brest A brow that never frownd upon the poore But where necessity was there went his store His fleece was apt for clothing and his purse Was ever open to the Orphants nurse And since we are dissecting let his ese Stand for a patterne of humility Where he himselfe annua'ly did read Those principals that now last though hee 's dead His hands bore justice scales his countries cause Ev'nly he manadged by her just lawes Not sparing greatnes feareing power or might But scorning favour did to all men right The scales of justice here he