Prince Henrys Obsequies
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Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
PRINCE HENRIES OBSEQVIES OR MOVRNEFVLL ELEGIES UPON HIS DEATH: With
[illustration]
A supposed Inter-locution between the
Ghost of Prince
Henry
and Great
Britain. By
George Wyther.
LONDON, Printed by Ed: Allde, for Arthur Johnson, at the white Horse near unto the great North door of Saint Paul 1612
TO THE WHOLE WORLD IN GENERALL AND MORE PERTICVlarly to the Isles of great Britain and Ireland. &c.
BIg-swollen with sighs, & almost drowned with tears
My
Muse
out of a dying trance up-rears;
Who yet not able to express her moans,
In steed of better utterance, here groans.
And least my close-breast should her health impair,
Is come amongst you, for to take the air,
I need not name the griefs, that on her seize,
Th'are known by this, beyond th'
Antipodes.
But to your view some heavy rounds she brings,
That you may bear the burden, when she sings:
And that's but
Woe:
which you so high should strain,
That heavens vault might
Ecchoit
back again,
Then, though I have not strived to seem witty,
Yet read, and reading note, and noting pity.
What though there's others show, in this more
Art?
I have as true; as sorrowful a heart:
What though
Opinion
give me not a
Name,
And I was never beholding yet to
Fame?
Fate
would (perhapps) my
Muse,
as yet unknown,
Should first in
Sorrowes
livery be shown.
Then, be the witness of my discontent,
And see, if griefs have made me Eloquent:
For here I mourn, for your our public loss;
And do my penance, at the
Weeping Cross.
The most sorrowful G. W.
DEath
(that by stealth did wound
Prince H:
heart)
Is now tane Captiue, and doth act the part
Of one overcome, by being too too fierce,
And lies himself dead under
Henries
hearse:
He therefore now in Heavenly tunes doth
Sing,
Hell, where's thy triumph? Death, where is thy Sting?
Faults escaped.
Elegy 16 read Henry dead? line 14 read be in heart, Eleg. 23. line 13 r carries him. El. 2 • . l. 1. r my tongue El. 28. l. 14. r hadadrimmon, in the second page of the Iterlocution. li. 5. r with still. line. 8. r vinnaugh. Eleg: 29. line 5 read walks.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE ROBERT Lord Sidney of Penshurst, Viscount Lisle, Lord Chamberlain to the Queens Majesty, and Lord Governor of Vlushing, and the Castle of Ramekins.
George Wither presents these Elegiak-sonnets, and wisheth double Comfort after his twofold sorrow.
Anagrams on the name of Sir William Sidney Knight, deceased.
Gulielmus Sidneius
En vilis, gelidus sum.
*But*
Ei' nilluge, sidus sum.
BEside our great and
Universal
care,
(Wherein you one of our chief sharers are)
To add more
grief
unto your
griefs
begun,
Whilst we a
Father
lost, you lost a
Son,
Whose hapelesse want had more apparent been,
But darkened by the
Other
'twas unseen,
Which well perceiving, loath indeed was I,
The
Memory
of one so dear should die:
And thereupon I the occasion took
For to present your
Honor
with this Book,
(Vnfained, and true mournful
Elegies,
And for our
HENRIE,
my last
Obsequies
)
That he, which did your
Sons
late death obscure,
Might be the
Mean
to make his fame endure:
But this may but renew your former woe:
Indeed and I, might well have doubted soe,
Had not I known, that
Virtue
which did place you
Above the common sort, did also grace you
With gifts of
Mind,
to make you more excel,
And far more able,
Passions
rage to quell:
You can, and may with moderation moan,
For all your comfort is not lost with one,
Children
you have, whose
Virtues
may renew;
The comfort of decaying
Hopes
in you.
Praised be God, for such great blessngs giving,
And happy you, to have such comforts living.
Nor do I think it can be rightly sed,
You are unhappy in this
One
that's dead:
For notwithstanding his first
Anagram,
Yet in his last, he seems more cheerful far,
Oh great preferment: what could he aspire
That was more high, or you could more desire?
Well, since his soul in heau'n such glory hath,
My
Love
bequeaths his
Grave,
this
Epitaph.
Here under lies a SIDNEY: And what than?
Dost think here lies but relics of a man?
WIT, BEAVTIE, SWEETNES, COVRT'SEY, FORTITVDE.
So let him rest, to
Memory
still dear,
Till his
Redeemer
in the Clowdes appear
The while, accept his
Will,
who meaning plain,
Doth neither write for praise, nor hope of Gaine:
And now your
Tears,
and private
Griefe,
forbear,
And turn again, to this our
Public
care.
Your Honors true honorer George Wyther.
Eleg. 1.
NOw that beloved
Henries
glass is run,
And the last duties to his body shown,
Now that his sad-sad
Obsequies
be done,
And public sorrows well-nigh over-blown:
Now give me leave to leave all Ioyes at one,
For a dull Melancholy lonelines;
To pine myself with a self-pining mone,
And fat my grief with solitariness.
For if it be a comfort in distress,
(As some think) to have sharers in our woes,
Then I desire to be comfortless.
My Soul in public grief no pleasure knows.
Yea, I could wish, and for that wish would die,
That there were none had cause to grieve, but I.
Eleg. 2.
For were there none had cause to grieve but I,
Twoul'd from my
Sorrowes,
many sorrows take;
And I should moan but for ones misery,
Where now for thousands, my poor heart doth ache.
Bide from me
Joy
then, that still from me bid'st,
Be present
Care,
that ever present art.
Hide from me
Comfort,
that at all times hid'st,
For I will grieve, with a true-grieving heart.
I will glut myself with
Sorrow
for the nonce,
What though my
Muse
against it once did say
Oh bear with my unbridled
Passion
once,
I hope it shall not yet from virtue stray,
Since grief▪ for such a loss, at such a season;
May be past measure, but not out of
Reason.
Eleg. 3.
Why should I for th'infernal
Furies
hallo?
Call upon darkness, and the lonely night?
Or summon up
Minerva,
or
Apollo:
To help me doleful
Elegies
endite?
Here needs no mention of the fears of
Stix,
Of black
Cocitus,
or such feigned stuff:
Those may paint out their griefs, with forced tricks,
That have not in them real cause enough;
I need it not, yet for no private Cross,
Droopes my sad soul, nor do I mourn for fashion,
For why? a general a public loss.
Kindles within me, a right woeful
Passion.
Then (oh alas) what n
•
ede hath he to borrow
Tht's pintchit already with a feeling sorrow▪
Eleg. 4.
First, for thy loss, poor world-divided I will,
My eyes pay griefs drink-offering of tears:
And I set by all other thoughts a while,
To feed my mind the better on thy cares.
I saw, how happy thou wert but of late
In thy sweet
Henries
hopes, yea I saw too,
How thou didst glory in thy blessed state:
Which thou indeed hadst cause enough to do.
But, when I saw thee place all thy delight
Upon his worth; and then, when thou didst place it,
(And thy Joy almost mounted to her height)
His haples end so suddenly deface it;
Me thought, I felt it go so near thy heart,
Mine akeit too, with a sympathizing smart.
Eleg. 5.
For thee, great
James,
my spouts of sorrow run,
For thee my Muse a heavy song doth sing;
That hast lost more, in loosing of thy Son,
Then the Greek Monarkes conquered Persian King.
Needs must the pains, that do disturb the head,
Disease the body throughout every part;
And therefore I might have been lopped as dead,
If I had had no feeling of this smart;
But oh I grieve: and yet I grieve the less,
Thy Kingly Guift
so well prevailed to make him
Fit for a Crown of endless happiness;
And that it was
Jehovah's
hand did take him.
Who was himself a book for Kings to pore on:
And might have been thy
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
Eleg: 6.
For our fair Queen, my grief is no less moving,
There's none could ere more justly boast of child.
For he was kind, most dutiful, and loving,
Most full of manly courage, and yet mild.
Me thinks I see what heavy discontent,
Beclowdes her brow, and over-shades her eyne:
Yea I do feel her loving heart lament,
An earnest thought conueyes the grief to mine.
I see she notes the sadness of the Court,
Thinks how that here, or there, she saw him last:
Remembers his sweet speech, his graceful sport,
And such like things to make her Passions last:
But what mean I? Let grief my speeches smother,
No tongue can tell the Sorrowes of the Mother.
Eleg. 7.
Nor thine sweet
Charles,
nor thine
Elizabeth,
Though one of you have gaind a Princedom byit:
The grief he hath to have it by the death
Of his sole brother, makes his heart denyit.
Yet let not sorrows black obscuring cloud
Quite cover and eclipse all comforts light:
Though one fair star above the Sphere doth shroud
Let not the earth be left in darkness quite.
Thou
Charles
art now our Hope, God grant it be
More certain then our last; we trust it will:
Yet we shall have a loving fear of thee;
The burned child we see, eu'r dreads fire still.
But God loves his; And Rome although thou threat'st
He's like enough for to be
Charles
the greatest.
Eleg: 8.
Then droop not
Charles
to make our griefs the more;
God that to scourge us, took away thy brother,
To comfort us again, kept thee in store:
And now I think on it,
Fate
could do no other.
Thy Father both a Sun, and
Phoenix
is,
Prince
Henry
was a Sun and
Phoenix
too,
And if his Orbe had been as high as his,
His beams had shone as bright's his fathers do.
Nature
saw this and took him quite away,
And now dost thou to be a
Phoenix
try;
Well, so thou mayest (no doubt) another day,
But then thy father (
Charles
) or thou must die.
For 'twas decreed when first the world begun,
Earth should have but one
Phoenix,
heaven one Sun.
Eleg: 9.
But shall I not bemoan the sad
Elector?
Yes
Frederick,
I needs must grieve for thee:
Thou wooest with woe now, but our best protector
Giues joyful ends where hard beginnings be.
Had we no shows to welcome thee to Court,
No solemn sight, but a sad Funeral?
Is all our former Masking and our sport,
Transform'd to sighs? are all things tragical!
Had'st thou been here at Summer; or at Spring,
Thou shouldest not then have seen us drooping thus,
But now tis
Autumn,
that spoils everything:
Vulgarly termed the
Fall oth' leaf,
with us.
And not amiss; for well mayit be the Fall,
That brings down blossoms, Fruit, leaves, tree & all.
Eleg. 10.
Then, Stranger Prince, if thou neglected seem,
And hast not entertainment to thy state:
Our loves yet do not therefore miss-esteem;
But lay the fault upon unhappy Fate.
Thou found'st us glad of thy arriuall here,
And saw'st him, whom we loved, (poor wretched Elues)
Say: didst thou ere of one more worthy hear?
No, no, and therefore now we hate our selves.
We being then of such a gembereft,
Bear with our passions, and since one is gone,
And thou-must have the half of what is left;
Oh think on us for good; when you are gone,
And as thou now doest bear one half of's name;
Help bear our grief, and share thou all his fame.
Eleg. 11.
See, see, fair Princesse, I but named thee yet,
Meaning thy woes within my breast to smother:
But on my thoughts they do so lively beat,
As if I heard thee sighing,
Oh my Brother:
Me thinks I hear thee calling on his name,
With plaining on his too ungentle Fate:
And sure, the
Sisters
were well worthy blame,
To show such spite to one that none did hate.
I know thou sometime musest on his face,
(Faire as a woman's; but more manly fair)
Sometime upon his shape, his speech, and pase,
A thousand ways thy griefs themselves repair.
And oh! no marvel, since your sure-pure loves
Were nearer dearer then the Turtle Doves.
Eleg. 12.
How often, oh how often did he vow
To grace thy joyful look-tfor Nuptialls:
But oh how woeful, oh how woeful now
Will they be made through thy sad Funerals!
All pleasing parlees that betwixt you two,
Public, or private, have exchanged been,
All thou hast heard him promise for to do,
Or by him in his life performed seen,
Calls on remembrance: the sweet name of Sister
So oft pronounced by him seems to take place,
Of
Queen
and
Empresse:
now my thoughts do whisper,
Those titles one day shall thy virtues grace.
If I speak true, for his sweet sake that's dead,
Seek how to raise dejected
Britain's
head.
Eleg. 13.
Seek how to raise dejected
Britain's
head,
So she shall study how to raise up thine:
And now leave off thy tears in vain to shed,
For why? to spare them I have pour'd out mine.
Pitty thyself, and us, and mournful
Rhine,
That hides his fair bank under floods of grief,
Thy Prince, thy Duke, thy brave Count
Palatine:
It is time his sorrows should have some relief.
He's come to be another brother to thee,
And help thy father to another son:
He vows thee all the service love can do thee;
And though acquaintance hath with grief begun,
It is but to make you have the better taste
Of the true bliss you shall enjoy at last.
Elegi. 14.
Thy brother's well and would not change estates,
With any Prince that reigns beneath the Sky:
No, not with all the worlds great Potentates,
His Plumes have borne him to eternity.
He fears no Planets dangerous aspect:
But doth above their constellations clime,
And earthly joys, and sorrows both neglect.
We saw he had his Spring amongst us here,
He saw his Summer, but he skipt it over:
And Autumn now hath tane away our dear.
The reason's this, which we may plain discover,
He shall escape, (for so
Jehovah
wills)
The stormy Winter of ensuing ils.
Elegi. 15.
I grieve to see the woeful face oth' Court,
And for each grieved member of the land;
I grieve for those that make these greifes their sport,
And cannot their own evil understand.
I also grieve, to see how vices swarm,
And Virtue as despised, grow out of date:
How they receive most hurt, that do least harm,
And how poor honest Truth incurreth hate.
But more, much more, I grieve that we do miss
The joy we lately had; and that he's gone,
Whose living presence might have helped all this:
His everlasting Absence makes me mone.
Yea most I grieve, that
Britons
hope is fled,
And that her darling, brave Prince
Henry's
dead.
Elegi. 16.
Prince
Henri's
dead! what voice is that we hear?
Am I awake, or dream I, tell me whether?
If this be true; if this be true, my dear,
Why do I stay behind thee, to do either?
Alas my Fate compels me, I must bide
To share the mischiefs of this present age,
I am ordained to live, till I have tried
The very worst, and utmost of their rage.
But then why mourn I not to open view,
In sable robes according to the Rites?
Why is my hat, without a branche of yeugh?
Alas my mind, no complement delights,
Because my grief that Ceremony loathes,
Had rather be sad in heart, then seem in clothes.
Eleg. 17
Thrise happy had I been, if I had kept
Within the circuit of some little village,
In ignorance of Courts and Princes slept,
Manuring of an honest half-plough tillage:
Or else I would I were as young agen,
As when
Eliza
our last
Phoenix
dide:
My childish years had not conceived as then,
What 'twas to loose a Prince so dignifide.
But now I know: and what now dothit avail?
Alas, whilst others merry, feel no pain,
I melancholy, sit alone and wail:
Thus sweetest profit, yields the bitterst gain.
Why?
'cause it came by the forbidden tree:
And good things prove not, that ill gotten be.
Eleg. 18.
When as the first sad rumour filed my ear
Of
Henries
sickness: an amazing terror
Struck through my body, with a shuddring fear,
Which I expounded but my frailties error.
For though a quick-misdoubting of the worst,
Seem'd to fore-tell my soul, what would ensue:
God will forbid, thought I, that such a cursed
Or ill-presaging thought should fall out true:
It cannot sink into imagination,
That He, whose future glories we may see
To be at least all
Europes
expectation,
Should in the prime of age despoiled be;
For if a hope so likely naught avail us,
It is no wonder if all other fail us.
Eleg. 19.
Again, when one had forced unto my ear,
My Prince was dead:
although he much protested,
I could not with belief his sad news hear:
But would have sworn, and sworn again, he jested.
At such a word, me thought, the town should sink,
The earth should down unto the Center cleave,
Swallowing all in her hell-gaping chincke,
And not so much as Sea or Island leave.
Some Comet, or some monstrous blazing-Star,
Should have appeared, or some strange prodigy,
Death might have shownt' us thoughit had been a far
That he intended some such tyranny.
But God, (it seemeth) did thereof dislike,
To show that he will on a sudden strike.
Eleg: 20.
Thus unbelieving; I did oft inquire
Of one, of two, of three, and so of many:
And still I heard what I did least desire,
Yet grounded
Hope,
would give no faith to any.
Then at the last my heart began to fear,
But as I credence to my fears was giving
A voice of comfort I began to hear:
Which to my fruitless
Joy
said
Henry's living,
At that same word, my
Hope
that was forsaking
My heart, and yielding wholly to despair;
Reuiued straight, and better courage taking,
Her crazed parts, so strongly did repair,
I thought she would have held it out, but vain:
For oh, ere long, she lost it quite again.
Elegi. 21.
But now wy tongue can never make relation,
What I sustained in my last foughten field;
My mind assailed with a three-fold passion,
Hope, Fear, Dispaire,
could unto neither yield.
Fear
willed me, for to vew the skies black color,
Hope
said;
Upon his hopeful virtues look:
Dispaire
showed me an universal dolour,
Yet fruitless
Doubt,
my hearts possessiion took.
But when I saw the
Hearse,
then I believed,
And taking breath, thus fell to vowelling,
Beside, to show I had not causeless greeu'd,
I saw a note of his embowelling.
There 'twas subscrib'd, they found he had no gall,
And like enough, for he was sweetness all.
Eleg. 21.
Oh cruel, and insatiable
Death!
Would none suffice, would none suffice but he?
What pleasure was it more to stop his breath,
Then for to choke, or kill, or poison me?
My life for his, with thrice three milions more,
We would have given as a ransom to thee;
But since thou in his loss hast made us pore,
Foule Tyrant, it shall never honor do thee:
For thou hast shown thyself a spiteful fiend,
Yea Death thou didst envy his happy state,
And therefore thoughtest to bring it to an end;
But see, see whereto God hath turned thy hate.
Thou mean'st to mar the bliss he had before:
And by thy spite: hast made it ten times more.
Eleg. 23.
It is true I know, Death with an equal spurn,
The lofty turret, and low Cottage beats:
And takes impartial each one in his turn,
Yea though he bribes, prays, promises or threats.
Neither Man, brute, plant, sex, age nor degree
Preuailes against his dead-sure striking hand:
For then, ere we would thus despoiled be,
All these conioyn'd his fury should withstand.
But oh! unseen he strikes at vnaware,
Disguised like a murthering
Jesuit:
Friends cannot stop him that in presence are;
And which is worse, when he hath done his spite,
He carries them, so far away from hence,
None lives, that's able for to fetch him thence.
Eleg. 24.
Nor would we now, because we do believe
His God, to whom indeed he did belong;
To crown him, where he hath no cause to grieve:
Tooke him from death, that sought to do him wrong.
But were this dear beloved Prince of ours
Living in any corner of this All,
Though kept by
Rome's,
and
Muhammad's
chief powers;
They should not long detain him there in thrall:
We would rake
Europe
rather, plain the
East,
Dispeople the whole
Earth
before the doom:
Stampe half to powder, and fire all the rest;
But for to help up proud aspiring
Rome,
Spight of her powder, with our counter-mines,
Blowe her above the
Alps,
or
Appenines.
Elegi. 15.
But what? shall we go now dispute with God,
And in our heart vpraid him that's so just?
Let's pray him rather, to withdraw his rod,
Least in his wrath he bruise us unto dust.
Why should we lay his death to Fate, or times?
I know there hath no second causes been,
But our high-flying-crying-dying crimes,
Nay, I can name the chiefest murth'ring sin:
And this it was, how ere it hath been hid.
Trust not (
saith
David) trust not in a Prince:
Yet we hopeit less, in God I will swear we did,
In jealousy he therefore took him hence.
Thus we abuse good things, and through our blindness
Have hurt our selves, and killed our Prince with kindness.
Elegi. 26.
Let all the world come now and share our lot,
Come
Europe, Asia, Africa,
come all:
Mourne
English, Irish, British,
and mourn
Scot,
For his, (no I mistake it) for our fall.
The prop of
Virtue
and mankind's delight,
Hath fled the earth and quite forsaken us:
We had but of his excellence a sight,
To make our longings like to
Tantalus.
What seek you in a Man that he enjoyed not?
Werit either gift of body or of spirit;
Nay, which is more, what had he, he employed not
To help his Country, and her love to merit?
But see what high preferment
Virtues
bring,
He's of a servant now become a King.
Eleg: 27.
But soft, I mean not here to blaze his praise,
It is a work too mighty, and requires
Many a Pen, and many years of days:
My humble quill, to no such task aspires,
Only I mourn, with deep-deep-sighing groans,
Yet could I wish the other might be done;
Though all the
Muses
were employ'd at once,
And write as long as
Helicon
would run,
But oh, I fear the
Spring's
already dry,
Or else why flagges my lazy
Muse
so low?
Why vent I such dull-sprighted
Poesy,
Surely 'tis sunk; I lie, it is not so:
For how ist likely that should want supplies,
When all we feed it with our weeping eyes.
Eleg. 28
May not I liken
London
now to
Troy,
As she was that same day she lost her
Hector?
When proud
Achilles
spoiled her of her joy
(And triumphit on her losses) being victor?
May not I liken
Henry
to that
Greek,
That having a whole world unto his share,
Entended other worlds to go and seek,
Oh no; I may not, they unworthy are.
Say, whereto
London?
whereto then shall I
Compare that sweet departed Prince, and thee?
Of him the King bewailed by
Jeremiah,
And sad
Megiddon
shall thy pattern be.
Megiddon
said I? rather no
Gehinnon,
For thy grief's more then that of
Hadadrinon.
Eleg. 29.
Past by the wall of his forsaken Park,
Did not the very grove seem to complain,
With a still murmur, and to look more dark?
Did not those pleasant walls (oh pleasing then
Whilst there he (healthful) used to resort)
Look like the shades of
Death,
nere some soul den?
And that place there, where once he kept his Court,
Did it not at his parting seem to sink?
And all forsake it like a cave of sprights?
Did not the earth beneath his Chariot shrink,
As grieved for the loss of our delights?
Yea his dumb Steed, that erst for none would tarry,
Pac'd slow, as if he scarce himself could carry.
Eleg. 30.
But oh! when it approachit thempaled Court,
Where
Mars
himself enuid'e his future glory,
And whither he in arms did oft resort,
My heart conceived a right tragick story.
Whither great Prince, oh whither doest thou go!
(Me thought the very place thus seemed to say)
Why in black robes art thou attended so?
Do not, (oh do not) make such hast away.
But art thou Captiue, and in triumph too?
Oh me! and worse too, live-les, breath-less, dead.
How could the monster death this mischief do?
Surely the coward took thee in thy bed,
For whilst that thou wert armed within my list,
He dared not meet thee like a Martialist.
Eleg. 31.
Alas, who now shall grace my turnaments:
Or honor me with deeds of chiualrie?
What shall become of all my merriments,
My Ceremonies, shows of Heraldry
And other Rites? who, who shall now adorn
Thy Sisters Nuptials with so sweet a presence?
Wilt thou forsake us, leave us quite forlorn;
And of all joy at once make a defeasance?
Was this the time picked out by destiny?
Farewell dear Prince then, since thou wilt be gone,
In spite of death go live eternally,
Exempt from sorrow, whilst we mortals mone:
But this ill hap shall teach me for to fear
When we are joyful'st, there's most sorrow nere.
Elig. 32
Then, as he past along you might espy
How the grieu'd vulgar that shed many a tear,
Cast after, an unwilling parting eye,
As loath to loose the sight they held so dear;
When they had lost the figure of thy face
Then they beheld his robes; his Chariot then;
Which being hid, their look aimed at the place
Still longing to behold him once agen,
But when he was quite past, and they could find
No object to employ their sight upon,
Sorrow became more busy with the mind,
And drew an Army of sad passions on;
Which made them so particularly mone,
Each amongst thousands seemed as if alone.
Eleg: 33.
And well might we of weakest substance melt,
With tender passion for his timeles end,
Since (as it seemed) the purer bodies felt
Some grief, for this their sweet departed friend;
The Sun wrapped up in clouds of mournful black,
Frown'd as displeased, with such a heinous deed,
And would have staid, or turned his horses back,
If Nature had not forced him on with speed:
Yea and the Heavens wept a pearly dew,
Like very tears, not so as if it rained.
His Grand-sires tombs as if the stones did rue
Our woeful losses; were with moisture stained:
Yea (either 'twas my easy mind's belief)
Or all things were disposed unto grief.
Eleg. 34
Black was
White-hall.
The windows that did shine,
And double glazed were with beauties bright,
Which Sun-like erst did dim the gazers eyne,
As if that from within them came the light.
Those to my thinking seemed nothing fair,
And were obscured with woe, as they had been
Hung all with sack or sable-cloth of hair,
Griefe was without, and soit appeared within,
Great was the multitude, yet quiet though
As if they were attentive unto sorrow:
The very winds did then forbear to blow,
The time of night her stilnes seemed to borrow,
Yea all the troupe past slow, as loath to rend
The earth that should embrace their Lord and friend.
Eleg. 35.
Me thought ere while I saw Prince
Henries
arms,
Aduancit above the Capitol of
Rome,
And his keine blade, in spite of steel or charms,
Give many mighty enemies their doom,
Yea I had many
Hopes,
but now I see
they are ordained to be another's task:
Yet of the
Stewards
line a branche shall be
T'advance beyond the
Alps
his plumed cask,
Then I perhaps, that now tune dole-full lays:
Amongst their zealous triumphs may presume
For to endite some petty Captains praise,
Mean while I will some other work assume,
Or rather since my hope-fulst patron's dead,
Go to some desert and there hide my head.
Eleg. 36.
Had he been but my
Prince
and wanted all
Those ornaments of
Virtue
that so graced him,
My love and life had both been at his call,
For that his
Fortune
had above us placed him:
But his rare hopefulnes, his flying
Fame,
His knowledge, and his honest policy,
His courage much admired, his very name,
His public love, and private curiesie:
Ioyn'd with religious fiermnes, might have moved
Pale
Envy
to have praised him, and sure he,
Had he been of mean birth; had been beloved:
For trust me, his sweet parts so rauishit me,
That (if I err, yet pardon me therefore)
I loved him as my
Prince:
as
Henry
more.
Eleg. 37.
Me thought his Royal person did fore-tell,
A Kingly statelines, from all pride clear:
His look magistick, seemed to compel
All men to love him rather then to fear.
And yet though he were every good man's joy,
And the alonely comfort of his own,
His very name with terror did annoy,
His foreign foes so far as he was known.
Hell
droupt for fear, the turkie
Mone
looked pale,
Spain
trembled, and the most tempestious sea
(Where
Behemoth
the
Babylonish
Whale,
Keepes all his bloody and imperious plea)
Was swollen with rage, for fear he'd stop the tide,
Of her ore-daring and insulting pride.
Elegi. 38.
For amongst diverse
Virtues
rare to find,
Though many I observed, I marked none more
Then in
Religion
his firm constant mind;
Which I notcht deeply on
Remembrance
score.
And that made
Romists
for his fortunes sory:
When therefore they shall hear of this ill hap,
Those Mints of mischieses will extremely glory,
And it may be 'twas by a Popish trap.
Yet boast not
Babel;
thou insultst in vain,
Thou hast not yet obtained the victory;
We have a
Prince
still, and our King doth reign,
So shall his seed, and their posterity.
For know; God that that loves his, & their good tenders
Will never leave his faith, without defenders.
Eleg. 39.
Amidst our sacred sports, that very season,
Whilst for our Country and beloved
James:
Preserued from that hell-bred powder-treason;
We rung and sung with showtes, and joyful flames:
Me thought upon the sudden I espide
Rome's
damned fiends, an antique dance begin:
The
Furies
led it that our bliss enui'de,
And at our rites the hell-hounds seemed to grinne
How now thought I! more plots! and with that thought
Prince Henry; dead,
I plainly hear'd one cry:
O Lord (quoth I) now they have that they sought,
Yet let not our gladst-day, our sadst-day die.
God seemed to hear, for he to ease our sorrow,
Reuiu'd that day, to die again the morrow.
Eleg. 40.
But
Britain, Britain,
tell me, O tell me this,
What was the reason thy chief curse befell
So just upon the time of thy chief bliss?
Dost thou not know it? hear me then, I will tell:
Thou wert not half-half thankful for his care
And mercy that so well preserved thee,
His own he never did so often spare:
Yea he thy Lord, himself hath served thee,
Yet
Laodicea
thou, nor hot nor cold
Secure, and careless dost not yet repent,
Thou wilt be ever over-daring bold:
Till thou hast vengeance, upon vengeance hent,
But (oh) see how
Hipocrisie
doth reign:
I villain, that am worst, do first complain.
Eleg. 41.
A foul consuming Pestilence did waste,
And lately spoiled thee
England
to thy terror;
But now alas, a greater plague thou hast,
Because in time thou couldest not see thy error.
Hard
Frosts
thy fields and Gardens have deflowered,
Hot
Summers
hath thy fruits Consumption been,
Fier many places of thee hath deuowred,
And all fore-warnings to repent thy sin.
Yet still thou didst deferit and careless sleep,
Which heau'n perceuing with black clouds did frown,
And into floods for very anger weep,
Yea the salt Sea, a part of thee did drown.
She drowned a part (but oh that part was small)
No tears more salt, have over-whelm'd us all.
Elegi. 42.
Say why was
Henryes
Herse so glorious?
And his sad
Funeral
so full of state?
Why went he to his Tomb as one victorious:
Seeming as blith, as when he lived of late?
What needed all that
Cerimonious
show?
And that dead-living Image which they bare?
Could not
Rememberance
make us smart enough,
Vnles we did a fresh renew it there?
What was it, but some antique curious rite,
Only to feed the vain beholders eyes
To make men in their sorrows more delight,
Or may we rather on it moralize?
Yes, yes, it showed that though he wanted breath,
Yet he should ride in triumph over death.
Eleg. 43.
How welcome now would our dear
Henry
be,
After these griefs were he no more then straid;
And thus deemed dead, but fie what
Fantasie,
Feedes my vain thought on?
Fate
hath that denai'd.
But since he's gone, we now can call to mind,
His latest words, and whereto they did tend:
Yea now our blunt capacities can find,
They plainly did prognosticate his end.
Beside, we find out
Prophesies
of old,
And would persuade our selves twas know of yore
By skillful Wyzards: and by them fore-told,
But then why found we not so much before?
Oh mark this ever, we never know our state,
Nor see our loss before it be too late.
Eleg. 44.
From passion thus, to passion could I run,
Till I had over-run a world of words,
My
Muse
might she be heard would nere have done,
The subject, matter infruit affords.
But there's a mean in all; with too much grieving
We must not of God's providence despair
Like cursed
Pagans,
or men unbelieving,
It is true, the
Hopes
that we have lost were fair:
But we beheld him with an outward eye,
And though he in our sight most worthy seemed,
Yet God saw more, whose secrets none can spy,
And finds another whom we less esteemed:
So
Iesses
eldest
Sons
had most renown,
But little
David
did obtain the Crown.
Eleg. 45.
Let us our trust alone in God repose,
Since
Princes
fail, and maugre
Turk
or
Pope,
He will provide one that shall quail our foes,
We saw he did it, when we had less hope:
Let's place our
Ioyes
in him and weep for sin,
Yea let's in him amend it, and foresee,
(If loss of earthly
Hope
hath grievous been)
How great the loss of heavens true
Ioyes
may be:
This if we do God will stretch forth his hand,
To stop these plagues he did intend to bring,
And pour such blessings on this mournful Land,
We shall for
IO, Haleluiah
sing,
And our dear
JAMES,
if we herein persevere,
Shall have a
Son
to grace his throne forever.
AN EPITAPH UPON THE MOST HOPE-FVLL AND ALL-VERTVOVS, Henry, Prince of Wales.
STay
Trauailer,
and read; didst never hear
In all thy journeys any news nor tales,
Of a great
Heros,
to the world once dear,
They called him
Henry
the brave
Prince of Wales?
Look here, within this little place he lies,
Even he that was the
Universal Hope:
And almost made this I will
Idolatrize,
See, he's contented with a little scope.
His Courtiers idle flatteries did chide,
(Who termed him both the God of sea and land)
By showing he could not command the
Tide:
So this, to mock vain
Hopes,
in him began
Dide; and here lies, to show he was a man.
A SVPPOSED INTER-LOCVTION BETWEENE the Spirit of Prince Henry, and great Britain.
Bri.
Awake brave
Prince,
thou dost thy country wrong
Shake off thy slumber, thou hast slept too long,
Open thy eye-lids and raise up thy head,
Thy
Country
and thy friends suppose thee dead.
Look up, look up, the days are grown more short,
Thy
Officers
prepare to leave thy Court.
The stains of sorrow are in every face,
And
Charles
is called upon to take thy
Place.
Awake I say in time, awake the rather,
Least
Melancholy
hurt thy Royal
Father.
Thy weeping
Mother
wails, and wrings her hands,
Thy
Brother,
and thy
Sister
mourning stands;
The want' of that sweet company of thine,
Inly
•
orments the loving
Prince
of
Rhine:
The
Beauties
of the Court are sullied or'e,
They seem not cheerful as they did before.
The heavy
Clergy,
in their Pulpits mourn,
And thy
Attendants
look like men forlorn.
Once more (I say) sweet Prince once more arise,
See how the tears have drown my watery eyes,
All my sweet tunes and former signs of gladness
Are turned to
Elegies
and Songs of sadness.
The
Trumpet
which still groans makes no rebound,
And
Dump
is all the cheerful
Drum
can sound:
Thy mournful
Wales
with doleful rumors rings,
And
Oh Guay Vrimaugh, oh guay vrimaugh
sings:
Yea
Ireland
too, as justly sad as we
Cries loud
Oh hone, oh hone,
my
Cram a cree.
But more
Rome's Locusts
do begin to swarm,
their courage now with stronger
Hopes
they arm,
And taking hold of this thy
Trans-mutation,
Thy plot again to sue for toleration.
Yea
Hell
to double this, our sorrows weight
Is new contriving of old
Eighty-eight.
Come then and stand against it to defend us:
Or else her guile, her plots, or force will end us.
This last-last time sweet
Prince
I bid thee rise,
My
Britons
droup already: each man flies,
And if thou save us not from our great foes,
They quickly will effect our overthrows.
Oh yet he moves not up his living head,
And now I sear indeed he's dead.
Sp.
he's dead.
Brit.
What voice was that, which from the vaulted roof,
Of my last words did make so plain a proof?
What was it seemed to speak above me so,
And says
he's dead?
wast
Echo,
yea or no.
Sp.
no.
Brit.
What is it some disposed to flout my mone,
Appeare: Hast thou a body, or hast none?
Sp.
none.
Brit.
Sure some illusion, oh what art? come hither
My
Princes
ghost, or fiend, or neither.
Sp.
neither.
Brit.
Indeed his Ghost in heaven rests I know,
Art thou some
Angel
for him, is it so?
Sp.
so.
Brit.
Do not my Real griefs with visions feed,
In earnest speak, art so indeed?
Sp.
indeed.
Brit.
What power sent thee now into my Coast,
Was it my
Darling Henry's Ghost?
Sp.
's
Ghost.
Brit.
Th'art welcome then, thy presence 'grateful is:
But tell me, lives he happily in bliss:
Sp.
y's.
Brit.
If so much of thee may be understood,
Is the intent of this thy coming good?
Sp
good.
Brit.
Say, hath he there the
Fame
that here he had,
Or doth the place unto his glory add?
Sp.
add.
Brit.
May I demand what thy good errants be?
To whom is that he told to thee?
Sp.
to thee.
Brit.
Oh doth he mind me yet, sweet Spirit say,
What is thy message? I will obey:
Sp.
Obey.
Brit.
I will not to my power one tittle miss,
Do but command, and say do this:
Sp.
do this.
Brit.
But stay, it seems that thou hast made thy choice,
To speak with
Echo's
most imperfect voice:
In Plainer-wise declare why thou art sent,
That I may hear with more content.
Sp.
content.
The Spirit leaves his Echo
and speaks
on.
Spirit.
THen hear me
Britain,
hear me and believe
Thy
Henries
there now where he cannot grieve.
He is not subject to the sly invasion
Of any human, or corrupted
Passion.
For then; (although he sorrow now forbears)
He would have wept himself, to see thy tears.
But he; (as good
Saints
are) of joys partaker,
Is Ielous of the glory of his maker:
And though the
Saints
of
Rome
may take it to them,
(Much help to their damnation it will do them)
He will not on his
Masters
right presume
Nor his small'st due unto himself assume.
And therefore
Britain,
in the name of God,
And on the pain of his reuengfull rod;
He here coniures thee in thy tribulation,
To make to God alone thy invocation:
Who took him from thee, that but late was living,
For too much trust, unto his weakness giving.
Yet cal'st thou on thy
Prince
still; as if he,
Could either
Savior
or
Redeemer
be:
Thou tell'st him of the wicked
Whore
of
Rome,
As if that he were
Judge
to give her doom.
But thou mightest see, were not thy sight so dim
Thou makest mean-while another
Whore
of him:
For what ist for a
Creatures
aid to cry,
But spirits whoredom? (that's Idolatry)
Their most unpleasing breath that so invoke,
The passage of
Jehovah's
mercies choke:
And therefore if thy sorrows shall have end,
To God thou must thy whole devotions bend.
Then will thy
King,
that he leave off to Mone
God hath tane
His,
yet left him more then one.
And that he hath not so severely done,
As when he crau'd the
Hebrews
only son,
Because, beside this little blessed store,
There's yet a possibility of more.
Go tell the
Queen
his mother that's lamenting,
There is no cause of that her discontenting.
And say there is another in his place,
Shall do his loving Sisters nuptialls grace.
Enforme the
Palatine,
his
Nymph
of
Thame
Shall give his glorious
Rhyne
a treble fame,
But unto
Charles,
to whom he leaves his place,
Let this related be in any case.
Tell him he may a full possession take
Of what his brother did so late forsake,
But bid him look what to his place is due,
And every vice in general eschew:
Let him consider why he was his Brother,
And placit above so many thousand other.
Great honors have great burdens: if y'are high,
The stricter's your account, and the more nigh:
Let him shun flatterers at any hand,
And ever firmly in
Religion
stand.
Gird on his sword, call for
Jehovah's
might,
Keep a good Conscience, fight the
Lambs
great fight,
For when his Father shall surrender make,
The
Faiths
protection he must under-take.
Then
Charles
take heed, for thou shalt hear a-far
Some cry peace, peace, that have their hearts on war.
Let
Policy Religion
obey,
But let not
Policy, Religion
sway:
Shut from thy counsels such as have professed
The worship of that
Antichristian
beast.
For howsoe're they dawbit with colors trim,
Their han ds do bear his mark, their heart's on him,
And though they seem to seek the Commons
Weale,
It is but the Monsters deadly wound to heal.
Bannish all
Romish
Statists, do not sup,
Of that pide-painted
Drabbs
infectious Cup,
Yea use thy utmost strength, and all thy power
To scatter them that would build
Babels
tower,
Thou must sometime be judge of equity;
And oft survey e'ne thine own family:
That at thy table none partaker be,
That will not at Christ's board partake with thee:
The Lord's great day is near, tis nere at hand,
Unto thy combat see thou bravely stand.
For him that overcomes,
Christ
keeps a Crown,
And the greatest Conquest hath the greatest renown.
Be merciful, and yet in mercy just:
Chase from thy Court both wantonness and lust:
Disguised fashions from the Land casheare,
Women may women; and men men appear.
The wide-wide mouth of the blasphemer tears
His passage unto God, through all the Spheres,
Prouoking him, to turn his peace-full word
Into a bloody double-edged sword:
But cut his tongue, the Clapper of damnation,
He may fright others with his
Vlulation.
The Drunkard, and Adulterer, from whence
Proceeds the cause of dearth and pestilence,
Punish with loss of substance, and of limb,
He rather maimed unto Heaven may climb
Then tumble whole to
Hell,
and by his sin,
Endanger the whole state he liveth in:
Down, down with pride, and overthrow
Ambition;
Grace true devotion, root out superstition,
Love them that love the
Truth,
and
Virtue
graces,
Let
Honesty,
not wealth, obtain great places,
Begin but such a course, and so persevere,
Thou shalt have love here, and true bliss forever:
Thus much for thy new
Prince;
now this to thee,
Britain;
It shall thy charge and duty be,
To tell him now what thou hast heard me say,
And whensoever he commands, obey:
So if thou wilt in mind this counsel bear;
Unto thy state have due regard and care,
And without stay unto amendment hie,
Thou shalt be dear to those, to whom I fly.
Brit.
Oh stay, and do not leave me yet alone.
Spi.
My errant's at an end, I must be gone.
Brit.
Go then, but let me ask one word before.
Spi.
My speech now fails, I may discourse no more.
Brit.
Yet let me crave thus much, if so I may,
By
Echo
thou reply to what I say.
Spi.
Say.
Brit.
First tell me, for his sake thou count'st most dear,
Is
Bables
fall and
Jacob's
rising near?
Spi.
Neare.
Brit.
Canst thou declare what day that work shall end,
Or rather must we yet attend?
Spi.
Attend.
Brit.
Some land must yield a Prince, that blow to strike,
May I be that same land or no, i'st like?
Spi.
Like.
Brit.
Then therefore tis that
Rome
bear us such spite:
Is she not not plotting now, to wrong our right:
Sp.
right
Brit.
But from her mischiefs and her hands impure
Cant'st thou our safe deliverance assure?
Spi.
sure.
Brit.
Then notwithstanding this late loss befell,
And we feared much, I trust 'tis well.
Spi.
It is well.
Brit.
Then fly thou to thy place, if this be true,
Thou God be praised, and Griefes adue.
Spi.
Adue.
A Sonnet of Death, composed in Latin Rimes, and Paraphrastically translated into the same kind of verse, both, by the former Author.
Heûs heûs, Mors percutit, & importune,
Quam nu nquam praeterit vllus impune.
Abite Medici, non est sanabile
Hoc Vulnus
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
; sed incurabile.
Harke, hark,
Death
knocks us up, with importunity,
Ther's none shall ever make boast of impunity.
The
Doctor
toils in vain, man's life's not durable,
No med'cine can prevail, this wound's incurable:
Quid picti dominûm prosunt fauores?
Ficti quid Hominum iuuant amores?
Nec mundi vanit as, nec Pompa Curiae,
Potest resistor Mortis iniuriae.
What will the countenance of Lord's, or Noble-men
Or idle people's love, help or avail thee then?
Nor worlds bravery, nor yet Court vanity,
Can stay this Monsters hand, foe to humanity.
Non Cur at splendidum, nec Venerabile;
Nec pectus candidum quamvis amabile:
Decumbunt
Principes
iniquo vulnere,
Heu par cit nemini, quin strauit puluere.
He knows no reverence, nor cares for any state,
Sweet beauties move him not, though neu'r so delicate,
Princes must sto ope to him, he rides on martially,
And spares not any man, but strikes impartially.
Mercede diuitis nil morat Cupidi,
Nec prece pauperit (si or at) miseri,
Et frustra fallere tentas ingenio.
Surda Rethorici Mors est eloquio.
The rich-man's money-bags are no persuasion,
The beggars woeful cry, stirs up no passion,
He'le not beguiled be, by any fallacy,
Nor yield to
Rethorick,
Wit, Art, nor Policy.
Aspectu Pallida, vultu terribilis;
Est tamen valida, Mors inuincibilis:
Et su as tibias (necest formalis)
Vir omnis sequitur, si sit mortalis.
His look's both pale and wan, yet doth it terrify,
He masters any man (alas what remedy)
He's nothing curious which way the measures be,
But all dance after him, that hear his melody.
At oh! oh horrida, laetans necando,
Ruit incognita; non scimus quando:
Et statim perdîtur, haec mundigloria
Vita sic fragilis, sic transitoria.
But woe! of all the rest this seems most terrible,
He comes when we know least, and then, invisible,
Then quite there endeth, all worldly prosperity,
Such is this life's estate, such his severity.
Ergo vos incolae, terrarum timidi,
Este solicits, vos, oh vos miseri!
Sic quamuis subita, haec ecarnalibus,
Reddet vos similes, dijs immortalibus.
Then oh you wretched men, since this is evident,
See you more careful be, oh be more provident,
And when he takes this life, full of incertaintie;
•
ou shall live ever more to all eternity.
FINIS.