GREAT BRITTANS Mourning Garment.
GIVEN To all faithfull sorrowfull Subiects at the Funerall Of Prince HENRY.
LONDON. Imprinted by G. Eld for Arthur Ionson. 1612.
To the Honorable Knight, Sir DAVID MVRRAY.
AND To the other Nobly discended, and honorably minded followers of the late deceased Prince HENRY.
ON whom shall I these funerall notes bestow,
Newly bedeaw'd & hallowed with my teares?
But on you chiefly, for your secret woe
The heauiest burthen of our sorrow beares;
We but as strangers on the shore lament,
A common ship-wracke, but you that did owe
Your seruice to that golden vessel (rent)
What wonder if your griefes doe ouer-flow?
By how much greater your faire fortunes were,
The losse is so much greater you sustaine,
We meaner men may our mischances beare
With lesser trouble, and more equall paine,
Yet spare your teares though you haue cause to mone
It is not meete you should lament alone.
II.
MElpomene, and all you sacred brood,
Of Mnemosine with liuing Lawrell crown'd,
You that haue fill'd your veins with heauenly foode
And scorne to pray vpon the barraine ground,
Helpe me these Funerall Anthems to resound.
For his sweet soule, who liuing lou'd you deere
But now is dead, and other Saints hath found,
Leauing you to lament his fortunes here.
Strow Cypresse, and pale Violets on his Tombe,
And on his faire Crest fixe a Crowne of Bayes
Immortall, That who'euer there doth come
May view the Ensignes of his endlesse praise:
And let some Spirit garde the holy Cell,
Wherin the bones of that braue Prince shal dwel.
III.
YOu gentle spirits that turne not your eyes
From common griefs, nor are of mettall made
Such as these Iron Ages do comprise;
Come see, wherein our humane glory lies:
See liuing vertues in death daily fade,
Wither'd and wasted in th'vnthankfull graue:
For as a flower, or Sommers passing shade;
Such is the hope and fortune worldlings haue:
Oh noble Prince, thy daies but new begun,
And that same Ensign long since brought frō France
By Edward the black-Prince, third Edwards Sonne,
Being by thee but lately re-aduanc't;
Why should such honor into darknes goe,
And leaue so many friends so full of woe?
IIII.
OH froward Saturne, and maleuolent,
That euery blooming glory dost enuie,
And with thy frosts dost nip the buds yet pent
In their greene bowers through thy vilde Iealousie,
And hatefull malice to all liuing things.
Why dost thou spread on vs thy dismall light
Couering our fairest flowers with thy cold wings?
How farre art thou vnlike to Phoebus bright,
That ioyes to see the smallest blossom thriue,
And throwes his gentle light on euery thing?
But thou, peruerse, dost all of life depriue,
Man, Beast, and Plant thou dost to ruine bring:
Vnlucky Starre, albeit thou thought'st him fit
To stoop to thee, thou might'st haue spar'd him yet.
V.
ANd you foule wrinckled destinies that do sit,
In darknes to depriue the world of light
Making the thread, and sodaine mangling it,
[...]hrough peeuish rancour, and peruerse despight.
Your hand appeares in this our Tragedie,
The wound we feele, by your sharp edge was made,
That edge which cut the golden twist so nigh
Of our Prince HENRY, who in liueles shade
As yet amased of his sodaine change
Lookes for those louing friends whom he lov'd best;
But when he sees himselfe so farre estrang'd,
He Yeilds his spirit to eternall rest:
Hard-hearted fates, that him of life depriue,
That leaues so many mournfull friends aliue.
VI.
SAd Melancholy lead me to the Caue
Where thy black Incense and dim Tapers burne,
Let me some darke and hollow corner haue,
Where desolate my sorrowes I may mourne:
And let thy heauiest Musick softly sound
Vnto the doleful songs that I recite;
And euer let this direfull voice rebound
Through the vast den: Ah dead is Britans light;
Then if thy heart be with compassion mou'd
Of my Laments, come rest thy self by me,
And mourne with me, for thou hast euer lov'd
To beare a part in euery Tragedie:
And if to plaints thou wilt inure thy mind,
Thou neuer couldst a fitter season finde.
VII.
WHo in some earthly Paradice hath espide,
And long time view'd with pleasure of his eye
A well growne Plant, adorn'd on euery side
With beautious blossomes lifted vp on high,
Ready when his due season shall require,
To yeild the sweet fruite of his boasted flowers,
But all on sodaine with heauens liquid fire
Is blasted, and on earth vntimely powers,
His vnripe glorie by his Fate preuented:
Who such a luckles spectacle hath knowne;
Let him compare the fortune then presented
Vnto Prince HENRIES Fate, and let him mone
That he to leaue all Tropheis now is seene,
Whose Crest of late was honored with, ICH Dien.
VIII.
THey that shall see Prince HENRIES sad built Tomb,
And think his corps are only shrouded there,
Erre farre from truth, nor seem to vnderstand
How many vertues in that Worthy were.
A thousand graces with him buried lie,
A thousand Triumphs, and a thousand loues,
With him the life of honor seems to die,
And that braue troop of Nymphs that from the groues
Were wont to tread the measures through the green;
Since Henries death into dark caues are fled,
Nor euer since of mortall eye were seene,
So that the world reports that they are dead,,
And sooth, I know not, but they lov'd him so,
That 'tis no wonder if they died for woe.
IX.
EVen as the substance of a shooting star
Grown great by Time, now ready with new light
Throughout the world to spread his glory farre,
And emulate the raies of Titan bright,
Soone as the hoped fire hath giuen him powre,
To shew his glory, and aloft to shine,
Euen in a moment in the selfe-same hower,
His golden head does downe to earth encline;
And those Illustrious beams which lately sent
Such star-like brightnes do to darknes turne,
And all his glorious hope so quickly spent,
Leaues but a smoaky cloud his end to mourne,
So did Prince HENRY in his glory fall,
And left vs nothing but his funerall.
X
YOu sacred Forrests, and you spotles streams
That part the flowry medowes with your fall,
You water-Nymphes and Ladies of the Tea'ms,
And thou dread Thamesis, mother of them all;
With brinish teares weep in your sandy Ford:
Weep fields, and groues, and you poore Driads weep,
The sodaine Funerall of our Brittish Lord,
Whose eyes are now clos'd vp in iron sleepe.
Both trees, and streams, lament his loss that lov'd
Your siluer waters, and wide spreading shades,
But now is farre away from you remoov'd,
Vnto a Paradice that neuer fades,
There in eternall happinesse to remaine,
But we in sorrow here, and ceasless paine.
XI.
OH how vncertaine are the daies of Man?
How many dangers vndermine our ioyes?
Suppose we shun the stormy Ocean,
Nor stand agast at Cannons fearefull noise,
Admit we put Achilles Armour on,
That neuer could be pierc't by mortall Iron,
Or liue enclos'd in towres of brasse or stone,
Such as no power of enemy can enuiron.
Yet are we not secure from stroake of death,
Our foe we nourish euen in our breasts,
The venemous disease that stops our breath:
Oh learne to cast out such vngratefull guests,
Thy fortunes Henry had not falne out so,
If thou hadst fear'd none but an outward foe.
XII.
AWake Euterpe my dull drooping Song
With thy melodious thundring blastes awhile:
Helpe thou my fainting fury to prolong,
And powre new fire into my frozen stile:
Then like a bould enchaunter I will call,
The mournfull shadowes from infernall deepe,
They know best how t'adorne a Funerall
Or what rights doe belong to them that sleepe.
No: Rest you ghosts, possesse your quiet peace,
My griefes forbid me to disturbe the dead,
And rest fond teares, and fruitlesse Dirges cease,
But thou that with thy Trumpet shril dost spread
The praise of worthies (oh impartiall fame)
Helpe me to celebrate Prince Henries name.
XIII.
WHat grace, what fortuns could our hearts inuent
While yet Prince H. in his cradel lay?
That did not following ioyne in one consent
To make him fortunate to his dying day.
Shal I recount the honours with him borne,
Which from his worthy Ancestors were deriu'd?
Or those rare vertues, which his mind adorn'd?
Or shall these notes his man-like actions praise;
(Whereof too soone our senses are depriu'd?)
Or comely gestures when he pleasd to grace
The Lordly reuells, and a thousand wayes,
The winding measure with his steps to trace:
I, there my Muse if thou for greefe could stay,
We might passe ouer a long summers day.
XIIII.
YOw holy Angels, and you powers of light,
And you that in old Abrahams bosome rest,
The glad enioyers of Gods glorious sight
Haue you receiu'd your sanctified guest?
Hath Henry the Caelestiall seat obtain'd?
Shines he in roabes of immortality?
And of his well runne race the crowne now gain'd,
Scornes he our earthly Pompe, and Maiesty?
For while his iolly Pilgrimage did last,
His guiltlesse hands were free from bloud, and strife;
Voide of vaine pride, and as the snow new chac't
From her high Mansion, was his thread of life,
True Christian faith endu'd with constant minde,
And vnto such the promise was assign'd.
XV.
VVHereto shall I Prince Henries life compare?
His Infancy eu'n to those beams that shine,
Before the Sunne vnmaskes his visage bare
Beating the shadowes from his goulden eyne.
And those bright houres, that with their temperate heat
Glad the greene earth, and teach the birds to sing,
And Swaines their ancient Carrols to repeat:
Those that present his ripe yeeres in their spring
Thus still with fresh delights, and glory led,
Till the slow shep-heard doth his flock enfould,
And th'euening Sun on the dry earth does spread
New pleasing light, then sodainely behold
Night comes, and chases HENRIES life away,
And makes it like vnto a Sommers day.
XVI.
I Muse from whence these forward tears shold flow
Or when our minde of secret griefe complaines,
Why though vnwilling through our eyes wee show
The inward passion of our hidden paines.
I know our sighes are but the cooling ayre,
Wherewith our fainting heart we doe sustaine,
That els would smother in her owne despaire,
All comfort thankles breathing back againe.
But wherefore Nature should in open view,
Create two fountaines full of liuing source:
Whether so soone as we find cause to rue,
Our Passions make their generall recourse
Who knowes? vnlesse thereby we should reueale
That our true sorrowes we should not conceale.
XVII.
MOther of heauinesse yeeld me one request,
For many drops vpon thine Altar shed,
Since thou thy mournful galleries hast drest
With carefull monuments of th'untimely dead:
To feed with view of their callamities
Thy pensiue humour, and selfe-hating sight,
For there Troyes Queene in painted languor lies,
And forlorne Dido rob'd of her delight
Kneeles on the burning pile: There Mausolus tomb:
There stands Pyrene wept into a spring,
And with his loue Marke Anthony of Rome,
Their griefe in dead imbracements vttering,
Among these spectacles let a Herse bee made
For wofull HENRY that may neuer fade.
XVIII.
ONce more Melpomene grant thy willing aide,
I sing not now of franticke Progne's change,
Nor of the boy transform'd into a maide:
Nor how the girle did like a Heifar range.
Farre sadder notes, my sullen Musicke yeelds,
Farre other dreames afflict my sad repose
Of broken Tombes, and of th' Elisian fields,
And of the scathfull floulds, that Dis enclose.
But let such vaine thoughts vanish with my sleepe,
And of Prince Henries death now let vs sing,
And teach the Rockes on Monas shores to weepe,
And fright the sea with their vast bellowing:
That Neptune hearing of their pitteous cry,
May thinke that all the Westerne world did die.
XIX.
THou shalt not die Prince HENRY, if my songs
Hereafter tuned to a higher key
Can sound the honour that to thee belongs,
With sacred murmur of eternity:
With Cordelion in the Towres of Fame,
And with the dreadfull HENRIES of this land,
(Oh nev'r on earth did sound a mightier name)
Thy meeker Image crown'd with Bayes shall stand:
Then shall my Accents break with more successe,
But now rude grief that no adornment beares
Smothers my notes, and bids me but expresse
A sodaine sorrow with my simple teares:
Sufficeth me while thy sweet Ghost doth sleep,
Long ouer it with watry eyes to weep.
To the sad houshold of Prince HENRY.
IF vertue, goodnes, and a sober life,
If grauity, and wisdome in yong yeeres,
If a thrice honour'd state, voide of all strife
And all good gifts that mans perfection bears,
Could but haue stopt the fatall hand of death,
Then worthy HENRY still had drawn his breath.
Whose flesh and Spirit disioyn'd but for a time,
With stedfast hope parted to meet againe,
His heauenly parts vpwards to heauen do climbe;
His earthly must a while in earth remaine,
Till death hath left to kill, and man to die,
And Time giuen place to all Eternitie.
Fo so the Canon of eternall date,
Hath praeordain'd (things bounded must obey)
Vertue is an immortall estimate,
Which neither Time nor Death can ouer-sway
By her Prince HENRY liues; for vertues fame
Eterniseth his memorable name.
Whose hope-full Age not come to Twenty yeares,
In place of Honor and Authority.
Did beare a burthen in the Countries cares,
That gaue his name an happy Memory.
So iust, so wise, S'vpright in euery thing,
As stopt the venom of foule enuies sting.
You that his friends and houshould followers were,
That saw the sober cariage of his life:
How he him selfe to all estates did beare,
So Nobly minded, and so free from strife.
Oh you and none so well, can sound his praise,
That knew the vpright treadings of his waies.
I doe but sound the Accents of Report,
And sure Report giues him a worthy name,
That from his Cradle liu'd in vertues Court,
Now free from change being registred by fame.
Enioyes in heauen, heauens immortality,
And here on earth, earths happy Memory.
FINIS.