PIETAS IN PATREM, OR A FEVV TEARES VPON THE LAMENTED DEATH OF HIS MOST DEARE, AND LOVING Father RICHARD BARLOW, late of Langill in VVestmooreland, who dyed December 29. Ann. 1636. By THOMAS BARLOW Master of Arts, Fellow of Queenes Coll. in OXON▪ and eldest sonne of his deceased father.
—Sed & lachrymae pondera vocis habent.
OXFORD, Printed by VVilliam Turner. Ann. Dom. 1637.
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Vpon the lamented death of his most deare, and loving father Richard Barlow, late of Langill in VVestmooreland.
MY Father dead? stay, stay report, and tell
This heavy newes by parcells; say the bell
Toules for my dearest father, say that he
Is very sicke, yet his recovery
Is not impossible: pause here, untill
We have digested this; for so it will
Make way for more: and if it must be soe
Say then hee's dead; for by this meanes the woe
Divided may be overcome, which all
At once, might cause another funerall,
And kill us too. Such undivided feares
Might even overwhelme, and drowne with [...] teares
Us, now poore Orphans: who can onely say
Wee had a father. But this kinde delay
I could not have; for it was my hard fate
To heare of's death, (in this unfortunate)
Before his sicknesse: So that all the woe
Which I could either feare, or undergoe,
Seas'd mee at once; that I have cause to be
O'rewhelm'd with teares, and melt with Elegie.
Yet pardon this my sorrow, thou that heares
I lost a father, who deserv'd the teares
Of more then's children: Such a father hee
[Page 2] As many wish, though few injoy: to mee
So deare and tender, that I cannot say
What gratitude requires, much lesse repay.
Well, he is gon, and in him we may see
Our humane frailty, and mortality.
Death knowes no difference; Kings and Subjects have
Their periods, and Exit in the grave.
This lif's a sea wherein we all doe saile,
Some tos'd with waves, some with a gentler gale
Come calmely to the shore: some finde that sea
Which wee Pacifique
[...]
call; yet all must beHurri'd at last into the fatall waves
Of the dead sea
[...]
, and so unto their gravesWith teares transported. For my father he
By no untimely dath, no cruelty
Came to his grave; this blessing he did find,
Where he receiv'd his breath, there he resign'd
It willingly to heaven: nor in the spring,
And morning of his life, nor withering
With too much age, but in those yeares which he
A blessing found, and not a misery.
Thus dy'd my father; nay he is not dead,
Although he be intomb'd, and buried
Deepe in the grave, so that we need not weepe,
He is but go [...] ▪ and sweetly falne asleepe,
" And will againe awake: no good man dyes,
" But as the day-starre sets againe to rise.
'Tis truth; nay 'twas impossible that he
Should dye in that blest time, th' Nativity
Of life it selfe [...]
6.
: no, no that was an houre,Which put a period to all the power
Of death, and th' grave; this did my father see,
With joy of heart; and then desir'd to bee
Free'd from those troubles, and the many woes,
Which sinne begets; and then did thirst for those,
Those better joyes. And having got release
[Page 3] From all those miseries, hee went in peace
To his long long-desired home, where hee
Findes sweetest peace, and immortalitie.
Tho. Barlow.
Vpon my dreame at OXON: which was this.
I being at Oxon: and not knowing that my father was either dead, or sicke, neare about the time he dyed, dreamed hee was dead; and the impression was so violent, that it awoke me; and being awake, I found that, that dreamed-sorrow had caused reall teares, which had strangely wet even the pillow where my head lay.
IT was 'ith' night, when the earth's gloomy shade
Involved had our hemisphere, and made
Deepe silence to the world; when did appeare
Those many glorious lampes, which in that spheare
Are firmely fix'd for ever, that which we
Doe justly call the worlds rich canopie.
Then in the dead of night, when sleepe did close
My weary eyes, and nature did compose
My outward limbes to rest, then did I see
Strange apparitions, and a Tragedie
In which my father acted: I did joy
To see my deare, deare father, though a toy,
A dreame did represent him. But anon
The scene was changed, and amid the throng
My father was to die: it was his fate
(As I conceiv'd) onely to personate
[Page 4] And act a funerall; onely to die
In shew, and in a seeming Tragedie.
But this soone altered, and methought I see
My dearest father dead, cold dead, and wee
All mourning by him; when anon they call
Away, away, come to the funerall.
And then o'rwhelm'd with woe, a thousand feares
And griefes possesse my troubled soule, and teares
Gush from my sleeping eyes; not onely dream'd
And phansi'd teares, but reall; such as stream'd
From true, not fained sorrow; though to me
The ground was onely dreame, and phantasie.
All this I dream'd, and neare about that day,
Wherein my father entered on his way
To bless'd Elysium; where for ever he
Findes sweetest peace, and immortalitie.
Say now profound Philosopher, and you
That ferret natures mysteries; say how
It was but possible my fathers fall
Should so possesse my soule; how's funerall
Should cause such violence of griefe in me,
Who neither heard, nor saw his obsequie?
Can things at such a distance move? can feares
Arise from unknowne danger? or can teares
Such reall teares spring from a cause so small
As bare imagination? can all
Your speculations this knot unty
And give a cause from true Philosophy?
Or was't from higher cause, those powers divine,
Which rule the universe, who doe untwine
The thread of life they visted? was't that I
Might really partake in Elegie
And teares, as well as losse? was't to fulfill
(At least in part) my dying fathers will;
Who often wish'd me there? for thus my heart
Was present at his grave, and bore a part,
[Page 5] In that sad funerall? no, no, so high
Wee need not goe, as sacred extasie,
Or any raptures, to unfold a cause
Of this dream'd-reall sorrow, when the lawes
Of nature will affoord one: we doe see,
In well affected bodies, th' misery
Of any part affects the whole; we know,
In trees the high'st part suffers, if below
The root be perished; when any paine
Torments our head, how suddenly each veine
Each part partakes in sorrow, 'cause from thence
As from a fountaine comes that influence
Which animates the whole. And can hee die
Which gave me life, and beeing, and yet I
Be unaffected still? unlesse from thence
I have a post, or some intelligence
To say he's dead? oh no, it was in mee
Natures just law, and inbred sympathie,
Anticipating knowledge, caus'd those teares
Which did not come from knowne, though reall feares.
Tho: Barlow.
To his most loving Brother R. Barlow upon his Fathers death.
YOur father's gone, and you are left behinde
Heire of his fortunes, may you of his minde,
And vertues too be heire; that men may [...]e
Him still alive in his posterity.
For while the branches spring, while they doe thrive,
And flourish, we doe know the root's alive,
From whence they sprung; although perhaps it be
Deepely inclosed in the earth: so we
[Page 6] Who have our father lost, and in the grave
Inclosed him with sorrow; yet wee have
This happy consolation, that he
Cannot be wholly dead, while's progenie
Survives in health: oh may those branches small
Which yet remaine after his funerall,
Be evidence hee lives! hee lives! may hee
Blest in himselfe, be so in's progeny.
Tho: Barlow.
Apostrophe ad Patrem defunctum.
REst, rest bless'd soule in happinesse, and be
Secur'd from troubles, which mortalitie
In this fraile life doth undergoe: thy minde
Shall those sweet joyes, and speculations finde
Which doe transcend expression: thou shalt know
And feele that happinesse, which we below
Cannot conceive: Ther's that Elysian grove
Where crown'd with joyes, and honour, thou maist rove
With Kings, and Emperors for ever: there
No awfull distance is observed, where
Even all are Kings. Can any one be bound,
To bow to others, whereas all are crown'd
Heires of a Kingdome, where the subjects be
Borne unto diadems, and majestie
Imperiall; there even thousands▪ all
Are first borne to a Monarchy; and shall
Each one inherite all; strange tenure here,
And such a Gavel-kind▪ as other where
Is quite impossible: heires all shall bee,
Yet no division, no posterity
Shall e're succeed unto themselves, but they
Shall be immortall, and for ever stay
[Page 7] Eternall heires of that blest land; no wave
Shall their calme sea inrage; no, they shall have
A gentle gale; no dusky cloud their spheare
Shall e're o'recast, there heaven shall be cleare
For ever: to them that blest Sun shall be
Cause of perpetuall serenity.
Say now poore soule, who art affraid to die,
And tread this way to immortality,
And happinesse; say, say, who would not have
A speedy funerall, and wish a grave
Where he might sleepe? for death doth not annoy▪
But is the happy preface to our joy.
This way's my father gone; upon the shore
Of that blest Canaan now, where he no more
Shall any teares or troubles finde; but be
Perpetuall heire of true felicitie.
Sleepe then blest soule, I will not wrong thee soe,
As wish thee here againe with us in woe.
Injoy that blisse, which we with weary minde
And watery eyes may seeke, but ne'r shall finde,
Doe what we can, nor may we hope, till wee
Dismiss'd from earth doe come to heaven, and thee.
Tho: Barlow.
To his worthy friend Mr Thomas Barlow, sonne of the truly pious and lately deceased Richard Barlow.
ON whom shall I these blubbered lines bestow,
But you good Sir, where such respect I owe?
And on you chiefly, for your secret woe
The burthen of our griefe doth undergoe.
[Page 8] We but as strangers on the shore lament
A common shipwracke: you that vessell rent,
To whom such love and dutie you did owe,
What wonder if your griefes doe overflow?
But spare your teares, though you have cause to mone,
Yet to persist in sorrow you have none.
You see beneath the circuit of the sunne,
All that's made best is instantly undone.
Perhaps the greater is your happinesse,
Because to you it seemeth to be lesse.
It's ill to be too well, ease is disease,
And deadly too, in parts that death doth seize.
Then when in any part of us we joy
More then we should; lest that might us destroy,
Heav'n takes it quickly off (as 'twere by stealth)
And by the want supplies our want of health.
Wipe off those teares, sing Hallelujahs rather,
Greive that you lost, joy that so good, a father.
So good said I? stay muse and that rehearse,
Here is a subject fitting for thy verse.
Too good for us, with graces so inspir'd,
Such heavenly mould the Angels long desir'd,
And therefore they so quickly did transport
His Saint-like soule, to their celestiall Court.
There was no copper in this minerall,
Not counterfeit, nor hypocriticall:
With friends or strangers he us'd no disguise,
His words, his thoughts, his deeds did symbolize.
No harder yron did his temper marre,
Malice to none, no envie, hatred, jarre.
Friendly he was, soft, milde to all; and more
Unkind unto himselfe, then to the poore.
So just, so wise, s'upright in every thing,
As stopt the venome of foule envies sting.
A husband deare, a father tender, kinde,
Though not in gifts, yet in a bounteous minde
[Page 9] Exceeding most, nay all of his estate,
A patterne most compleat to imitate
For parents all, who usually bestow
To children that can drive the cart and plow,
More then to those that set themselves apart,
By study for to gaine some liberall art;
More to those that feed sheep, or hew a blocke,
Then those that labour for to feed Christs flocke.
No disposition such in this rare piece,
Not land, nor corne was spar'd, not oxe, nor fleece,
Nor other thing: whereby he might advance
His sonnes unto a learn'd inheritance.
Heav'n with successe hath blest his care; the same
Your selfe, though silent, doe aloud proclaime.
With Saints above he liveth blessed now,
Below in vertuous deedes, in's fame, in you.
Mathew Wilkinson, Artium Magist. è Coll. Reginae.
Vpon the death of his deare and very loving Vnkle, Rich: Barlow.
I Cannot weepe in verse: one thought of thee
(Deare friend) put's mee quite past all Poetrie:
That language suites not well with griefe; our cryes
Flow not (me thinkes) from pens, so well, as eyes.
No sooner is one word writ, but on it
Downe fall's a teare, and drownes thy name halfe-writ.
Let such as ne'r did know thee, or thy worth,
Goe make themselves knowne thus, and copy forth
Their owne names to their Reader, who may see
Their nimble wit, and riming faculty:
Such merry to yes they best know to bequeath,
[Page 10] Who have no cause to sorrow for thy death.
Here then my dumbe-strucke muse begg's silence; shee
For want of wordes, thus weepes an Elegie.
[Hee's dead.] Nay say not so; oh doe not wound
Our eares with that sad tale: that killing sound
Must by degrees sinke gently into our hearts:
Speake it not all at once: let's have't by parts,
Say hee's not well: stop there; let us first trye
To heare the Prologue, then the Tragedy:
Tell us not yet, [hee's dead:] or if hee bee,
Tell't in a whisper, or uncertaintie:
Wee'l not beleeve it else: wee needes must sticke
To thinke him dead, till first wee heare hee's sicke.
Oh! but it is too true; onely wee doe
Faigne the report false, 'cause we wish it soe.
It was thy pious policy, to steale
A close departure; Least our prayers and zeale
Might have prevail'd with heaven; and so have gain'd
Thy terme of dayes inlarg'd; and thee detain'd
From blisse: thus thus our too too, officious tongue
Out of fond kindnesse might have done thee wrong.
Let us then chide thy goodnesse: this was it
Tooke thee from us: hadst thou not beene more fit
For that celestiall Quire of Angels, then
The further company of sinfull men,
Thou hadst alas—. Alas my mazed woe
Begin's againe to wish thee here below.
Nay rest, (blest soule) 'twill be the better way,
That wee strive to come to thee, and thou stay:
Herein thy death us benefit's, that wee
Now long the more for heaven to be with thee.
Tho: Smith Artium Bac. & Coll. Reginae Oxon: Alumnus.
To the sad memory of his late deceased deare father, Richard Barlow.
WHere shall I first begin? or, if I lend
My griefe a tongue, where shall I make an end?
Mee-thinkes those farewell-teares, which lately I
Spy'd trickling from your eyes, teach mee to cry;
Mee-thinkes even that last blessing which you gave,
Seem's a curse, 'cause the last that I must have.
Had I beene present, when your feaver came,
And burning fits, my teares had quench't that flame;
Had I beene present—. Oh let mee here pause
T' expostulate: tell me, what was the cause
That
[...]
then I was dismiss'd? was it that IMight practice here to write an Elegie?
To pen your Epitaph? nay, was't not rather
'Cause thus you would provide me of a father?
Oh but such tokens of your providence,
Whiles they should cure my wound, renew the sense.
Griefe strikes me dumbe: for want of wordes and art,
I'le teach my eyes to speake the other part.
George Barlow youngest sonne of his deceased father.
Vpon the much lamented death of R. B.
HEE's dead! and must we therefore grieve and mourne▪
'Twere to repine that ever he was borne.
When weake old age doth gently fall asleepe,
'Tis foule ingratitude to cry and weepe.
Let tender wither'd plants deserve our teares;
Which dead our forward hopes of fruitfull yeares:
[Page 12] Which quickly taken off, and onely knowne,
Are in a minute lopt, as soone as showne.
Here 'tis not so; full distance sure and meete
His swathings sunders from his winding sheete.
Oh not on thy deare hearse, or thy fresh dust,
Powre we these teares! As if here death unjust
Had wrong'd thee, in exalting thee; and bin
Unmercifull, that from these times of sin
Hath free'd thy longing soule. Alas wee know
'Twas time for thee, for heaven long agoe.
'Tis for our sakes we weepe; for whom God stay'd
And held thy soule off; and this burden lay'd
Of a long life upon thee, that so wee
Might by thy stay be drawne for companie,
That now are punisht in thy blisse, and see
Gods wrath to us in being good to thee.
To us thou still dyest young, and this thy slight
Seemes earely taken, though not ta'ne till night.
To our desires alas! what's one short span
Whole natures date, for want of thee good man?
Whom many dayes and yeares, yea no time could
Make tedious to us; whom no age make old.
But is he dead then? true, nay false it is,
He did not dye, that in eternall blisse
For life of comfort, chang'd but lifes annoy,
And thus he dyed, and thus he lives in joy.
Hee dyed in shew then; but yet lives indeed
In heaven, and hearts of good men. Dy'd, to speed
Of glory here: and in that surer place
To weare a crowne of ever living grace.
Then dye hee never can while vertue lives,
For He and She are still correlatives.
Sic deflevit Thomas Cleburne, Art. Bac. Coll. Reg. Alumnus.
Vpon the much lamented death of the truly religious Richard Barlow.
IS't you most dreadfull powers, ye sisters three,
That doe unlace each mortall arterie?
That shiver sinewes, rending every veine,
Divorcing soule and body, cut in twaine
This Microcosme? yea; brag not tho; one can
Rebuild (ô blisse) that curious frame of man,
And raise from out our common mothers lap,
Our drowsie corps, after a winters nap.
Let's wade with pen, or in a watrish ray,
Or at least sigh a word, he's dead; the day
Is shut up in a shade, whose brightest beames
Did shine on many, hence now flow these streames
Of brackish water to put out our light,
And spreades the curtaines of the darkesome night,
Let's rest content, he heavenly joyes doth gaine,
He liv'd to dye, and dy'd to live againe:
Farewell (blest Saint) crown'd with eternall fame,
Though rapt by death; wee'l honour still thy name▪
Lancelot Dawes. Coll. Reginae Alumnus.
An Elegie upon the lamented death of Richard Barlow, late of Langill in VVestmooreland.
WHat? have not yet your daily cryes
Melted the cloudes, and caus'd the skyes,
[Page 14] To beare a sympathie? hard rockes would split
To smallest atomes, hearing us
To sing our dolefull mittimus.
When vertue for a crowne, a tombe doth get.
But 'tis not sighs will serve the turne,
Come, pay thy rites unto an urne
Sad muse: let eccho tell each wall,
Hee clipt thy wings, nor blush to heare
That heaven lyes above thy spheare,
'Twill prove a prejudice to rise, then fall.
Sleepe on (blest soule) eternitie
Shall straine thy sweetest lullabie:
Let envie, with her brood neere cease to fret,
Triumph in peace: no gnawing care
Can with such glory beare a share;
Looke downe (and laugh) how farre above thou'rt set.
Mee-thinkes I view the wreathes of bay,
Thy endlesse conquest to display,
And how those dazling coronets fit a head
So well deserving: but—I faile
To lend thy name a swifter gale
For (what needes more?) thou liv'st for ever, dead.
Another, that he died a little after Christmasse-day.
WHen Simeon saw his Saviour, hee cryes
Lord, 'tis enough, shut up my weary eyes:
When our (late) Simeon got a fuller view
Of his transcendent light, hee bade, adiew.
Amoric & officii ergò, Tho: Tullius. Coll. Reg. Alumnus.
Vpon the lamented death of Richard Barlow, late of Langill in VVestmooreland, who dyed December 29. 1636. his sicknes beginning with a cold, and shortly after he, and it ending with a fever.
WIthin the bowels of this sacred earth
Lyes one, as of no high, so no vile birth.
His fortunes like to vertue, kept the meane,
Not puff'd with this, nor pinch'd with that extreame.
When he in peace had threescore yeares drawne breath,
(Belov'd as farre as knowne) nature, not death
With solemne joy ceas'd on him as a price,
Glad she for heaven had such a sacrifice.
Flames are to others tortures, but they come
To him as triumph, or a martyrdome.
He (like Elias) round begirt with fire,
Ascended heaven; flames must needs aspire.
His fever had not heat from surfet, passion,
Or lust, the three inflamers now in fashion,
But (as the purest fire the Chimicks hold
Is forc'd from ice) was kindled with a cold.
Had it beene rage of common heat, no doubt
But his deare childrens teares had put it out.
Although he doe in sixe * faire Emblems stand
Transcrib'd to future ages: yet this land
(The heat of his death generating) shall
See that he multiplyed at's funerall;
The good example of his life and fate
Shall happ'ly all the vertues propagate.
L. N. [...]
To the Reader.
I Am no Poët, nor ever sent I verse
Unto the presse; this onely to the herse
Of my deare father; not to shew my skill
Or veine in Poëtry, but t'expresse a will
Prone to my fathers honour, though to me,
Nothing redound, but shame, and infamy.
I feare no censure; nay, some may approve
If not my slender Poetry, my love
To my deare father: whom the muses shall
Preserve alive, in spite of's funerall,
And all deaths cruelty: by them shall he
Live in the hearts, and dearest memo [...]
Of all his friends; this blessing he [...] [...]hall have
To free him from forgetfulnesse, and th' grave.
Sic flevit THOMAS BARLOW charissimi Patris defuncti filius aetate, & dolore maximus.
FINIS.