GREENES Funeralls.


By R B. Gent.


Printed at London by Iohn Danter, and are to be sold at his House in Hosier-lane nere Holbourne-Conduit.

To the Gentlemen Readers Health.

GEntle Reader, I once readd of a King, that diuided the day into three parts; the First hee spent in Prayer, the Second in hearing of his Subiects causes, and the last in delight and pleasure of his body: So (Gentle Rea­der) I hope thou wilt spend one daies pleasure in reading this Pamphlet, wherin no curious theame is writt vppon; but certaine Poemes, Entituled: Greenes Funeralls. VVhich contrarie to the Au­thours expectation I haue nowe published, for it was his priuate study at idle times. Gentlemen, fine wits are quickned with one cup of pure wine, where many woulde make them dull; And this small Pamphlet may recreate your mindes, when large Volumes would but cloy and weary you: Now if the Authors paines, and the Printers la­bour may be acceptable to thee (Gentle Reader) the one hath his hyer, and the other his desire.

Yours in all curtesie, Iohn Danter.

Sonnet, I.

WHy should my Pen presume to write his praise,
And hee in perfect mould of Vertue framde?
Why should my Muse sing of his happie daies,
And he the marke, at which Dame Nature framde?
Why rather should I not such vertues show,
That such pure golde from drosse each man may know?
But cease my Muse, why dost thou take in hand so great a Taske:
Which to performe a greater wit, than Mercuries would aske?
For iudgement Ioue, for Learning deepe, he still Apollo seemde:
For floent Tongue, for eloquence, men Mercury him deemde.
For curtesie suppose him Guy, or Guyons somewhat lesse:
His life and manners though I would, I cannot halfe expresse.
Nor Mouth, nor Minde, nor Muse can halfe declare,
His Life, his Loue, his Laude, so excellent they were.

Sonnet, II.

FOrtune, hates not, them that hate her:
Fortune, loues not, them that loue her:
Fortune, would, and cannot rate her:
Fortune, shall, and must remoue her.
And though fickle Fortune smile:
It is but for a little while.
Greene loude Fortune foolish Man,
Foolish man, why loude he so?
And her foolish race he ran,
Foolish race thats run with wee.
Who then (Alas) was lesse misused?
Now (Alas) is more abused?
But let Fowles and foolish fellowes,
Barke and byte their belly fill:
It is not spightfull Enuies bellowes,
That can kindle fire still.
No Booke pleases all that come▪
None so bad but pleases some.

Sonnet. III.

YEE dainty Damsels of Dianes Traine,
That long to dally, with your loued Lords:
And you braue Gallant, high resolued Lords.
That loue to gaze, vpon your stately Starrs.
He he is dead, that kild you with disdaine:
And often fedde your friendy hopes againe.
He he is dead, that wrote of your delights:
That wrote of Ladies, and of Parramours:
Of budding beautie, and hir branched leaues,
Of sweet content in royall Nuptialls.
He he is dead, that kild you with disdaine:
And often fed your friendly hopes againe.
His gadding Muse, although it ran of loue,
Yet did hee sweetly morralize, his songs:
Ne euer gaue the looser cause to laugh,
Ne men of Iudgment, for to be offended.
[Page]But as he often kild them with disdaine:
So did he often feede their hopes againe.
And though he often told of things to come,
In loue more like a Prophet than a Poet:
Yet did he wisely interlace the one,
With Sages sayings, euer mixt among.
And though he often fedde their pleasing paine:
Yet did he often kill them with disdaine.
Wherefore yee dainty Damsels of renowne,
That long to dallie, with your loued Lords.
And you braue Gallant, worthy noble Lords,
That loue to dandle in your Ladies lapps.
Come hither come, and lend your mouths to Fame:
That meanes to sound, his neuer dying name.

Sonnet, IIII.

COme from the Muses well Minerua,
Come and bring a Coronet:
To crowne his head, that doth deserue,
A greater gift than Colinet.
Come from Bacchus bowre Silenus,
Come and bring some good-ale grout:
For to sprinckle Vino-plenus:
All his foolish face about.
Come thou hither sweete Amyntas
All on a siluer sounding Swanne:
Come and teach this fond A-mint-Asse,
Leaue the game as hee began.
Come thou hither my friend so pretty,
All riding on a Hobby-Horse:
Either make thy selfe more witty:
Or againe renew thy force:
Come and decke his browes with baies,
That deserues immortall praise.

Sonnet. V.

AMend thy stile who can: who can amend thy stile?
For sweet conceit.
Alas the while,
That euer any such, as thou shouldst die,
By fortunes guile,
Amids thy meate.
Pardon (Oh pardon) me that cannot shew,
My zealous loue.
Yet shalt thou proue,
That I will euer write in thy behoue:
Gainst any dare,
With thee compare.
An't[?] is not Hodge-poke nor his fellow deare,
That I doe feare:
As shall appeare.
But him alone that is the Muses owne,
And eke my friend,
Whome to the end,
My muse must euer honor and adore:
[Page]Doe what I can.
To praise the man,
It is impossible for me that am,
So far behinde.
Yet is my minde,
As forward as the best, if wit so would
With will agree.
But since I see,
It will not bee:
I am content, my folly to confesse:
And pardon craue.
Which if I haue,
My Fortunes greater than my former fall:
I must confesse.
But if he otherwise esteeme of me,
Than as a friend or one that honors thee:
Then is my labor lost, my care consumde.
Because I hate the hope, that so presumde

Sonnet, VI.

OF Tel-tales tell my muse,
of such as loue to lie:
Of such as vse, for to abuse,
their friends and no cause why.
Of such and none but such,
My pen shall write his pleasure:
And them at large I meane to tuch,
When I haue time and leasure.
My rime is rude, what then?
Yet will it serue the turne:
To notefie such wicked men,
As doe deserue to burne.
As doe deserue to burne said I?
Nay worse: that ought to feele,
The raging force and crueltie:
Of old Ixions wheele.
But least I should this mourning Muse retaine:
Ile fall into an other kinde of vaine.

Sonnet, VII.

Though perchance it seeme to some but a toy and a trifle,
Seeme to some in vaine, to bestowe but a part of an houre,
In penning Poemes: in hon'ring him with a Poeme.
Yet I appeale to the pen of pierelesse Poet Amyntas,
Matchles Amintas minde, to the minde of Matchles Amin­tas
Sweete bonny Phillis loue, to the loue of sweete bonny Phillis,
Whether pen, or minde, or loue, of Phillis Amintas
Loue, or minde, or pen, of pen-loue-minder Amintas:
Thinke of him (perhaps) as some doe thinke of Amintas:
Oh that I might be loude, of Phillis louer: Amintas.
Oh that I might be thought, as I thinke of Phillis: Amintas.
Oh that I might be iudgde as I iudge of Phillis: Amintas:
Then would I neuer care for such base beggarly make-bookes
That in ueigh against the dead, like deadly maligners.
What if he were a man, as bad or worse than a Hel-hound?
As shall I thinke that he was a bad or worse than a Hel-hound?
Yet it ill became sweete mindes to haunt in Auernus:
Ill became such Cutes, to barke at a poore silly carcas
Some had cause to mone, and mourne, & murmur against him:
Others none at all, yet none at all, so against him.
For my selfe I wish, that none had written against him
But such men which had iust cause t'haue written against him.

Sonnet, VIII.

MVse giue place to my mone, and mone giue place to my musing
One for an others cause, and one for cause of an other.
First to behold him dead: last to behold him aliue.
And thou Shepheards Swaine, that keepes thy sheepe by the moun­tains,
(Mountaines) of Sicily, and sweet Arcadian Iland,
Oh Meliboeus: leaue, Oh leaue any more to be mourning.
For though his Art bee dead, yet shall it euer abide:
Euer abide, to the end light, as a light to the rest.
Rest that haue wrot of loue: and the del [...]ghts of a louer.
But by the sweete consent, of Pan and Marsias ofspringe.
Sweet consent of a Saint so sweet, of a Fowle an a foule one
Greenes but a foolish man: and such as him d [...]e defend.
Yet will I euer write both to defend and offend:
For to defend his friends, and to offend his foes.

Sonnet, IX.

GReene, is the pleasing Obiect of an eie:
Greene, pleasde the eies of all that lookt vppon him.
Greene, is the ground of euerie Painters die:
Greene, gaue the ground, to all that wrote vpon him.
Nay more the men, that so Eclipst his fame:
Purloynde his Plumes, can they deny the same?
Ah could my Muse, old Maltaes Poet passe,
(If any Muse could passe, old Maltaes Poet,)
Then should his name be set in shining brasse,
In shining brasse for all the world to show it.
That little children, not as yet begotten
Might royallize his fame when he is rotten.
But since my Muse begins to vaile hir wings,
And flutter low vpon the lowly Earth:
As one that sugred Sonnets, seldome singes,
[Page]Except the sound of sadnes, more than mirth,
To tell the worth of such a worthy man:
Ile leaue it vnto those, that better can.
Now may thy soule againe, goe take his rest
(His pleasant rest) in those eternall ioyes
Where burning Tapers, still attend the blest
To light, and lighten them from all annoyes.
Goe then poore Poet, liue and neuer die:
Euer, yet neuer but in miserie.
And as I came into the world vnknowne,
Moude with compassion, of thy piteous plaint:
So will I now againe, my selfe goe mone,
That durst presume, thy praise in verse to paint.
And if the Muses pardon, mine so weake:
I passe not of a pin, what others speake.

Sonnet, X. A Catalogue of certaine of his Bookes.

CAmilla for the first and second part.
The Card of Fancie, and his Tullies loue.
His Nunquam Sera, and his Nightingale.
His Spanish Masquerado, and his Change.
His Menaphon, and Metamorphosis.
His Orpharion, and the Denmarke King.
His Censure, and his Loues Tritameron.
His Disputation, and the Death of him,
That makes all England shed so many teares:
And many more that I haue neuer seene
May witnes well vnto the world his wit,
Had he so well, as well applied it.

Sonnet, XI.

VVHen my loathed life, had lost the light of Olimpus,
And descended downe, to the cursed caues of Auernus,
Neuer more had I thought, of men to be inlie molested,
But now alas, I see my hope is vaine:
My pleasure turned, to eternall paine.
For such foolish men, as I had neuer abused:
Neuer abused alas, yet alas, had euer abused:
Euer abused so, because so neuer abused.
Not onely seeke to quench my kindled glorie,
But also for to marre my vertues storie.
And though my life were lewd, Oh how it grieues me to thinke it.
Lewd as a life might be, from all good counsell abandond:
And giuen ouer vp, to the out cast sense of a sinner.
Yet might my end, haue moud them to remorce:
And not to reake their teene, on sillie corse.

Sonnet, XII.

Father of Heauen, for thy mercies meekenes,
And thy sweete Sonnes sake, Christ the redeemer,
Pardon, Oh pardon, sinfull offender,
Lord I beseech him.
And though his age, here on earth were a loathsome
Pudddle offilthynes, inly poluted,
VVith all abuse, that can be deuised,
Yet was his ending;
Ending a myrrour, of a man molested,
One ouer-whelmed with his iniquities,
And to be holpen alone by the Iesus
Sauiour of all men.

Sonnet, XIII. A sweete Praier to the Trinitie by R.S and vsed of R.G. at the instant of his death.

TRinity blessed, Deitie coequall,
Vnitie sacred, God one eke in essence,
Yeeld to thy seruant pittifully calling
Mercifull hearing.
Vertuous liuing, did I long relinguish,
Thy will and precpts miserably scorning,
Graunt to me, sinfull patient, repenting,
Healthfull amendment.
Blessed I iudge him, that in heart is healed,
Cursed I know him, that in health is harmed.
Thy Phisicke therefore to me, wretch vnhappie,
Send my Redeemer.
Glorie to God the Father, and his onelie Sonne,
The Protector of vs Earthie sinners
Thy sacred Spirit, laborours refreshing,
Still be renowmed.


Sonnet, XIIII. An other Poeme, borrowed of the same learned Gentleman R.S.R.G. speaketh.

LOrd, my dryrie foes, why doe they mutltiply?
Me for to ruinate, sundry be couetous.
Him shildes not the Godhead, sundry say to my Soule.
Th'art Lord most vigilant, wholy my succorer,
And in thee all my stayinge, shall be harboured:
Th'art my most valiant victorie glorious.
To our Lord lowd I cried: from holy place heard he me.
In graue new buried, scarce haue I slumbred:
I rose to life againe, through God his holines.
I feare not furious multitude, infinite,
VVith compasse labouring, my body for to catch.
Rise Lord omnipotent, helpe me, my champion,
Lord, thy deare radiant, righteous equitie,
Hath squisde all my foes, falsely me ransaking.
Our Lord participiates, safetie with happines:
With gifts, heauenly Godhead, thy people amply blesse.



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