PHYALA LACHRYMARUM. OR A FEW FRIENDLY Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge; who in the short journey of his life, died betweene the five and sixe and twentieth yeare of his youth, 1633.
Together with sundry choyce Meditations of Mortalitie.
Dignus longiore vita nisi quod vita meliore dignus.
LONDON. Printed by R. Y. for George Lathum at the signe of the Bishops head in Pauls Churchyard. Anno 1634.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Thomas LORD Bruce, Earle of Elgin.
THe message sent by those two sorrowfull sisters in the Gospell unto our Saviour (with the change onely of one sickly word) is the ground of the sad newes which I bring to your Lordship: (if at least that which is already knowne every where, may be called newes) the friend whom you loved is dead, which is the cause that these few plaintive leaves present themselves to your Lordship in their funerall blackes; his true love and affection to mee, hath perswaded mee to proclaime my griefe in this [Page] manner, for the losse of so worthy a deare friend, to the world. And your Lordships love to him hath prompted me, a meere stranger to your Lordship (with boldnesse enough without your knowledg) to send them abroad under the countenance of your Honourable Name. If your Lordship question my over-much daring herein, in fastening my poore scriblets upon your Protection, I have nothing to say for my self, in excuse, but to flye behind the traverse of his Name, where your Lordship will be pleased either to see no faults at all, or willingly to over-see them. To this my simple memoriall of him, I have (as a poore Post-script) added diverse Emblemicall Essayes, which for mine owne private entertainment of idle houres, I have long since at severall times composed and layd by mee (amongst many other of severall subjects) unseene of any, save of him whose absence I now lament: which, seeing they received approbation from him, I am the more confident to adventure to your Lordships hands, and next, to the publike view; especially conceiving within my self, that it will [Page] not seeme altogether unsuitable or improper (after the naming of a particular friend) to fall into some few short discourses of friends and friendship in generall; neither (after the lamentation for a lost friend) to let fall some scattering meditations of death, by whom this so deere friend is reaved from the sweet communion of so many his good friends, who doe still love him, and misse him. The conclusions which I have fetcht out of these Italian proverbiall maximes, I must confesse are but as the first faint drops which Chymists are wont to extract out of pretious Simples and Mineralls, through an earthen Limbecke or a Bolts-head, of brittle glasse (at the best) and so of themselves neither greatly usefull or pleasant, but as it is in the Proverbe, Chi beve vino, beve sangue, al meno quadagna il colore; he that drinks wine drinkes blood, (at least) hee gaines the colour cleere to himselfe: so this my collection of so many elegant Proverbs in a language so delightfull, standing in the front of my barren conceits like a curious nosegay of fragrant flowers, with their stemmes hid in [Page] the hollow cane of a silly fennell-stalk, may hope to win favour & acceptance, for the pleasant sent which they bring with them; the Diamond (by being set on a dark dull foile) losing yet none of the naturall worth, though much of that pretious lustre, which Art could have added unto it. And thus (having given up this account of my selfe to your Lordship, and fearing to adde prolixitie to my boldnesse) I humbly commend my selfe and my worthlesse paines to your Lordships pardon, and acceptance: in the one applealing to the goodnesse of your owne Noble Nature; the other beseeching you to vouchsafe mee for his sake, for whose I have herein cast my selfe upon the necessitie of craving your Lordships favour and pardon, and so rest.
By your Honour Of no use to be commanded, Of no worth to be intreated, W. LATHUM.
Flete meos casus.
HOw can I choose but dolefully complaine
Unto each gentle eare, and tender minde
The sorrie accident, that doth constraine
My heart to scald with sighs of strangled wind,
And eyes to drown in their own dreery drain?
Who sees a field, sowne with all sorts of graine,
Some newly springing up, some spindled new,
Some goodly blooming, others in the wane,
Hanging their tydie eares of yellow hewe
Downe to the earth, (from whence at first they grew)
Then sees belive a thriftlesse husbandman
Passe by the aged croppe (which cumbers ground
And hinders that no other prosper can)
While with his corbed sickle hee reapes downe
The fresh young stalkes whose joynts with sap abound;
Such one (comparing this sad uncouth sight)
The root of my complaint, may reade aright.
Tu quibus ista leges incertum est Lector ocellis,
Ipse equidem siccis scribere non potui.
ELEGIA INTRODUCTOria in Lachrymas sequentes.
Scarce is (amongst a thousand dayes) one day
So fortunate and luckie every way,
But that in compasse of those twice twelve howres,
Some one or other lucklesse chance devours:
Or some of all from all in generall,
Or all at once, from some in speciall;
And every state one thing or other meet
That mingles gall, and aloes with their sweet.
Each where I heare complaint, and most lament
On every side of losse and detriment;
Husbands the wives, the wives their husbands losse,
Parents their child, children their parents crosse;
Brothers for sisters death are discontent,
Sisters for brothers; these do those lament;
Merchants their ships, shepheards do lose their sheep,
Some waile the losse of what they cannot keepe.
I none of these, but I have lost a friend;
Time may all else, but not this losse amend:
Which losse whoever suffer, understand
What 'tis to be depriv'd of their right hand,
To have a legge cut off, an eye put out,
And live a creeple, to be led about;
A maimed-uselesse man, at once bereft
Of outward strength, and inward joy; so left
A wandring Pilgrim in a land unknown,
Injur'd of all, because belov'd of none:
This leglesse, eyelesse, handlesse man am I,
All these I lost, when he from mee did die.
All yee that chance, (if any chance) to reed
These sorry lines of mine; if yee indeed
[Page] Of such like friend be sped, as I him vant
(In this selfe-loving Age, (ah) very scant)
Their patronage and mine I you commend,
For yee can truly value such a friend.
Your tender gentle hearts can entertaine
A quicke impression of anothers paine,
And nimbly can (at halfe a word) resent
The weight and burden of their discontent:
And passionate your loft compassion is,
And tender unto all that is amisse.
For love of that, which is to you most leefe
Come all yee (as my seconds) to my griefe;
Lend mee your teares, and sighs to furnish out
The wofull worke which I am now about.
And if such chance you ever doe mischance,
(As God defend it should) in sovenance
And faire requitall of your love, Ile pay
You teares for teares, and sighs for your sighs; nay,
(Unwilling, barely to repay your owne)
Ile pay you interest of ten for one:
And (till my briny braine be drayned dry)
Will side with you, and mourne incessantly:
(Ab) for your griefe will bring to memorie
Mine owne unhappy griefe, and keepe my wound
Still bleeding fresh, whilst ev'ry seeming sound,
And each like word, (that even but relates
And to his name alludes) insinuates,
And will my heart with newes thereof informe,
Still raising in my bosome a new storme;
So shall your mone my mournfull mone augment,
For full of harmony, a sweet consent
Of sorrow is with sorrow, teares with teares,
And griefe in parts the musicke higher reares;
But now from you my conference must breake
Whilst all my other mourners I do thus bespeake.
PHYALA LACRHYMARUM.
YE Lady Graces, and yee Muses nine,
And all ye vertues Morall and Divine,
Ye Sciences, and most renowned Arts,
And, all yee sons of Art, come weepe in parts;
And each good man who goodnesse doth admire,
And all (save ye of the Celestiall Quire,
Yee Angels, and ye blessed Saints, possest
Alreadie in Heaven of your happy rest,
For by our losse and sorrow all yee reape
A gainfull harvest, and for joy do leape,)
All clad in sable weeds, with Heben wands,
And Cypresse branches in your friendly hands,
Disshevel'd haire about your shoulders throwne,
With all the sorry signes of hearty mone,
With panting breasts, with sighing well nigh rent,
With carefull lookes and eyes oft upward sent,
With 'haviour speaking nothing, save neglect
Of all, but what on sorrow doth reflect.
[Page 2] Come sit with mee, and helpe mee to condole
The sad departure of the blessed soule
From the dead corps, of this deare friend of ours,
And with your teares (as with so many showers)
Embalme it over all, and strew his herse
With the sweet fragrant odours of your verse:
Sith (like a body that hath lost a limbe)
Each of you all do suffer losse in him.
Yea, with so lowd alewes and drerement
Let be your plaints, and over him lament,
That future Ages, in your griefe, likewise,
For losse of him with you may sympathize,
And cause an Annuall Obit to be held
In his remembrance, whom they nee'r beheld.
But that you may no Ceremonies fit
In your last dutie unto him, omit,
Ere yee upon him locke his Coffin doore,
And in a bath of your salt teares all o're,
And dewe of Roses (steep'd in Amber grize)
Having first drencht him, much (as may suffice)
Bring some of those Arabian merchandise,
Sweete Aromatick Gummes, and pretious spice,
Pure Frankincense, and pounded Cynamom
Nutmegs, with Cloves, and Mace, and Saffron some,
Add Storax-Calamite, and Bengewine,
And pretious Spicknard unto these conjoyne,
Aloes, with Myrrhe, and Cassia-Fistula,
The fragrant fuell, and the spicie spray
Whereof that bird (of selfe dusts, selfe worme) bred
Doth build her neast to serve for her death-bed,
Which flaming round about her, she sits downe,
And with sweet martyrdome her selfe doth crowne.
In stead of others more, with these same few
Thicke over all his pale dead corps bestrew;
But (chiefe and principall of all the rest)
These three bestrew, the Head, the Mouth, the Breast;
[Page 3] Sith in these three (his Breast, his Mouth, his Head)
Many sweet Notions fostred were and bred;
And Meditations sweet, (well styl'd indeed
The fodder of the soule) did hence proceed;
And many sweet discourses (sweetly made)
And pray'rs so sweet, that God selfe could perswade.
Ne, onely thus these pretious perfumes serve,
His corps from putrefaction to preserve,
But signifie how sweet and fragrant is,
How gratefull and accept this sacrifice
Of soule and body, which (in life and death)
Hee offred hath to God, and witnesseth
The good report and praise (like savory sent
Of sweet delicious Nard) of's life well spent,
Which here he to the world behind him leaves;
So double guerdon he both here and there receives.
This done, him in his Coffin sweetly lay;
Yet (ere yee to his Beare do him convey)
Weave him a Chaplet, all of flowers sweet,
For flowers and garlands been for virgins meet.
Now come with flowers, not flowers by them worne
Who losse of love do suffer (all forlorne:)
Bring here therefore no caytive Columbines,
Flowers of ill omen, and unhappy signes;
No gaudie Tulips here admitted be,
(Emblemes of false (faire-fained) sanctitie,)
Whose worth all outward is in shew alone,
But inward sent hath not, ne vertue none,
For thy' true flowers I do not them areed,
But (at the best) a glorious kinde of weed:
As worthlesse simples, numbred amongst them
Gay Dazies of the field, which wee contemne.
Instead of these, bring store of fragrant flowers,
By faithfull friends, and pious paramours
In honour greatly held; whose savorie sent
Of mingled sweets doe shew the sweet content
[Page 4] Who ere so happy be thereof to taste,
Of two true hearts in love united fast.
For well his tongue and 'haviour could indeed
Of faithfull love a learned lecture read,
And well him love became, who loyall was
Unto his love; (unhappie love) alas,
Which when both hearts, and hands, and friends consent
Had all clapt hands with infinite content,
And all things ready to enjoying, had
(Save publication) death the Banes forbad.
Worthy for this were death to be contrould,
For certes too too blame was death, and bold,
So hopefull crop of love, (like full ripe wheate)
To blast, and smite, which ready was to reape.
Bring bashfull Pinkes in which is to discry
Sweet Embleme of faire-maiden-modestie;
Which (though of flowers least almost) the field
For sweetnesse, to the greatest need not yeeld.
Then Gilliflowers, and sparkling Sops in wine,
With Rosemary and senting Eglantine,
Whose leaves (with prickles fenc'd) teach sweetest gains
Is that, that's conquer'd with the hardest paines.
Next Hyacynths, and black-fac'd Violets,
In which (me seems) the God of Nature sets
The world to schoole, not ever to esteeme
Ought at first sight, as it doth outward seeme;
But on the hidden vertue to reflect,
For th'inward good, meane outsides to respect;
Sith, though this flowre be blacke, of stature low,
A hanging-guilty looke, that makes no show;
Yet amongst all, scarce one may parallel
Her savory sent, and sweet delightfull smell.
Bring Hearts-ease store, Oh flower most blest of all,
Which all they weare, whom nothing can befall
Beyond their expectation, ill ne ought
So good, as to excesse, to tempt their thought.
[Page 5] Of prettie Panses plentie let be brought,
For this flowers name doth signifie a thought;
And therefore chiefly unto such belongs
Who dare not trust their love unto their tongues:
But in a Labyrinth of thoughts doe walke,
And to themselves in pleasing silence talke;
Unthinking still what ever they first thought,
So nought by them is into practice brought.
Bring Medway, Cowslips, and deft Daffodillies,
The country Primrose, and all sorts of Lillies,
And Floure-de-Luce, (Le fleur de lice, more right)
Deliciae flos, the flower of delight.
Then usher in th'obsequious Marigold;
Whose riddle who so wise is to unfold,
Why the Suns course it daily follows so
That as that to the South or West doth goe,
So broad or narrow this doth shut or ope,
And hight for thy' the faithfull Heliotrope?
Then with Rose-buds (if Rosebuds may be found)
It tissue thicke, and traile it all around.
And last, a traile of winding Ivie let
Run all along, on either side beset
With sprigs of Daphnis, stain'd with drops of gold,
And Olive leaves that still with peace doth hold;
In signe that hee with conquest dy'd in peace,
And doth the number of the Saints increase
In eviternall peace, free from annoy
Of all this worlds fond cares, which wont destroy
All true content, and racks mens hearts in twaine,
And makes them old before their time, to gaine
Some one or other worldly good, which hence
They must not with them beare; and this torments
Their very soules, and makes that grudgingly
With great reluctance hopelesse many die.
[Page 6] So nor in life nor death with peace are blest.
But to returne whence I too farre digrest.
Now on his Herse a counterpoint be cast,
And on this counterpoint, this Garland plac't,
In token of th'integritie and truth
And single Caelibat of his chast youth:
For single life, right soberly maintain'd,
And kept from being vitiously profan'd,
Gaines thanks of God and man, and with renowne
And happy praise, both life and death doth crowne.
Now forward set, in order, two and two,
And to the Temple doe before him goe,
Some with long Rosemary-branches in your hands,
Dangling with blacke, and ashie-pale Ribbands;
And some againe with both your handfulls come
Of sav'ry Dyll, and senting Marjorum,
And that Thessalian herbe, whence busie bees
Suck hunny, and with waxe doe load their knees:
And all the way with slips of wormwood dresse
In signe of this dayes bitter heavinesse.
Clean-purging Isop bring, and Germander,
With Cotton, and her sister Lavander;
Bring Balme, that quickly heales any green wound;
And sage, that all the vitall parts keeps sound;
And Camomel, (how ever meane and base)
The Embleme of true constancie and grace;
That doth against all scornfull feet oppose,
And much more sweet, for thy', and thicker growes,
And Sallet-budded Broom, wholsome and good
To purge, and eeke, the waterish-wasted blood.
Bring Strawberry, Primrose, Plantan leaves, Toutsain,
And all what ever Simples, soveraigne
For mans reliefe, (for in, or outward cure)
Bring some of all, leave none behinde, be sure:
Bring Saint Iohns Wort, whose vertuous oyle may dare
(For skill in healing) with selfe Balme compare.)
[Page 7] And Lungwort (soveraigne above all the rest)
To ease the straitned bellowes of the brest;
And all the worts that ere yee reckon can,
For they are all wel-willers unto man.
And let not herbe of Grace forgotten bee,
Which (as 'tis such) with him doth well agree:
For, full was hee of grace: and (as 'tis Rewe)
It us befits, our rewfull hearts to shew.
Yea, Rushes bring, (which strewed wont to been
To welcome friendly strangers seldome seene.)
But bring no hearbs (I charge) of evill fame,
That banefull ever to mans life became,
To let in death, ere their appointed howre,
By their cold juice, and inward deadly power.
Therefore (I you areed) no sleepie slip
Of Poppie 'mongst your other hearbs let slip;
No Coloquintida, ne no Henbane,
Nor Hemlocke, that intoxicates the braine;
Nor Fennell-finkle, bring for flattery,
Begot of lies, and fained courtesie.
But above all, as yee love him, this day
Whose funerall yee doon attend, I pray
Bring not the leaves of that sowre Indian fume,
(The common Mountebanke) which, not the rheum,
But all diseases else, to cure dare vaunt,
(At least prevent) which in our bodies haunt:
Which taints the breath, and (worse than any goat)
Doth make it stinke, whereon men so do doate,
That morning, Noone, and Night, they wont it take,
And their continuall deere companion make.
So like that poysonous Arrian Heresie,
It all the world hath over-run well nigh;
For now all matters ended, or begun,
Must through this smoakie purgatory runne.
And all what ere wee eate and drinke is choak'd
Yea, sacred meat and drinke therewith are smoak'd.
Who Niter first devis'd to set on fire,
And to discharge it from that fatall gin,
To'th bane of men, to thunder neere of kin;
May he of all posteritie be curst
Who brought this weed in daily practice first:
Ah, for 'twas this unsavory fulsome weed,
That traiterously conspir'd his death indeed;
Provoking him to cough, which broke a veine
Within his lungs, first causer of his bane.
All wee for thy', who now bewitched are
With this deceitfull drugge, in time beware.
Now all ye mourners who the honour have
To beare him on your shoulders to his grave,
Take up your load, and weeping all the way,
Unto his shadie chamber him convey:
The mother earth is readie to receive
Her welcome child; there in her armes him leave.
Thus finisht is midway my dolefull song,
Which ere I any further doe prolong,
My selfe I doe apply, and turne my speech
To whom it most concernes, and them beseech
For his deere sake, whose memory is deere
As was his life, and love to mee too, here
In Jet or Touch these sorry lines ingraffe
Too much though (true is) for an Epitaph.
Here WELD hath left his body in this Tombe
In pawne, till hee againe from Heaven come,
Whither hee's gone on pilgrimage before
The happy Saints to visit, and adore
[Page 9] His blessed Lord and Saviour till Doomes-day,
Where hee to wait on him, intends to stand.
Then underneath his Monument, write this
(Though of farre better hee most worthy is)
In plates of shining Brasse, of purpose made,
And in black Marble, on his Grave inlaid.
Here lyes the Mould, the Coffin and the Shell
That doth the Shell, the Mould, and Coffin hold,
Where late our deare friends blessed soule did dwell;
Now Heaven is to this blessed soule the Mould,
The Coffin, and the Shell become, untill
The generall Assises of the world, when all
Soules their owne Moulds and Coffins shall fulfill,
And to their old Shels, every Kernell fall.
In hopefull expectation of which day
Our worthy WELD, whom wee so justy mourne,
Leaves here his Gage, that he'll no longer stay,
Than he must needs, but suddenly returne.
True signe, that of his word hee will be just,
Thus in his absence, to leave us the care
Of his deere dust, as his Feoffees in trust;
O Grave (for his sake) sacred, be well ware
No violence be done unto his dust,
But kept inviolate untill he come,
Till then, religious Ashes rest in peace
(More than Mausolus in his glorious Tombe)
Till the renewing of your lives old lease.
And, as a poore Appendix to his Tombe,
Writ so, as to be read, vouchsafe a roome
To this my secret plaint, and private mone,
Conceiv'd in silence to my selfe alone,
When at his grave I did recall to minde
The fickle-fraile condition of mankind.
[Page 10] Ah for my friend, who wish'd and lov'd mee well,
I him as well; I (living) saw him dead,
who mote have liv'd, t'have bidden mee farewell,
And seene mee gasp my last, on my death-bed.
But so't pleased him (who each mans vitall thread
Spins as him list) his thread of life to break,
And mine hath spar'd, and longer lengthened;
(The longer though, so much more still the weake:)
Ah the weake webbe of mans fraile flesh, how soone
(That long was weaving) is't againe undone?
But if of all thy friends there be not one
Some little monument of carved stone,
That will thee raise, thy name whereon to write,
And none to thee this duty will acquite:
Yet I shall joy that I have thought it fit,
And that I thus to them have mention'd it:
And were thy friend, thy sound-whole-hearted friend,
As thy good nature, wont him oft commend,
In heart (as once hee was) and may againe,
If God to his indeavours say Amen,
This charge by him, should be for thee defraid,
For in small cost much love may be bewrayd.
And if prayers lawfull were to any Saint,
And Saints our prayers could heare, and God acquaint
With what we want, and in necessitie
We mote (poore men) relieved be thereby:
Thou should'st my Saint of Intercession be,
And (my deare Nat) I'de onely pray to thee:
For thou amongst the Saints a Saint dost dwell,
And reap'st the fruit there, of here living well;
Where hope and faith both being at an end,
Nought thou (save charitie) hast to intend:
And Gloria Patri, and Te Deum sing,
And quousque Domine, ceasest thou to bring
The world to question, and the hard constraints,
And sufferance to avenge of thy deare Saints?
[Page 11] Thus thou in prayers, and praises mixt among
Dost spend, or rather dost thy time prolong.
But now (thou Muse) of all the mournfullest,
Who at a sad and dolefull tale art best:
And (thou Calliope) whose powerfull Muse
Can minister, and goodly well infuse
Meete matter, and fit words to any one
For fancie and conceit to workeupon,
For vertues sake, assist mee to bewary
(Sith well I meane) what I have here to say;
And as my Midwives, helpe me forth to throw
The Infants of my braine wherewith I goe;
And teach their new-borne tongues (however weake)
Of this your darling worthily to speake.
Wherein if they so fairly them acquite,
To say but somewhat that may doe him right,
'Twill welcome prove; their very naming him.
Will grace, and adde enough to their esteeme;
For never man more worthy is than hee
To be remembred both of you and mee.
Rarely was ever seen (bee't not envi'd,)
Such a combination, and so full a tyde
(In such an under-age) of all true vvorth,
Where nature and Grace consented to set forth
A modell to the world of what they can,
When they intend to frame some speciall man,
For every purpose and intention fit;
A most acuminous, quick-pregnant wit;
A cleare fine fancie, and a quaint conceit,
Active, and nimble, and yet full of weight;
A piercing present strong capacitie;
A spacious, vast, tenacious memorie;
A minde compos'd of art and industrie;
A heart affecting (unaffectedly)
To make pure profit of all good mens good;
And each vainefull of piety as blood.
[Page 12] I say unaffectedly, sith what need hee
(Whom Nature hath enabled to bee
What ere him pleas'd) affect the speech, the tone,
The phrase, gest, or garb of els any one?
Here Art, Learning, Knowledge, Wisedome, Judgement,
(Above his age) and strange Intendement,
With learning, and the Learned tongues as well
He furnisht was; the kernell as the shell,
Excellent in some, scarce yeelding to the best,
Well seen, and rationall in all the rest:
Yea, (what himselfe would not) I dare him vant,
In no scientiall knowledge ignorant.
In so small time, how deeply wert thou read?
And how farre travelled and traversed
[...] in the bookes of God and Nature fit to teach
Both learned and unlearned out of each?
Loyall, and full of faith and faithfulnesse
To God and man, in all hee did professe,
Here, Bountie and all courteous Amenage,
Of Generositie the true presage,
As farre from surquedrous-proud-selfe-conceit,
Which all great wits doth commonly await,
As his religion and his faith was free
From spot or taint of unsound heresie.
Here that Sal Gemmae (as wee may it call)
Discretion; which doth kindly season all;
A breast full fraught with cleere integritie,
And all set off with sweet Humilitie,
A winning vertue, and a speciall grace,
To usher in a man before Gods face,
Than which no vertue shines but halfe so bright,
And without which the weightiest gold is light.
This added lustre and imbellishment
To all his other worth where ere hee went:
So that as hee by vertue gain'd respect,
Vertue by him regain'd the like effect:
[Page 13] Each of them honour'd by each others worth,
As pearle in gold, both sets, and is set forth:
Yea, all that man to God and man indeares,
Were met together in these tender yeeres.
Scarce the sixt yeare of's manhood he attain'd,
When he this masse of vertuous treasures gain'd,
Where, had hee but gone on as hee began,
And doubled his few yeares, Lord, what a man,
And to what excellence would he have growne,
To the worlds wonder, and emulation:
Much have I heard of thy rich Mines, Perue,
Thy Rubies, Diamonds, and Saphyrs blew,
And of that Island-rivers pretious shells
Where orient pearle of namelesse value dwells:
But in one Mine, one Shell, one Rocke or Shore,
Some of all these were never found before.
Gardens and orchards infinite there are,
With all sorts of fruits, and flowers rare:
But all at once growne on one stalke and tree,
I never saw till now (deere NAT) in thee.
Ah my deere Lord, pardon this fault of mine,
If not considering well this deed of thine,
I too too foolish fondly have repin'd,
And in the heate of griefe have spoke my minde
Thus sawcely. Farre better a great deale
Ne're to the world this jewell to reveale,
Than showne a while to put it up againe
I'th case, unseene for ever to remaine.
But 'twas thy will, and thus I answer must,
My discontent, sith certes 'tis but just,
That hee who makes the jewell may dispose
Thereof at pleasure, lest it else mote lose,
In this unbeveld age, when 'tis so hard
For vertue-selfe from taint her selfe to guard,
Any those Diamonds and Pearls of Grace,
Which round about his Gemme he did enchase.
[Page 14] Unfained friend, Oh how unfainedly
Do I lament, when I say thou didst die?
Why mote not I (whose life is of no use)
Thy too too hastie death by death excuse?
The Sunne to set at night is naturall;
But if at noone to set it should befall,
It would the world with wonder deep dismay;
But should it set in'th nonage of the day,
The course of nature (all sorts would crye out)
Confounded is, and quite turn'd round about.
And is't not thus, the very same in men,
When we see fouresocore, fiftie, threescore yeares and ten
Climbe back (as 'twere) the westerne hill againe,
As if the South point of their life to gaine:
Whilst younglings (such as this dayes sample shew'th)
Set in their graves in'th morning of their youth?
A needfull caution to the younger frie,
Sith life it selfe is but uncertaintie:
And death no time prescribes, or can it stay,
But it will come at all how'rs of the day;
That every one, they stand upon their guard,
Remembring ever that death never spar'd
Youth for youths sake:
But (for the practice of his bow) will slay
All sorts of game that comes within his way,
Be't Stagge, Buck, Hynd, Doe, Herse, Calfe, or Phone,
All's one to him, and he to all is one;
Whether it out of season be or in,
Impartially, he reaketh not a pin.
Ah, when I heard them sorrowfully say,
That thou wert dead, the very like dismay
In every face I did observe (mee thought)
As when in Pharo's Land sad newes was brought,
That in one instant time, and casually,
One was found slaine in every familie:
Somuch unhappy tydings one nights scope
Can bring to light, to strangle all our hope.
[Page 15] Sith when to day with joy I heard them tell
The worst is past, and hope thou shouldst doe well,
The morrow next (by breake of day) I heare
The Passing-bell invite thee to thy Beare,
And to prepare thy selfe for going hence,
Which message, though with Christian confidence,
Through strength of highest hope, and faith-unfain,
Didst readily, and joyfull entertain:
So (like a full ripe nutt slipt from the shell)
Thou slip'st away, and bad'st us all farewell.
But well without thee (Ah!) how can wee fare?
With whose sweete company we wont repare
Our former losse of time, which wee mispent
In idlenesse, or things impertinent.
Oh my deere WELD, whose conversation was
So lovely unto mee, could sighs (alas)
And true-shed teares (the characters of griefe)
Unto thy sicknesse added have reliefe;
Had it in power of learned Leach-craft ly'n,
Or in the miracle of Medicine;
A noble Art (no doubt) which can againe
New twist the thred of life nigh crackt in twaine:
Could devout pray'rs of friends have thee repriv'd
From death, and made thee to be longer liv'd,
Thou shouldst not now thy Friends and Parents backs
Have cloath'd all over thus, in mourning blacks:
Ne all their heavie hearts shouldst now have clad
In sable mantle of thoughts dark and sad:
Ne should my Muse have on thy heavie Herse,
(O heavie Herse,) attend in sable Verse:
Ne yet the eyes of my ink-stained quill
On my white-cheekt leaves these blacke teares distill.
How lovely wert thou (living) unto all?
All, for thou wert not sullen-cynicall,
Nor of a supercilious-haughtie eye,
But affable, and full of courtesie,
[Page 16] Well pleas'd with mirth, and harmlesse merriment,
Which (but injuriously) can ne're be shent.
How did all hugge thee, and embrace, for thy'
Thy (hardly-sampled) selfe, and company?
How joy'd all at thy comming? and in heart
How sad, and sorrowfull at thy depart?
Yea, and (now dead) how doth each thing retaine
Like love to thee, and of thee beene as faine?
When (weary) thou thy death-bed didst forsake,
How readie was thy winding-sheet to take
Thee in her milke-white armes (not satisfi'd)
Till wholly to her selfe the did thee hide.
And next thy coffin (being very proud
At'th second hand, t'injoy thee in thy shrowd)
For love of thee the sheete where thou dost dwell,
Doth hugge and kisse, much like the loving shell,
That for the almons sake the tender skin
Encloseth round, where th'almond lyeth in.
And then the Earth which (living) lov'd thee so,
To kisse thy feet where ever thou didst goe,
With no lesse love doth now embrace thy chest,
Within her owne deere bosome long to rest,
Till thou (whom shee seemes so in love withall)
In thine owne dust, into her armes dost fall.
Last, when thy soule of thee did take her leave,
An Angell readily did it receive,
And in his winged armes did it convey
Nimbly to Heaven, and still all the way
With sacred kisses courted it, and sang
To it a Requiem sweet, whereat it sprang
In's Armes for joy; (no doubt) for very joy
That it should now so suddenly enjoy
The blessed vision of her Lord who dy'd
Ingloriously, her glory to provide.
How can I then, but (living) thee admire,
Whom ('live and dead) both Heaven and Earth desire?
[Page 17] Farewell (deerfriend) too soone ripe, long to last:
Happie young man, who so long journey hast
In so small time dispatcht: such hap as this
The first heires of the first world long did misse,
And staid sometimes a thousand yeares well nigh,
Ere they (as thou) su'd out their Livery.
Happy young man; and fortunately blest,
In all; and amongst all not blessed least
In thy Mecoenas (that thrice-noble Lord)
Who count'nance to thy learning did afford;
Ne onely did thee hold in great regard,
But thee with bounteous hand did oft reward,
And grac'd thy person for thy vertues sake.
Mote learning-selfe, and learned men him make
Full great requitall (gentle Lord) for this;
And make his fame the golden Starres to kisse:
And by the power of their mightie Muse,
The praises eccho lowd, of the Great Bruce,
And honour him, who in so deere account
Holds the true sonnes of the Syonian Mount:
Him leaving, henceforth standing brave enrowl'd
Amongst the Ancient Roman Peeres of old,
(Mecoenas, Varus, Pollio, Patrons all;)
Whose show'rs of bountie downe did daily fall,
On merit and true worth; and men of Art
Cherisht, and by their goodnesse kept in heart.
Forsooth the Lord, whom I so truly vant,
All noble vertues in his bosome hant,
And as himselfe indeed right learned is,
Which (Ah great pittie) most great men doe misse,
So hath hee als' a bounteous heart, to prize
And tender vertue, and good qualities
In all, in whomsoever they appeare,
(The very essence of a noble Peere.)
Pardon (great Lord) this poore Parenthesis,
Which but the skirt of thy just praise doth kisse,
[Page] And which (by way of humble thankes) I send
In name of my (late living) now dead friend;
Who (living) honour'd thee, and spake all good
Of thee and thine, and thy rare bountihood;
That in his sicknesse didst so oft addresse
Thy messengers and golden messages;
Yea, and in person daign'st to visit him,
Where in he read to him thy great esteeme,
That (had not mortall beene his maladie)
It much had made to his recoverie.
The joy, and heartie comfort he conceiv'd
Of'th gracious words and deeds from thee receiv'd;
God recompence this love to thee and thine
Tenfold, which thou to that deere friend of mine,
Whilst I returne againe to make an end
Of this course webbe, which I did him intend,
Which, ere I fully finish, take by the way
(Deere NAT) this little what I have to say.
Unmanly 'tis I know, for men alive
With Soule-divorced bodies once to strive;
Yet (well as once I lov'd thee) I must have
A Contestation with thee in thy Grave.
Wee see by proofe 'tis usuall in our Land
For Traders, having got into their hand
All upon trust from others what they may,
Oft suddenly to breake and run away:
(For their owne ends) not caring to undoe
Their Creditors, with wives and children too.
Simply to cozen, and deceive is bad,
And is of all good men in hatred had;
But to deceive a friends especiall trust
Of all else 'tis a thing the most unjust.
Now, though it be a thing that neere concernes
My selfe, and thy best friends, yet my heart yernes,
And I am loath (remembring what thou wast)
Any the least aspersion here to cast
[Page] Upon thy credit (tender and precize)
To hurt what (living) thou so deere didst prize:
But thou this merchant art (mine owne deere NAT)
And when wee saw thee thrive, and full of that
Rich merchandize of Honestie, and Grace,
Of Goodnesse, and a dainty diapaze
Of sweete harmonious worth, and vertues rare
elsewhere to finde) and which few men do care
To trafficke for; thereof wee were so faine
(And sure so should if't were to doe againe)
And very fond, that eftsoones wee brought forth,
And ventur'd all with thee that wee were worth;
Our liking, our affection. yea our heart,
And our best love wee did to thee impart.
But when our time of hoped gaine once came,
(With injurie enough, and thy much blame)
Thou for preferment in a better world
Gav'st us the slip, and our care quite off hurl'd;
Leaving us poore, and bankerout hereby,
Yea, and thou hast undone us utterly
Sith all our Stocke thou dost with thee retaine,
And wee nought left have to begin againe:
And though wee had, yet sith thou prov'st unjust
(Mine owne heart root) wee know not whom to trust:
Yet would thou hadst but liv'd, I dare well say
Thou wouldst have paid while thou hadst ought to pay.
How ere, it joyes my heart to thinke, as I
Live in thy debt, that thou in mine didst die.
And howsoever I thee thus have shent,
Yet sith thou didst but what all would, content
Are wee to sit downe by our losse: could wee
But see thee now and then, and talke with thee
As we were wont, our losse would feeme the lesse.
But sith our case is quite remedilesse,
And we have no meanes left to get our owne,
But to pursue thee whither thou art gone;
[Page] Though say wee so should doe, thou wouldst alledge
(To put us off) that places priviledge;
Whence 'twould be harder to compell thee, then
I'th Temple Hall t'arrest a thousand men:
Therefore, for my part, I let fall my suit
With promise, henceforth nere to prosecute.
So though through griefe and creve-coeur, my heart
Within mee die, to thinke that wee must part:
Yet, till our next and happie enterview
I take my leave, now worthy WELD adieu:
Farewell deere NAT, five hundred times farewell;
Who (as thy names few letters say) dost dwell,
Where now thy Maker thou hast long beheld,
(Who by his power Heaven and earth doth weld)
In namelesse peace, and joyes more manifold
Than by my worthlesse tongue can ere be told:
Take this small tribute of my love to thee
In retribution of thy love to mee.
I to thy ingenuitie appeale,
T'accept this [...] handfull of course barly-meale;
And these darke grains of bay-salt, pray thee hold
In worth from him, who better would if could:
Could my abilitie reach thy desert,
The World should know what manner man thou wert.
Suffice it mee that thus my hearts true love
(However homely) I to thee approve;
Nathlesse (how ever meane) in losse of sleepe,
And many private teares, I did them steepe;
With much adoe together them to save,
Till I could sprinkle them upon thy grave.
Excuse mee here, that so unorderly
My flaggie Muse thus in and out doth flie.
Indenting to and fro, her winding course,
Much like the brooke once parted from his source,
My griefe of this disorder is the cause,
And no disorder ever keeps the Lawes:
[Page 21] For griefe (like love) from reason loves to swerve,
And keepes no meane, ne measure will observe.
And sith my plaints for thee (whom I so misse)
Unto thy happinesse injurious is,
And bootlesse is for mee, to thinke, and vaine
With teares thee hither to recall againe;
And sith I cannot more (as I wont) walke,
And talke with thee, yet oft of thee to talke
It joyes my heart; and much it comforts mee
To name thee to my selfe, whom more I may not see:
Receive this payment, and what I owe more
(As more I knowledge) must run on the score:
Yet hee that payes both what and when hee can
(Which comforts me) is held an honest man.
Much would my love say more; but howsoere,
Thy worth an everlasting subject were,
And with fresh matter could beget my braine,
Nathlesse my griefe doth barren make my vaine,
And shuts up my conceit, that I can say
No more, save Ah, alack, and welladay,
And woe is mee, with such like poore rhyme,
And windie interjections spend the time!
Therefore farewell, I ne're so blest shall bee
As to repaire this my deere losse in thee,
A man amongst ten thousand, and a frend
Worthy this pretious name; so I commend
My love to thee, and thee (for ever blest)
To God, and thine eternall happie rest.
Thus (having now perform'd his Obsequies)
With thankes unto you all, (if please) arise,
And for this time your farther plaints surcease:
Arise yee Mourners all, 'tis time I you release.
Sit voluisse, Sat valuisse.
MEDITATIONES DE VITAE FRAGILITATE.
Ricordarsi il Ben Doppia la Noia.
A Gentle frend (by way of comfort) said
Unto a father that did sadly waile
His sons deer losse: Ah Sir; be once apaid,
Sith all your mourning nothing can prevaile.
Why that's the thing, because I nought availe;
That I (quoth hee) so sore his death lament;
Oh that my memorie of him could faile:
But, like Lots wife, our eyes still backe are bent
Upon those joyes, which erst wee held most leefe;
The* thought of which doth double present greefe.
Perdre un Amico fidele è sopra o'gni dolore.
OF all thea cares, and humane miserie,
Which from the Cradle to the Beere attend,
Is none of all can touch a man more nigh,
Than the hardb losse of true approved frend;
To whom thy fortune doth not thee commend:
But rich or poore, thy winter, and thy spring,
Hee all alike doth tender to the end.
Each bird, while summer lasts, will sweetly sing;
[Page] But constant Red-brest pipes his chearefull notes
When frost, and storms dams th'others glozing throats.4
Ben ama chi non oblia.
NO Gyants hand, no instrument of Art,
No Anchor in the sea tenacious beene
As Love and Hate, once rooted in the heart:
The strange effects of both are daily seene;
Right strong they either are, yet beeing greene,
But when they once waxe old, no power, or force
Sufficient is to interpose betweene;
He never hated who can* feele remorse:
And in that heart love is but shallow set,
Which time or place can make a friend forget.
Un huomo d'ogni hora.
Homo omnium horarum.
* OH where's the man that is so truly train'd,
And hath to purpose so his howers spent,
That (if all companie were him restrain'd)
True solace by himselfe he can invent,
[Page] And with his friend (to whatsoere intent)
Can him adapt, whether in learn'd discourse,
Facetious wit, and sportive merriment,
Of Hawkes, of Hounds, or long Dogs for the Course?
Be the Theme light, or of grave consequent
Hee for all turnes hath money in his purse:
This thus conpleat-accomplisht every way,
The man of all houres is, and for all day.
I had a friend (I have I late could say)
Ah but the primest flowers soonest fade,
Who fitted was and furnisht every way
In depths and shallows both to swimme and wade:
Not like mechanicks, in one onely trade,
And aliquid in omnibus have said;
No subject on the sudden came amisse,
But he to all with profit and delight
An able Artist could himselfe acquite:
Thine be this Embleme (by thy just desert)
For thou (thrice worthy WELD) this man of all howr's were.
Felice chi puo.
BLest mote hee ever bee, who ever can
Compose the joyes, and sorrows of his mind,
Chuse truth from errour, flow'r from the bran;
Willing obey Gods sacred Lawes in kinde;
Decline the vice, to which hee's most inclin'd;
Richly contented bee, what ere God send;
[Page] Slight injuries, as chaffe before the winde,
Finde a fit wife, and faithfull bosome friend:
Who some, nay one, but all these things who can,
Is sure a threefold-blessed,a tenfold-happy man.
Il medico al anima e Dio, & al Corpo un Buon Compagno.
VVOe to the man alone (saith the wise man)
If chance him fall, who him releeven can?
But where two beene, if one in need doe stand,
The other still is readie helpe at hand:
The Great Creator so intended it,
When hee for man fram'd a companion fit,
In Paradice: so helpe in company,
And comfort doth in friendly helpe relie.
The soule and body als' he tack'd together,
To be companions either unto either:
Yea God himselfe, who is but one alone,
And to that onehood will admit of none,
Yet joyes to have the Blessed Unitie
Accompan'd with the sacred Trinitie.
Who therefore doon admire lonelinesse
Do rob themselves of wondrous happinesse,
[Page] And wilfully to many mischiefes run,
Which men in company do fairly shun.
When did th'ill spirit choose our Lord to tempt,
But when from company hee was exempt?
And ever since hee doth himselfe intrude
To vacuitie, andb lonely solitude.
Als' privacie begets melancholie,
Which mother is and nurse of lunacie.
But in all states, in povertie, in wealth,
In peace, in warre, in sicknesse, and in health,
In age, in youth, bondage and libertie,
Sweet is the comfort of companionrie:
For, as the soule in all extremities
Onely to God her lonely selfe applyes,
Whose sweet Communion if it can but gaine,
It takes her off from thinking on her paine:
And with his presence, and kind conference
Hee workes such indolence upon her sense,
That ere shee wist, the time and paine at one
With passing pleasure's slipt away and gone.
Such to the body is a hearty frend,
The griefe thereof and maladies to mend:
Whose very presence, though hee speake no word,
Is physicke of it selfe, and doth afford
(Like Ionas Gourd) coole shadow from the heat
Of strong distempers, which the bodie beat.
Blest is that soule, that sicknesse, and that man
Who still have God for their Physician:
And happy manifold I him areed,
Who such companion hath, such frend at need.
Who (free from scurvie trickes) is right and straight,
With whom a man may dare deliberate,
[Page] And freely to his bosome can impart
The neerest secrets of his very heart:
As knowing in his breast he may them save
Safe▪ as the dead mans ashes in his grave.
Hee in discourse can yeeld unto his friend
'Gainst his owne knowledge (rather than contend)
Hee mannerly can jest, ne captious is,
Ne yet exceptious, apt to take amisse,
Or peevishly in evill manner wrest
What's meerly spoken merrily in jest;
No babler, ne no criticke in a house,
Unmanly-humerous, nor mutinous.
To him all one the kennill and the wall;
Nathlesse, (all be hee affable to all)
To all hee'll not be fellow, but doth ken
To difference himselfe from other men,
Lest whilst humilitie he doe professe,
He fall into the taxe of fillinesse.
Hee knowes his good to all, and how to bowe,
And to his greaters due respect allow;
Ne doth it hold disparage, or disgrace
His friends (even meanest) favours to imbrace
With thankfulnesse; which is a vertue full
Of strong Attraction, and doth pull,
And draw (like loadstone) every heart and mind
With grace and bountie to us be inclin'd.
All his owneb actuall kindnesse he forgets,
But passive favours puts amongst the dets,
Which by recognizance hee at a day
Upon great penaltie is bound to pay:
That by his outside well is understood,
How ever hee beene of worldly fortune sped,
That hee is doubtlesse Gentle borne, and bred.
Lo here a friend, well worth his weight in gold,
Though in this durty age his gold prove drosse,
And this rare Jewell, every one do hold
(Not set in gold) contemptible as mosse.
What can him want now, who for each disease
Such Physicke, and Physicians hath as these?
Who have a salve for every sort of sore,
And Cordialls for all griefes and paines in store?
In health who soule and body then will save,
Let still in store these two Physicians have.
Come il simulacro del Re di Babilone.
FRailea flesh (how ever goodly thou appeare
In outward shew, and glorious as the Sun:)
How can a little sicknesse change thy cheer?
And thy lives thred, how ever purely spun,
[Page] With paine how is it broke and quite undone?
How seem'st thou like that image over all,
Whereof y'dreamt that King of Babylon,
Whose bulke was Gold and costly Minerall,
But Oh poore prop, the pillers and the basse
Were crumbly clay which did sustain this mighty masse.16
Non temete, la morte solamente e cattiva a cativa Gente.
O Death, the hatefull issue of mans sinne,
Who since thy birth, dost greedily devour
Thy Parents children! Oh what canst thou winne
In browzing a soft twigge before his houre?
What hast thou thereby doon, but given him pow'r
(As Justices their passe-ports wont to grant)
To passe hence freely to that sacred bow'r,
(The bow'r of blisse,) where blessed Angels haunt?
Henceforth Ia feare thee lesse, who dost but send
Poore Pilgrims sooner to their wearie journeyes end.
L'Huomo e Ampulla fatta del Acqua, & del Aria disfatta.
VVHat thing is man that God should him respect?
Or what is life, that man so tenderly
Should hugge it so, or deerly it affect?
Loe here an embleme of mortalitie,
Whom nor greene yeares could warrant from to die,
Nor innocence (the good mans daily feast)
No priviledge, ne no immunitie
That flesh can challenge why to be releast,
Could ere redeeme, such is the law of all,
Onely like fruita some sooner and some later fall.
I saw this blossomeb blasted in the spring,
I saw this flower wither'd in the budde,
And to my hearts eternall sorrowing:
This lamp new lighted, beeing all too good
Longer to burne in it owne oylely blood,
I drowned saw, and quite extinguished:
Such is condition of all fleshlyhood.
Just like ac buble that's ingendred
Of ayre and blistred water, which eftsoone
Breakes, and with each small puffe of winde's againe undone.
Monocchio, non e misero nel presenza del cieco.
VVHen I consult the sacreda Histories,
And other Stories of inferior sort,
And finde therein, what under mysteries,
And plainly what they of mans life report,
Oft in the prime, oft suddenly cut short,
And every day sad samples thereof see,
Mee seemes they secretly do mee exhort
To fit my selfe, the very next to be,
Andb meekly more my misery to beare,
Compar'd with others (greater in degree)
As hee, whose one eye perled is, and bleare,
Seemesc blest to him, who can at all not see.
Sod they, who others greater griefe and mone,
Can call to minde, gaine strength to beare their owne.
Animali d'ogni sorte se trovarno nel Rete della morte.
HOw many a subtile snare and guilefull gin
Hath man devis'd, and daily doth devise,
To take all sorts of feather'd fowles therein?
Some birds nathlesse, so warie been and wise
[Page 35] Not to be tane for all his subtilties.
But there's a fowler layes his deadly gins
Man to intrap, as man doth birds surprize,
Spreading his nets when his life first begins:
And though all things his fatall nets perceive,
Yet never bird this fowler could deceive.
All sortsa to him beene all indifferent,
Ringtailes, Buzzards, Puttocks, Ravens, Crowes, Pyes,
Th'imperiall Eagle, and the Falcon Gent,
Pigions, Parakitoes, Peacocks, and Popingies,
And Nightingales which pipe and minstrelize
By night, to all that (fearfull) shunne the day;
Yea, and the Phoenix (if yet mortall eyes
Such Phoenix ever saw as Stories say)
In thatb foule-crab-fac'd-fowlers horrid hands.
Must gasp their last-fetcht-breath; see where he stands.
O'gni dolore nuntio di morte.
SOre sicke him chanc'd a jolly Courtier fall,
Though not to death (as he him surely thought)
But death (unthought of) doth upon him call,
And readie was away him to have caught;
Whereat amaz'd, this Courtier him besought
Not all so suddenly him to surprize,
But respit him some time, that so he mought
Prepare himselfe to die before he dies:
And three dayes warning prayes him send before
He from this light his life did meane to reave,
To which death soone agrees, so takes his leave.
[Page 36] Many yeares after, as this Courtier sate
(For ought he felt) in perfect strength and health,
Seriously thinking how to antidate
Anothers life, and seize on all his wealth,
Death suddenly comes skipping in by stealth
Crying awaya.
The Gallant him upbraids of promise breach:
Not I (quoth death) but thou false to thy selfe:
Five fits o'th stone, foure agues, two fevers, each
Gray-haire, the paine and losse of teeth; all these,
With many a wrinkle, since I from thee went,
My warnings, and fore-runners I thee sent.
Dopo il Givoco, cosi va nel sacco il Re, come il Pedone.
IF in my weake conceit (for selfe disport)
The world I sample to aa Tennis-court,
Where fate and fortune daily meet to play,
I doe conceive, I doe not much misse-say.
All manner chance, are Rackets, wherewithall
They bandie men like balls, from wall to wall:
Someb over Lyne, to honour and great place;
Some under Lyne, to infame and disgrace;
Some with a cutting stroke, they nimby send
Into the hazzard placed at the end;
[Page 37] Resembling well the rest which all they have,
Whom death hath seiz'd, and placed in their grave:
Some o're the wall they bandie quite away,
Who never more are seene to come in play:
Which intimates, that even the very best
Are soone forgot of all, if once deceast.
So, (whether silke-quilt ball it bee, or whether
Made of course cloth, or of most homely lether;)
They all alike are banded to and fro,
And all at last to selfe same end do goe,
Where is no difference, or strife for place:
No odds betweene a Trype-wife and your Grace:
The penny-counter's every whit as good,
As that, which in the place of thousands stood.
When once the Audit's full cast up, and made
Thec learned Arts well as the manuall Trade:
The Prisoner and the Judge upon the Bench:
The pampred Lady, and the Kitchin-wench:
The noble Lord, or Counsailor of State,
The botchy-Lazer, begging at the gate,
Like Shrubs, and Cedars-mingled ashes, lye
Without distinction, when they once do dye.
Ah for unpartiall death, and th'homely grave
Looke equall on the freeman, and the slave.
So most unpartiall umpires are these twain;
A King with them 's but as a common Swain.
No upper hand, 'twixt dust of poore and rich;
No Marshall there to sentence which is which:
And onced resolv'd to powder, none can ken,
The dust of Kings from dust of other men:
[Page 38] But as at Chesse, when once the game is doon,
The side which lost, and that as well which woon.
The victor King, and conquer'd pawne together
Jumbled, are tumbled to th' same bagge of lether,
Without regard, whether the pawne or King
Therein lye uppermost or underling.
Nathlesse all sorts, each sexe of purpose winke:
And of this destinie doon seldome thinke:
Living (alacke) as life should never faile,
And deeme of death but as an old wives tale.
Post mortem nescio cujus.
VVHy do the mightie beare themselves so high,
And vant their parentage and long discent?
Why do the rich so swell with surquedry
Of their huge wealth, which is but to them lent,
But till their lives uncertaine terme be spent?
Though where's the odds, or what's the difference
Between the wealthy and the indigent,
When both unto the grave once part from hence?
Within a while their dust so mingled is,
That none can safely say, this dust was his, or his:
So have I seene the boistrous-body'd oake,
That above all, her wide-spred armes enhanc't,
I saw it lopt with many a sturdie stroke,
From side to side I saw it thorow lanc't,
I saw it fall and headlong disadvanc't:
The silly shrub that there beside was growne,
I likewise saw quite rooted up and rancht:
I saw them both into the fire throwne;
I saw them wasted, and in ashes lye,
But whethers ashes were by no meanes could discry:
Il sonno e una morte vivente.
VVHen I doe weigh how little differing
Lifea is from death, how little or nought at all
Death is from sleepe, when neere so small a thing
Can make them all be transubstantiall,
Oh what amazement on my minde doth fall!
And I do wonder how I sleepe or wake,
Sith unto death, in nature they so neere partake.
And in the morning after quiet sleepe,
When I consider to how weake a guard
My pretious life I did commit to keepe,
Being for death a thing not very hard
To seize his brothers right, sith if compar'd,
Sleep 's but ab breathing death, death breathlesse sleep,
I feele a tingling chilnesse over all my bones to creepe.
Prosopopeia Corporis Animae valedicturi: Adios a rivederci.
MY lovely frend, that long hast been content
To dwell with mee in my poore Tenement,
Whose bulke and all the stuffe, both warp and woofe,
Is all of clay, the floor and the roofe:
Though yet thou ne're foundst fault; ne didst upbraid
This homely hermitage, so meanly made;
Oa mine owne darling, my deere daintie one,
And wilt thou now indeed from mee be gone?
[Page 40] Ah, for thou seest all running to decay
The thatchieb covering 's now nigh falne away:
The windows, which give light to every roome,
Broken, and dimme, and mistie beene become.
Thec Mill-house, and selfe Miller's out of frame,
My Kitchin smoakes, my Larder is too blame,
And from the Studds each where the Lome doth shrink,
And the breeme cold blowes in at every chinke.
The brases and supporters of my house
Tremble, and waxen wondrous ruinous.
So that all bee it grieve mee to the heart,
To thinke that thou and I (old frends) must part;
Yet, sith my Cabban's all out of repaire,
(Darling) farewell, goe sojourne now else where,
In some cleane place, untill that premier Main
That built mee first, rebuild mee up againe,
All of the selfe same stuffe, but with such art,
So polisht, and imbellisht every part,
That it shall ne're be out of Kilture more:
Then shalt thou come againe, as heretofore,
And dwell with mee for ever and for aye:
(So God us both to blesse untill that happie day.)
Dal Cielo al Cielo.
SUndry opinions amongst learned men
Have raised beene about the meanes and way,
And 'bout the certaine time, and season when
That soule of man, which never can decay,
[Page 41] Into the bodie doth it selfe convey:
Whether't beginning with the body take,
Or long before: if so, where it doth stay:
Which strife the soule it selfe thus plaine doth make.
From* Heaven I, not from mans seed proceed,
For with the bodie if it rise it dies.
Animae Prosopopeia.
Morta la pecora non cresce piu la lana.
YEe gentle frends, who mourning here, attend
My livelesse corps, unto this Earthie bed,
There leaving it to sleepe untill the end,
When all shall live againe, who now are dead,
Weepe not for mee, sith I can neither see,
Nor heare your teares that here for mee are shed:
Ne all your prayers a whit can profit mee.
The sheepe once dead, the wooll ne're growes againe,
But as shee dies it lyes, all after-helpes are vaine.
Agree therefore while yee are in the way
With death the adversary of mankinde:
For when he comes, no pray'r can make him stay,
But hee takes all sorts as he doth them find.
If good, 'tis not in him to make them bad;
If bad, no time to mend by him assign'd:
What faith and hope wee at our parting had
Is onely ours; but all done after death
Nor hurts, nor helps, but passeth with the breath.
[Page 42] For whilst we live, though at last gaspe wee been,
Our owne or others pray'rs mote doon us good:
Betweene the stirrup and the ground, betweene
The bridge, and headlong downfall to the flood,
Mercie can cause the soule catch hold of grace:
But soone as once the life forsakes the blood,
So fast it posteth to its proper place
Of weale, or woe, where it must ever stay,
No pray'r it overtakes, or profit may.
The ardent suite of that great man of meat
Was him deny'd; a seeming-small request;
One moyst coole drop to quench his scalding heat:
Yet, sith before his pray'r he was possest
Of his just doome, his due-deserved meed,
His tardie suit forth of the Court was cast:
For as the soule once from the body freed,
No more may be recall'd, no more can shee
By any humane helpe relieved bee.
In vaine therefore doon silly soules relie
On pray'rs of frends at their departure hence:
Sith with our last breath, Heaven instantly
Is wonne or lost, no comming is from thence:
Ne is redemption from the place of Hell.
And Purgatory is a meere non-sense,
Where goodmens soules, till bought from thence, must dwell:
Onely his pray'rs, whose blood for us was shed,
Living, and dying stands our soules in stead.
Divortium Animae.
HAst ever knowne two* faithfull bosome frends,
Affected like in all their aimes, and ends.
[Page 43] After long absence, hast observ'd their meeting,
Their over-joy, and manner of their greeting:
Silent, long-looking in each others faces,
Whilst each his frend within his armes embraces,
Like April-showr's, and Sun-shine mixt together,
Each weeping, and each laughing over either,
Till mutuall passions having run their course,
Both by degrees, fall freely to discourse?
Ah, but say now, hast ever seene these twaine
Upon occasion forc'd to part again?
Hast seene two lovers, new made man and wife,
Inforc'd to part? how bitter is their strife?
What sighs? what teares? what namelesse Creve-coeur?
What greefe unutterable doon they endure?
What lowd Alewes? what heavinesse of heart?
What lamentations when they come to part?
What anguish? and with what a deale of paine
Take these their leave, as ne're to meete againe?
Hast seene a man from his deere home exil'd?
Hast hearda a mother parting from her child?
What weeping, wailing, and what heavinesse?
What contristation, even to excesse?
And how unable reason is to sway
Th'unbeveld passion, or it make obey?
Or hast thou ere observ'd that passionate,
And dolefull quest, that heart affecting-blate
Of lambes, lamenting their deere dammes restraint?
Or mark'd the mournfull noise and pitteous plaint,
Doubled, and oft redoubled by the dammes,
At present parting from their little lambes?
[Page 44] Hast ere beene present at some Cities sacke,
And seeneb the havocke, and the wofull wrack,
When to the surly souldier once betraid,
The modest matron, and the untoucht maid,
So mostc unmannerly, spite of their heart,
With their deere honours are compell'd to part?
What reluctation, and what sturdie strife?
What meanes, what shifts, the jewell of their life
To save from spoyle, and losse? what vows, what pray'r?
What humble 'haviour? and what speaking faire?
What deep distraction? and what heavie cheere?
How loth to yeeld (alacke) yet ne're the neere.
Like loth, and with as much, or more adoe,
Bodie and soule each other do forgoe.
Ah when the soule comes warning once to give,
That shee no longer in her house will live:
Ne, not so much as sojourne any more,
Where shee hath dwelt so many yeares before,
At this sad news, like fruit with windie blast,
Downe in a transe the weakly bodie 's cast:
Inly, the very bowels yearne with griefe,
The stomacke nauseats at wont reliefe,
The straightned lungs breath hardly, short and thicke,
The head 's distempred, and the heart is sicke,
And every roome and corner of the house
Fill'd with darke steems and vapours nubilous.
In this disconsolate and sickly state,
The soule the body doth commiserate;
And through meere sympathy is ill at ease;
Therefore all griefe on both sides to appease,
And now resolv'd no longer while to stay,
Shee forth of doores slips suddenly away.
[Page 45] Eftsoons all's husht, and the whole house at rest,
Onely the eyes which but they beene supprest
Wide open stand, and their lids upward raise,
Still after her, that was their life and light, to gaze.
O valente huomo chi puo esser misero.
FUll easiea is for men in miserie
Weary of life, t'importune death to die,
Who dare not looke misfortune in the face,
Nor griefe, nor paine, nor sicknesse, nor disgrace,
But cowardly with horror, and dismay
Out of themselves, oft times do runne away.
Like Grashoppers, that skip, and sing, and dance
While Summer lasts; but as flyes, in a transe,
When Winter comes, with stormes accompan'ed
In every hole, and corner them doe hide,
Quite out of love with life, for such to call
For death, no fortitude it is at all.
But he whose countenance at all assayes,
Is ever one,b in Sun or cloudie dayes:
Whose minde can bend, as buxom as a twigge
To all estates, bee't high, low, small, or bigge,
If fortune say he must doe thus, or thus,
With her the matter he doth ne're discusse.
Who with samec freenesse, that he wins can lose,
Who with small noise can beare all fortunes blowes:
[Page 46] And any part that fortune shall her please
To put him to, can personate with ease;
This is a man, one of a thousand men,
Ad right-bred chicken of the milke-white hen.
Right truly wise and valiant ise this man,
Who selfe submit to all manner weather can;
Who 'gainst it comes, for fortune doth provide,
Not mov'd with Ebbe, nor flowing of her tyde.
So great the strength of his true temperd minde
To welcome faire and foule in selfe same kinde.
Come good? why well, and good: come bad? why well:
So 'gainst all paines, his patience is his spell:
Hee eekes, nor aggravates his weale, or woe;
Ne takes long farewells of them when they goe,
And in his open doore still readie stands,
When ere they come, to take them by the hands:
So evenly he knowes to beare himselfe;
Hee rich in povertie, and poore in wealth;
Either or neither can contented bee:
Oh blessed man, how fe [...]e in bonds is hee?
Who though his bread too sow'r of leaven taste,
Can eate and it digest as finest paste:
And water drinke, yea vineger for need.
This is the truelyg valiant man indeed.
L'Envoy.
MOngst all things possible, and yet so hard,
Almost next doore t'impossibilitie;
That man or woman is, who having far'd
All their life long, and liv'd deliciously:
Not crost nor vext with contrarietie
Of chance or fortune, which most men dismay
When death them calls, can answer patiently.
Wherefore my soule, doe thou still humbly pray,
Nature of nature, good God, grant, when I
Must leave to live, pow'r willingly to die.
Naturae natura, Deus bone, cum mihi posse
Vivere sustuleris, da mihi velle mori.
FINIS.