An elegie vpon my deare brother, the Ionathan of my heart, Mr. Iohn Wheeler, sonne to Sir Edmond Wheeler of Riding Court neare Windsor, in the County of Buckingham, deceased

An elegie vpon my deare brother, the Ionathan of my heart, Mr. Iohn Wheeler, sonne to Sir Edmond Wheeler of Riding Court neare Windsor, in the County of Buckingham, deceased

Table of contents

Title page

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADY ELIZABETH, Lady Wheeler.

An Elegie.

[Page]

An Elegie.

1

AWay, those Ioyes; away, those full delights,

The late vnbenders of my thoughtfull minde;

Which fedde my Time with sweeter dayes and nights

Then were, at first, allotted to Mankinde:

Goe seeke out those that feast;

Leave me to sadnesse: Sorrow is the Guest

Which I must entertaine, and billet in my brest.

2

BReake not the Peace of my compos'd Resolves

Rebellious fancy; cease to make resort

Into my setled Browes, whose thought revolves

Businesse of great import:

Invention, rest; till Servile Bribes entice

Some Bards corrupted Pen, to set a price

On some unworthy Lord, or paint his noble vice.

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3

COme then, my Genius; Let the needlesse Care

Of quaint expressions passe:

The mourners garbe is not to crispe the hayre,

And true bread teares consult not with the Glasse:

Lick not thy lines, nor scanne their carelesse feete,

Vnmeasur'd Griefe and Measures seldome meete:

Neglected wrincles best beseeme the Winding-sheete.

4

DRaw neere you gentle heart, draw neere,

Whilst I bedable my suffused eyes;

You shall not spend a teare;

You are my Guests, and these my Obsequies.

No neede to begge a droppe; my dearest Sim

And I will fill the Cisterne to the Brim:

Then let me beg my bread, if I beg teares for Him.

[Page]

5

Ev'n Him, to whose sweet Memorie I owe

This sad Memoriall of my deare Affection;

Whereby (who ever please to reade) may knowe

The perfect President of youths Perfection:

But, ah, these too supicious times! Alas,

It will surpasse

A good Beleevers Faith, to tell but what hee was.

6

FOr me; let scorne and slight Opinion fill

My undervalu'd Rymes with disrepute;

Let every tongue deride my bafsled Quill,

And let my lines consume like Summer fruit,

When I turne Vices Advocate; or when

Affection, or base by-respects of Men,

Shall falsify the just Geometry of my Pen.

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7

GOodnes, and vettue, and heroick worth,

Sweetnesse of Nature, seconded with Arts;

A noble brest, and Birth;

Compleatnes both of Person, and of Parts:

Must be our Theame: We charge the mouth of Fame

To blow her louder Trumpet, and proclame

His Merits, whom we monrne, and glorifie his Name.

8

HE was an early Spring, and beautified

With all that Flora's bounty could bestow;

Life-breathing Zephyr tooke a pride

To see his Buds sprout forth, and flowers growe;

The Nymph Pomona feard the Lord of Time

Mistooke his Tropick, to show fruit in prime

Before the Time of fruit, and in so cold a Clime.

[Page]

9

Injurious Sisters, tell me why you made

His Twine so small, yet spun so short a twine?

Thread had beene the Glory of your Trade,

Had you spun strong as well as fine:

But ah! what strength is able to withstand

The direfull stroke of your imperious hand,

Which prayers can not entreat, nor power countermand?

10

Now, Readers, know, he was a Marke too fayre

For Death to misse; His ripenesse did invite

Her over-daynty Palate not to spare

My lifes delight:

He was the flowre of youth; the Ioy of Art;

A faithfull Partner of a faithfull heart:

The very Soule of love, and friendships Counterpart.

[Page]

11

LEarning divine and morall did enrich

His wealthy Soule with her abundant store:

There was no Excellence, in which

He was not halfe a Master, if not more:

Sometimes, the busy Quadrant, now and then,

Appelles Pencill, and Appollo's Pen

Imployd his skinfull hand: He studyed Bookes and Men.

12

MVsick, the language of th'eternall Quire,

Breath'd in his soule celestiall straynes,

And fild his Spirits with Seraphick fyre,

Whose gentle flames calcin'd his ravisht brynes;

And made him ripe for heav'n: He did depart

More then a Scholler in that sacred Art,

His fancy, singers, voyce, perform'd a Masters part.

[Page]

13

NOble were all his Actions, strict and just,

Quicke, but advis'd; and milde, yet full of spirit:

His heart was buxom, tender, full of Trust;

Prudently simple, free to men of merit:

His Resolutions weighd, reserv'd and strong,

His silence studious, sweet his tongue;

Lesse ready to require, then to conceive a wrong.

14

O, but those firme Indentures, sweetly past

Betwixt his soule and mine,

(Thy bands, ô Hymen, are not halfe so fast;

Ours are too strong for death; death cancells thine)

O, how they vrge my frailty! How they thresh

My wounded Soule, and tribulate my flesh!

And all my teares being sqent, they spueeze out teares afresh.

[Page]

15

PAssion usurpes the kingdome of my Soule:

My heart is full and it must vent, or breake:

Peace, Iudgement, peace; O, shall I not condole

So deare a losse? Give losers leave to speake.

Thou knowest my teares are just

Shall, shall they not embalme the precious dust

Of my true bosome friend? They shall, they will, they must.

16

QVench not those flames which your owne breath hath blowne

In my Affection;

O, limit not those Bon-fires which are growne

Beyond your reach; love burnes without direction:

Nor tell me, what I know, that he sits crown'd

With endlesse Ioy: My sorrow does propound

The joyes that I have lost, not those which he hath found.

[Page]

17

REason must stoope, and Iudgement strike her sayle:

His Ioyes befoole the wisedome of a Pen;

Fancy must flagge, and language must turne taile;

No, these are heights for Angels, not for men:

Alas the stormes of passion

That burst from natures Clowds, have dispensation

To ease themselves by vent, & vent by lamentation.

18

SO vaine, so fraile, so poore a thing is Man!

A weather cocke, that's turnd with every blast;

His Griefes are Armefulls; and his mirth a span;

His Ioyes soone crost, or past

His best delights are sauc'd with doubts and feares:

If had; we plunge in Care: If lost; in teares:

Let goe, or hold, they bite; We hold a Wolfe by th'eares.

[Page]

19

TIme, shake thy Glasse, and let thy Minits flye,

Switcht on with Angels, till thy Sand be spent;

Till then, their's nothing certaine, but to dye;

Or worse, to droyle in feares, or discontent:

Thy best of all thy Sweets are but a Snare;

Thy Honours, blasts of Ayre;

Thy wealth, but golden Trash; and trifles, full of care.

20

VNdresse thy selfe, my Soule, and dissinvest

Thy thoughts of all these Ragges of flesh and blood;

Returne thee to thy Rest;

O, there be Monsters lurke in Natures flood:

Close up thy springs; thy bankes are to the brim:

Weepe for thy selfe; my Soule, thou canst not swim

In the dead Sea of teares; O, weepe no more for Him.

[Page]

21

WAnder no more in the distracted Path

Of Sense: The teares are lost which Passion vent;

O, rather seeke the Pleasures that he hath,

Whose death thine eyes lament;

He lives in joy; Thou show'st a weeping eye;

He sits in Glory; Thou sittst downe to cry;

Thou either lou'dst him not, or giv'st his joyes the Lye.

22

YOu, that are Partners in so great a losse,

Strive to be partners in so great a gaine;

Pry not too much into his Dust, his Drosse;

The hopes of Comfort there, are lesse then vaine.

Cast up your better eyes,

And view that Palace, where his Glory lyes,

Where Time cannot suppresse, where Death cannot surprize.

FINIS.

§

§

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[Page]

An Elegie VPON MY DEARE BROTHER, THE IONATHAN OF MY HEART, Mr. Iohn Wheeler, Sonne to Sir EDMOND WHEELER Of Riding Court neare Windsor, in the County of Buckingham, deceased.

‘Angustia est mihi propter te frater mi Iehonathan; jucundus fuisti mihi valde; Admirabilor fuit amor tuus mihi, amore foeminarum.’ 2. Sam. 1. 26.

LONDON, Printed by T. C. for N. Alsop, and T. Nicholes; and are to be sold at the Angell in Popes head Alley. 1637.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADY ELIZABETH, Lady Wheeler.

[Page]

[Page]

Madam,

ALL that Iob lost in his Affliction, he found double in his Readvancement: His children were not doubled, therefore were not lost. This I speake not to spoyle the Complement of common comforters: I know [...][Page]roone descants upon these Marriages, I will neither recite nor avouch, but wil conclude as Charoone does in many things, nothing: Onely my drift is, to make knowne, that this last Marriage was consummated betwixt your incomparable brother (whose funeralls I here celebrate) and me; betwixt whom there was rather an Identity, then a brotherhood; Frater, ferè alter, Amicus, verè alter. The Elegie which David wrote upon his Ionathan, 2 Sam. 1. 19. warrants mee to doe the like upon mine; whose loves were both alike, both passing the love of women: What I have done, is the Ensigne of my true Affection, whose supporters are, an Honorable Lady, and her noble Sonne: Accept it from his hands who is,

Yours in the true Complement of a faithfull heart. Fra: Quarles.

Information about this book

Title statement

An elegie vpon my deare brother, the Ionathan of my heart, Mr. Iohn Wheeler, sonne to Sir Edmond Wheeler of Riding Court neare Windsor, in the County of Buckingham, deceased

Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.

Edition statement

1637

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A10255

ID [STC]

STC 20537

ID [STC]

ESTC S115450

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99850669

ID [PROQUEST]

99850669

ID [VID]

15890

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A10255)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 15890)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1184:3)

Source

— An elegie vpon my deare brother, the Ionathan of my heart, Mr. Iohn Wheeler, sonne to Sir Edmond Wheeler of Riding Court neare Windsor, in the County of Buckingham, deceased, Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644..

Extent

[10], 11, [3] p.

Printed by T[homas] C[otes] for N. Alsop, and T. Nicholes; and are to be sold at the Angell in Popes head Alley,. London :: 1637.. (Dedication signed: Fra: Quarles.) (In verse.) (Printer's name from STC.) (The first leaf and the last leaf are blank.) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.)

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