FVNERALL ELEGIES, VPON THE MOST VNTIMELY DEATH OF the Honourable and most hopefull, Mr. IOHN STANHOPE, Sonne and Heire to the Right Honourable PHILIP Lord STANHOPE, Baron of Shelford:

VVHO DECEASED IN Christ-church at OXFORD, the 18. of Iuly, 1623.


London printed for Ralph Mab. MDCXXIV.

Ad Lectorem.

OFficiosus Amor lachrimas effudit ab vrna
Quam raptìm ingestas Musa latere velit,
Melpomenen moerore suo ne crede superbam;
Fastum ô quid nescit, si modo luctus habet?
Tu solum expendas, quanta est huic causa dolori,
Cum sapiat, quasi nunc prompta, Querela vetus.


GEmma domus nostrae, Musarum dulers ocelle
Flos Parnasstaci, deliciae (que) chori,
Defunctum sequor obsequijs, complector & vin­bram,
Heu quot corporibus dignior vmbra tua est?
Non est fictus amor, non est vmbratilis ardor,
Vmbra places, videar corporis vmbra tui.
Henricus Percy,
Comitis Northum­briae Filius.
ANd hast thou left vs then (Deare Soule?) must wee
Comfort our eyes, no more beholding thee?
[...]uldst thou bee so much a proficient here,
[...] dye so soone in thy first yeere?
[...] [...]ill thou be thus a Graduate, to shine
[...] already, and there turne Diuine?
[...] [...]gree, whose luster quite defaces
[...] [...]e Hoods, and Academicke graces.
[...] [...]h mistooke thee; measuring thee a man
By thy Soules Elle, not by thy bodies Span.
Hadst thou beene duller, thou perchance mightst haue
Gone but a slow and foot-pace to thy graue:
Th [...] [...]ch of Fate had not bin stir'd: the Skies
Would not so greedy snatch so meane a prize:
Thy quicknes kild thee, ripenes was thy death,
Running to goodnes, thou ranst out of breath.
How didst thou pitch beyond thy yeeres! how sage,
How wise, how staid, how elder than thy age!
W [...]t manly grauity was knowne to house,
[...] in thy smooth then others wrinckled browes?
[...] different from the common Nobler sort,
[...] here for fashion onely come and sport,
[...] weare a gawdy Gowne! and then with ease
[...] the Streets, and learne the Colledges,
[...]ape some few ends of Iests, wherewith hereafter:
To branch discourse, and entertaine a laughter!
That nere reach further than the mysticall
Science of Tennis, and (their Spheare) the Ball;
Or else to weild some Fencers woodden toole,
Or sweat a Night-cap in the Dancing-schoole.
To cracke a Lute-string, and such worthy Arts,
In others, Complements, in great men, parts.
Thy Studies were more serious as thy lookes,
While others Bandyed thou wast tossing Bookes,
Busied in Paper, and collecting there,
Gemmes to sticke in thy mind, not in thine eare.
Me thinks I see thee yet close by thy selfe,
Reaching some choyce Booke from thy furnisht shelfe,
Loose the silke strings, and with a willing paine,
To read, and thinke, and write, and read againe.
Thus didst thou spend thy lifes short day, till night,
Deaths night oretooke thee, and put out thy light.
This sable Curtaine was too soone orespred,
Thy day-taske done, to bring thee to thy bed.
Yet happy soule, whose first night did begin
In Death, vndarkned with the night of sinne.
E. R.
VT nova subsiliunt acciso germinae trunco,
Et reficit pennae damna cadentis olor;
Sic vbi Matris honor cecidit Stanhopia proles,
Sarcina mox orbam non sinit esse nova.
Primitias vteri, quae coelo debita sors est,
Soluisti Mater, quid potes inde queri?
At Calum excambit foetum, similem (que) reponit,
Num potes hoc damnum dicere? munus erat.
Qui sic interijt, non interijsse videtur
Natalem fato, sed reparasse suo.
Ier. Thorp. Art Mag. ex Aede Christi.

A Funerall Elegie.

AS for a teadious famine, or a siege
Threatning vs al, our coūtry & our Liege:
So do we grieue for thee, each neighbour
Weeps to the indangering of an eye;
As if the losse were his, or he had sold by
His Patrimony, and had spent the gold.
Spanish Currantoes, Brunswicke, and the fate
And Massacres of the Palatinate,
In this spring tide, and flood of griefe are lost,
As raine drops in a streame, that in the vast
Ocean, this hath so fill'd our hearts, eyes, eares,
That we want sence of other cares then these.
If in a drowth this accident had beene,
Thou hadst not, Fate, committed such a sinne.
he peoples tribute had repair'd the losse
Of the mad dog-starres fury, and this crosse;
For with their teares the parched earth had beene,
As after plent'ous raine, fruitfull and greene.
By should heauens drops now longer mixe with ours,
But these vnited conduits, doubled showres,
Trent would vnruly grow, and his proud waues
Would make our habitations then our graues.
As the sunne snow: so griefe melts vs, and you,
Wherese're we goe, may tract vs by our dew.
The State-men of this losse such notice take,
They'le not doe businesse, 'till they'ue wept for's sake.
With these Inferiors ioyne, from th' Collyers eye
You may take inke to write an Elegie,
And in their fields of hay the Countrey-men
Doe weepe, as if they'd haue it grow againe.
Our sinne hath bred this crosse: so Adams vice
Did disinherite him of Paradise.
His death of ours, nay vnborne Babes will misse,
And feele his absence. who had brought a blisse
To them, to all of them. For as we see
A goodly, spreading, large, and well-limbd tree
Doth guard the vnderwood, and doth immure
The houses neere, which by it are secure;
So from all tempest, from all rage of winde
He would haue fenc'd his neighbours, and haue shin'd
Like Lights in Watch-towres, which are set to saue
Passengers from Rockes, and fury of the Waue.
This may coniectur'd bee, from what we saw,
His youth did beare, and promise. For if by
The foote of Hercules with Geometrie
His true proportion was collected, may
Not we on the same grounds proceed, and say
On sight of the foundation, this had beene
As faire an edifice as e're was seene,
If't had gone on? it is prophane to say,
The Builder wanted skill, and stuffe to lay
A perfect roofe on what he had began,
And could not end this Master-piece of Man,
And therefore dasht it out, Wee all doe know
We were vnworthy of so great a flow,
And streame of goodnesse, that his innocence
Long since deseru'd to bee remooued hence:
Wherefore true Iustice plac'd Him neere the Throne
In heauen of one in three, of three in one.
His life was spotlesse: as his sicknesse grew,
So did his zeale and calmenesse: all is true
In him, which Poets by hyperboly
Giue their choyce friends to make their memory.
Immortall. Like a thankefull streame he ran
To pay his debt vnto the Ocean.
His Monuments of Learning were bestow'd
Where he had his. He paid what ere he ow'd;
Obedience to his Parents, Loue to all,
Repentance, death for's sinnes in generall.

Vere lugentis Pietas.

QVae Fata quondam cecinit Henricì, tibi
Modò Musa, magne luuenis, exequias parat.
Documenta mors maiora nunquam virium
Dedit suarum, simile non potest malum,
Ruina similis, Carolo superstite
Saluoque rege, & integro cultu Dei,
Accidere nobis: lector istorum benè est
Si conualescat: deficit mihi spiritus.
G. I.
REdde ô Depositum Patri petenti,
Redde ô Depositum diserta sedes;
Tanti non emo Literas, nec Antrum,
Et Phoebi Tripodas, Deumque totum.
Illum sub dubij tepore sensus,
Et fuscâ biuij trementis horâ
Luctantem, toties Lare in Paterno
Emersisse, semel nec inde nostro?
Illum tendiculas manumque Fati
Prensantis toties cauere posse,
Vt damni mora foeneraret ingens
Huic aurae scelus, inuidumque nomen
Seruaret miseris ruina Musis?
Nunc iras veteres palam fatentur,
Musis ah nimis asperae sorores,
Musis, irrita quòd Sepulchra reddunt,
Et fallunt tenebras silentis Vrnae.
I am fato cecidit Triumphus ingens,
Non vulgare epulum rogum saginat,
Sed Praenobile, quodque delicato
Reddat iam proceres sapore vermes.
Cymbam nunc inopem rosis & alga
Nauclerus Stygiae paludis ornat,
Ornat sollicitus; magisque sudat,
Quam si nunc reduci foros pararet
Aeneae, Dominaeque nauiganti.
Illo quot Veneres, Facetiasque
Vernantes licuìt videre vultu?
Quot pexo mulierculas in Ore,
Et quantos animo viros adulto?
Vno non potuit iacere telo
Virtus tam numerosa; sed tenello
Centum pectore condidit sagittas
Fati certa lues: Character irae
Dum vestigia vulnerum fatetur
(Seu morbus fuerat, Pudoruè Morbi,)
Crebris morsibus hinc & hinc rubescit.
Absumptum est iaculis repentè pectus,
Et posses pharetram vocare metam;
Non sic foemina spinulis refertum
Puluillum iugulat, veneficaeque
Humanas fodiunt acu figuras:
Non tot vulnera, tot per omne corpus
Caesar sustinuit, quot ille solo
Sensit corde puer, Puerque spreuit
Ingens pectore, iamque vulnerato:
Qui quamuis puer, ausus est minantes
Non pallere Deas, ferociamque
Ostentare viri, tuamque Caesar,
Dum stratis operit pudicus ora
Obnubitque sinum! ferox, & acer!
Quem vinci puduit iubente Fato!
Gulielmus Strode Art. Bac.
SLeepe, sweetest youth, in thy still graue,
Whom birth nor vertue could not saue,
Nor louelinesse nor youth could free,
From this doome of mortality.
Could we with teares thy life redeeme,
Our eyes should be a liuing streame:
Or else what would wee not contriue
To giue, so heauen would thee repriue
To older yeeres, and would thee saue
Till old, thou might'st become a graue?
Thou might'st depart then without wonder,
When soule and body fall asunder.
But thou wast louely, young, and wise,
The comfort of our hopes and eyes;
Could Death discerne thy parts, or see;
Hee had enamored beene on thee:
Thy beauty would force him forbeare
His churlish dart, and shead a teare;
To see so faire an obiect stand,
That loue and pitty could command;
And force compassion in each one,
That had or sence, or passion.
But thou wast ripe for heauen, and wee
Are left behind, to grieue for thee:
Nor are we angry with that doome.
Could wee weepe Amber, and entombe
Those louely Reliques, which might blesse
Our sorrow in thy happinesse;
That so our teares might thee embrace,
And shrine thee in a louely place,
So they vnto eternity
Might both enbalme, and bury thee:
Could we thus blesse our griefe, and thee,
Wee should weepe a glad Elegy.
Had we such comfort in our teares,
We'd weepe the remnant of our yeres,
To halfe redeeme thee, could wee saue
Thy ashes in so rich a graue.
Though this is but a wished gift,
Yet griefe can make a louing shift,
And know our loue can make a roome,
As euerlasting as this Tombe.
In spight of death, wee will thee saue,
Both from the fate of death, and graue:
Thy loue shall find, though life's thus spent,
In each mans heart a Monument.
Thus wee'le preserue thee, and contriue,
Though dead, thou still shalt bee aliue.
INuidia Fati, prima surrepta iuuenta,
Hic iacet Oxonij gloria, delitiae.
Hunc populo indignum Musae rapuere benigno
Amplexu, & gremio deposuere suo.
Formam tota cohors Musarum deperit, ambit:
Aeternumque aiunt, Hoc requiesce sinu.
Annorum spondent faciles per saecula lapsus
Dum rapit audaci mors inopina manu.
Inuidiam hanc rident Musae, tumuloque reponunt
Carmineo, inuita & viuere morte iubent.
Sic quem mortalem Parcae inuidere Cmamaenis
Aeternum in nostro carmine tutus erit.
Gulielmus Pickering, Art. Bac.

De morbo quo fratres vtri (que) laborabant.

Corpora tam similes vestesque habuere colores,
Corpora nescires, an tunicata vides.
Tam similes vtrique dedit morbusque figuras,
Fratres vel morbo noueris esse duos.
Sic morbi obseruant habitus; conformia Fata
Si fuerant, fratres viuere vtrosque velint.
Ioh. Euans Gen. Art. Bac.
QVam fueras fratris morbo praeposterus haeres,
Vt viuat titulis posthumus ille tuis?
Iam nimius fueras Haeres, natura Parensis
Haeredem, fratris te tua Fata volunt,
Credibile est mortem tum lasciuisse pharetra,
Dum sic alternas vibrat vtrisque minas.
Non errare potest dubiae manus impia mortis,
Dum pro fratre mori gestit vterque prior.
Dum sic Bacchatur, Fatum est crudelius, alter
Fratri morbus erat te perijsse suo.
Petr. Aspley in Art. Bac. Equitis Aur. & Turris Londini praefect. primogenitus.
TIs indeed, tis Stanhopes heire,
Whose corps lye muffled on this Beere:
(Which a pure loue, before it went,
Ennobled more then his descent)
But count his vertues, not his yeeres,
Or ghesse him by his Fathers teares,
And then no Son or Heir's desir'd,
But th' whole Name and Race expir'd.
Nor doth his death cause this our woe,
(Death's our nature, not our foe)
But that his life so soone being gone,
Made him a ghest, and not a sonne;
That hee snatcht in's minoritie
Did rather loose his life, then die.
And now, his yeeres being vnderstood
To be so short, and yet so good,
Wee may diuide our passions so,
That we may grieue, yet wonder too.
His wit so ripe in youth so greene,
Made him ancient at fifteene;
And now you see his face no more,
You would date him at threescore.
But if you would memorials keepe
Of this faire body lies asleepe,
That, looking on the toyes you weare,
Though hee bee gone, you'd thinke him heere:
First know, you do this soule no grace,
To catch his Ribbands, or his Lace,
Or (as the Iewes did heretofore)
To keepe his Earerings to adore:
If for his memory you care,
Weare his manners, not his haire.
Thinke on him in his latest rest,
When death had spawnd vpon his brest,
And hurl'd those deadly Atomes on,
Enamel'd with corruption,
How still that harmelesse soule remaind
Among so many spots, vnstaind.
O why was Fate so soone seuere,
T'enchase those vgly Rubies there?
Nor will we mitigate the name,
And call them Measels; for the same
Were on the brothers body tride,
Nor yet complain wee that hee died;
Or how could Pin-dust, cast on's skin,
Cause his death to enter in?
Nor would then his Physicians skill
Suffer such Fleabites for to kill.
No, this was fatall, twas his lot
That from euery little spot,
Should be drawne a line athwart
To the Center of his heart.
Or else God from some higher place,
Seeded Manna on his face;
And sure tis so, or else hee'd ne're
Haue put him in this Omer heere.
Then let's now no more lament
The dead, (whose life so wel was spent,
That now for land, hee heauen doth share,
By his death a greater Heire)
But our selues: for sure tis worse,
To bee the Mourner then the Coarse.
Thomas Lockey, Art. Bac.
ERgone non auidos Musarum expalluit haustus
Ille puer, salso strenuus ore loqui?
Ergone non imas puduit redolere lucernas,
Vt damno afficeret mox grauiore Patrem?
Siccine selegit mors illum ex omnibus vnum?
Illum, delitiae qui modo Patris erat?
Dissimulare Patêr iam discas, vaetibi, Fata
Inuida si norînt, quis tibi charus erit.
LOoke on his body chequered o're with spots,
Looke on his soule vntainted with such blots.
His purer part is frighted at each sore,
Two Twins were neuer so vnlike before.
What wonder if a sudden parting bee,
Where thus the soule and body disagree?
Edwardus Croke, Art. Bac.
ANd is our griefe so large? can't be confin'd
To Place, to Time, but showne to all mankind?
Must wee remooue his Corps, and so conuey
Our Thames to Trent, and weare another way
With teares? to dally with our griefe, & beare
About our losse, as if wee playd with feare?
Where doth this iourny after lifes iourny tend,
This trauaile after death, this endlesse end?
Resting he moues, and dead he stil doth rowle,
As if his body went to seeke his soule:
'Twas not because we partners seeke of griefe,
The greatest sorrowes seldome craue reliefe.
Let's then diuide our woes, and let each care
Enioy that want, and in such sorrow share.
Tis fit (though heere hee died) that countreys wombe
That gaue him life, should likewise bee his Tombe:
To die, and to bee buried in one place,
Beseemes common mortality, his race
Merits no captiue rites, then let our losse
Bee as diffusiue as his goodnesse was.
What though hee trace mortality, and dye?
Death's a Refiner of Nobility:
And in a fresher mould, and purer fire,
Blazons him in a fairer Character.
This were an honest comfort, if being dead,
Our griefe could haue their obiect buried:
If wee onely with our mem'ry did beare,
And with those eies alone to thinke him here.
But loe, here's part of him, which doth extend
His life beyond his life, nor doth death end
Himselfe, though halfe himselfe, for now in this
We both do view, although one whole we misse.
Nor doe we here retaine a Light so cleare,
As when two Suns pac'd in one Hemispheare,
Nor doe Tyndarides diuided shine
So bright, as when they both their Lights combine:
When two are link't and parted, then wee may
An obscure twilight call it, and no day.
Memorials of the good, and Pictures doe
Restore our griefe, and make vs loue our woe.
So when wee see his Brothers shape, these lips,
These eyes of his, these cheekes, that face, it strips
Vs of our sence, and foorthwith makes vs frame,
That tis no Brother, Picture, but the same:
And writes his Name afresh, lest griefe should dye:
Each limbe of his speakes his mortality.
This is our ioy, our griefe, that wee request
Almost of that loue to bee dispossest.
His yeeres I neede not computate, since Fate
His riper vertues, not his yeeres doth date,
Which who so dares to number, must confesse
Hee slanders, by commending happinesse.
But's richer soule wee must admire, not praise
That groser Heraldry despaires to blaze.
Adored Saint, or more, if more there bee
Of thy blest Reliques onely knowne to thee;
Wee doe confesse th'art gone, and yet our losse
If told, is vnderualued, so grosse,
So young are our complaints, that wee lament
In petty Notions, sorrowes rudiment:
Our infant teares yet knowes not all our woe,
Because wee knewe not all that was to growe
In him, a graft all hope, but riper yeeres
Shall teach vs how to parallell our teares,
And so improoue wee may, (as hee did grow
In vertue) dayly thriuing in our woe.
Can then that Riuer which by thee doth slide,
Bee so vnmindfull, not to bee full Tide,
And not ore-flow his bounds? O be so good
To saue a wonder, lest wee force a flood;
Swell thou (Meander streames) let flow thy teares,
Better proportioned to our fruitfull feares;
Or let that Dog-starre cause thee to bee spent,
As t did his life, our eyes shall weepe a Trent,
And make his Tombe an Iland, thou shalt bee
(Shelford) more famous for mortality.
And thou the Wel-spring, which with Arts didst flow,
(Bereaued Oxford) be a well of woe.
Let Future times this first note learne of thee.
Here dyed a Stanhope. Thus thou learn'd may bee.
VVEe doe not here examine why
His Tutor suffred him to die,
As if his watchfulnesse had slept:
For sure hee was by Argos kept,
And had hee not a Stanhope beene,
Hee might his Natures Tutor seeme:
But wee question that which forc't
God and man to bee diuorc't.
That first Question, that Where, that Why,
That sentenc'd first our soules to dye.
If fruit now haue that power of death,
As in the child-hood of the earth,
Which Fruit to cloake we Leaues put on,
Cloth'd with our owne transgression.
No, know his soule so pure, so good,
And how corruption it withstood;
That needed almost had his skinne
Rather to bee baptiz'd then sinne.
Though Cherries sowne in such a place,
That what hee ate, hee wore in's face,
Yet euery twinkling spot did lye
Like Starres, but in a fairer Skie;
Such beauty might the Moone remoue,
Sooner then Endymions loue.
And from his kisse her light to come,
Rather then from that common Sun.
If then Measels spangled thus,
Imbroidered his face no worse;
If his disease so modest bee,
And blush at it's owne cruelty;
Then what may his beauty claime,
Whom his sickenesse thus became;
And in the twilight of his dayes,
Chequ'red his countenance with Rayes,
Presaging like a rubyed night,
The Sunne awak't to shine more bright?
If then our griefe bee not at height,
Behold his Fathers sorrowes weight,
Whose heauy iourney wing'd with feares,
Caus'd his body sweat with teares,
And each officious limbe turn'd eye,
Claiming their duty for to cry:
And well I thinke all eye was hee,
That in a double night did see,
Nor will I euer that approoue,
When thus it sees that blind is loue:
For fatherly affection may,
Though it bee night, create a day.
Now with an honest heresie,
I could renounce Philosophy,
That seeing thus their passions knit,
His Father did his soule beget,
And if it were not so, then why
Did's Fathers Fate teach him to dye,
And by his Propheticke death,
Make him's Heire in's losse of breath:
So that alone, which had the might
To part them, did them co-vnite?
Nor doth goodnesse cease with breath,
See liberality after death,
Gilding each Parish as they fall,
(For each place claimes his Funerall)
Where he raines a siluer showre,
Making each Towne like Danaes Towre.
Or as a snaile which neuer more
Returnes the way sh'ath gone before,
Christals the path where shee doth passe,
To signifie there her way was.
Nor any other Tombe shee'le haue
But her shell, her house her graue:
So will Stanhope no where lye,
But where hee had's natiuity.
Though Aegypt claimes hee died in her,
Yet Canaan must his bones interre.
Richardus Chaworth, Art. Bac.
IS Stanhope dead? and are our eyes yet dry?
Can wee out-face our griefe so constantly?
Doth not hard-hearted Athens yet lament,
That is depriu'd of such an Ornament,
A Sonne and a Mecaenas? Can shee find
One that deseru'd so well that's left behind?
Mourne then sad Athens, and in memory
Of such ahopefull Sonne, weepe out an eye:
Doe something, that posterity may know,
So great a losse cannot bee smother'd so.
And you sad Brothers, whose yet weeping eyes
Threaten a flood of teares, whose memories
Are yet fresh-gauld with sorrow, whose hearts weepe
Channels of blood for teares, whose checkes yet keep
The furrowed gutters where their sorrow flowes,
Whose foreheads are the ensignes of their woes,
Make him a verse or two, let him not dye,
And perish quite from the worlds memory;
Hurle something into feet, and let it runne
Madding abroade, to tell what Death hath done.
Had hee this entertainement when hee came
To honour Athens? might not Stanhopes Name
Haue priuiledg'd him from death? could Shelford giue
Him to himselfe? and send him heere to liue?
And must wee giue him death? must Athens prooue
A Step-mother, and quite forget to loue?
Yet thus much let vs honour him, though dead,
Let him bee honourably buried;
Yet that's not all; wee must not leaue him thus,
Our sorrow must bee more ingenious.
One that deseru'd to liue so long as he,
Must not bee hasten'd to his destiny.
Thus farre his death hath brought him: let vs striue
To reinfomre him, that hee may reuiue,
And thus much crosse the Fates, that thus much durst
To make him liue, when they haue done their worst.
Let vs record his vertues, which deseru'd
To bee ingrauen in gold, or bee reseru'd
In trusty Caedar, which when wee are dead,
Among our childrens children may bee read;
Where some may ioy to heare them told, and some
May lispe them out as they were taught at home.
They neede not feare mis-reckoning, hee had all,
And all hee thought a number too too small.
Hee was an heauen on earth, in whom combin'd
His vertues like a Constellation shin'd:
In which each starre prickt with a iealous feare,
Did striue to bee the glory of his Spheare:
His Noble birth shin'd like a Ruby set
To bee the grace of a rich Cabbinet;
His education shaddowing it o're,
So well becom'd it, that it shin'd the more.
His pretty and ingenuous face did looke
Like the good Title of an honest Booke:
His comely shape, which did become him best,
Look't like the Sanctuary of the rest:
As if the patterne were some Deity,
Which Nature coppied his perfections by.
Vertues amazed with a fond delight,
Gazing and doting at so sweet a sight:
At length with full embraces did oppresse
This Microcosme, or world of happinesse.
Where with an emulating industry,
Each shewing an obsequious Piety,
Labour'd to better Nature, and goe on
With that rare work which nature had begun.
His affable and willing Courtesy
Claim'd vpper hand of his Nobility,
He was right Noble, borne of Stanhopes blood,
But was thrice Noble, being borne so good.
His courteous salutings seem'd to bee
Notable Emblemes of humility:
His heart was like his eyes, which towr'd so high,
They stoopt not to the lure of vanity.
Doe yee not wonder yet? then stay and see
His learning ballanc'd with his infancy;
Marke but how young hee was, how ripe in wit,
His learning him, and hee had honour'd it:
Hee needes not Armes to shew his Ancestry,
That was so Noble by's owne Heraldry:
Neither need Logicke prooue hee was a man,
When he could proue as much as logicke can.
Could hee bee idle, that with easie paines
Summon'd each Coast, & call'd them by their names?
Wanted he knowledge, whose Minority
Durst be acquainted with Philosophy?
Speake, art thou yet so stupid, to deny
That he was too good for Mortality?
He was growne old in goodnes, and could see
The way to heauen, euen in his Infancie.
Henricus Humberston, Art. Bac.

Vpon the custome to pay to euery Parish, through which the dead Corps is carried.

WHy ist you stop our rites, as though a Dearth
Of Pence had made new ferry-mē on earth?
And ist such charges for to dye, that wee
By Water and by Land too pay a Fee?
Why with such strictnesse, doe you aske your pay,
As though you bargain'd for the Kings High-way?
I thought at least our Carkasse might haue bin
Quiet in Death, in that our latest Inne.
Or that naild Coffins, or vnwrapped Lead,
From all vexation safe had kept the dead.
Let him in peace walke to his silent Caue,
To the long solemne progresse of his graue:
Trouble not his Procession: for ye
Him this way wandring neuer more shall see.
He comes not to possesse your grounds or lands,
Or [...]n your Tenements to seaze his hands;
He is no Court-messenger, to take in
Lodgings or house-roome for the State or King:
Hee's but's owne Harbinger to prouide roome,
E'ne for a little earth, sixe foote of Tombe:
Then let him passe, vntroubled with those feares,
And wee will follow after with our teares.
O let's wrap one teare vp, to shew his Hearse,
Hee cannot bee so soone forgot: a Verse,
Well spent, Embalmes him richer then the cost
Of precious oyntment on his body lost:
Which onely for the Wormes perfumes his flesh,
And makes it but more handsome rottennesse:
But this doth quicken Fame, and this doth raise
A volume of sorrow for after-dayes,
That men, ten Ages hence, may weepe to see
Such hopefull Plants, such thriuing grafts as hee,
So young, and yet so full of age, so good,
To feele vntimely blasting in the bud.
As though 'twere Natures pride to deale with vs,
As Mothers with their froward Infants vse,
Who bribe them quiet with a costly Iemme,
But being still, doe steal't away agen.
The world was peeuish, froward, till to light
Was brought this rich, this high-priz'd Margarite;
Which being seene, gaz'd on, and wondred at,
Was reconuai'd to Heauen, its proper seat,
Where Angels ware it, any blest powers it set
In their owne truely-glorious Cabinet.
No sooner had we seene this Iemme, but see
The want thereof, such happinesse haue wee,
So blessed are we; O what greater ill,
To haue had good, and not to haue it still?
How we renew our griefe? how prone we bee
To shead new teares, as often as we see
Thy Fellow-Brother sadly walke alone,
Without a like-clad Brother, too well knowne?
What pitty 'tis to part the Turtle Doue
From his Mater to part two Twins? for in loue
None elder was, one soule the store-house was
Of both affections, and though they passe
For two, yet trust me, I did then descry
As the same soule in a seuer'd body.
Hee that suruiues, takes vantage by thy fall,
To shew his last loue to thy Funerall;
To thy memory his best griefe to giue,
And to thy Shrine a Votary to liue,
To offer sighs and sobs, complaints and feaers,
And sweetly weepe foorth Elegiacke teares,
To blame thy Physicke, & to vexe their skill,
Which is profoundly mysticall to kill.
And then with passion to excuse their part,
And say the Cherries kill'd thee, not their Art:
And truely wish that guilty cursed fruit,
May with the Apples curse, and figtrees suite.
That their Sodom increase blacke ashes bee
Which more become a coffin, then a tree:
That they ne're come to ripenes, but be snatcht
Away as greene, as thou from him art catcht.
Thus his diuided soule, with griefe and loue
Striues still for new, his first thoughts to remooue:
So to thy fortunes although hee bee Heire,
His heart and blacks alike sad Emblemes are.
But mourne no more, his soule was due long since,
And now vnbody'd for the Angels Prince:
The first borne Gods Heire is, reioyce hee's gone,
For 'twas his iustice to make him his owne.
T. Triplet, Art. Bac.
VVE that empty on thy Hearse,
Our passions in teares or verse,
Will not blame thy hasty Fate,
Nor say thou didst not fill thy date
Of a iust age, lest wee deny
Thy vertue, her natiuity:
And so by the vntimely Layes,
Not Fate, but we abridge thy dayes.
If wee search thy lifes account,
'Tis not to what thy yeeres amount;
Nor calculated by thy youth,
But by thy vertues riper growth;
We iudge a Circles excellence,
Not by the large Circumference,
But as the compasse it doth grace,
With an vndistorted pace.
No lesse of thy short race wee say,
It's drawne home the neerer way,
Passing vntill it met thy Fate
With an vnperuerted gate.
For carried with thy grauity,
What errour could it driue awry?
No wonder 'tis, that oft wee know,
A new prepost'rous childhood grow
In such, as vnder that age shake,
Which their selues a burthen make:
Let vs wonder now wee see
In Childhood, ages constancy:
And thinke hee not vntimely dyed,
In whom wee saw this wonder tryed;
Wee'le spare our passions, & our teares:
This hath made vp thy failing yeeres.
VT possit cineri tanto par vrna parari,
Et mole inducta nobilis vrna premi,
Hic Dirces opus est, feretro succumbat alumnus,
Cuius non semel est sylua secuta chelyni.
Cantilletque melos, ad saxa cienda, canorum
Vnde tibi sterni forma supina potest.
Nullus populeo, lachrymata cortice, myrrha.
Subtili coelo marmora ficta linet,
Vrceolis nostris lachrymas fundemus, & inde
Coementum accipiet flebilis vrna suum.
Thomas Fowler, Art. Bac.
MAiori succumbit Atlas iam pondere coeli,
Et queritur sensisse nimis, miserique lacerti
Ceu tonitrus crepitant, illos dum turba tuarum
Virtutum concreta premit, dum mente Gygantem
Sustentant, & naturae compendia nostrae;
Hic habuit solus, quicquid possedimus omnes.
En quantum Eloquium frontis, ridentis ocelli
Blanditiae quantae, toto via lactea vultu
Spirauit. Non est è vino lacte papillae,
Linea coelestis, candore notabilis ipso,
His radijs facta est. Quam prodigiosa tumentis
Luxuria ingenij, stupefactos efficit omnes,
Incestatque fidem. Studio fallente laborem
Furtiuè fruitur, semper tantum artis honesta
Arsit auaritia, & quaerenti haec defuit illi.
Diuinos artus macula dum fata profanant,
Ecce Medusaeo festinat praepete tristis
Sollicitusque Pater. Numen tibi nocte diurna
Indulget, dictatque vias. Quas vertis in vndas,
Diluuiem meditans, Ioue iam nolente, secundam.
Contendit pro morte Pater, sibi vendicat aeuo:
O quàm magnus amor, si haec sit discordia sola
Discordes habuisse metus: hic illius, ille
Huius Fata timet: Quaedam est victoria Patris,
Saepeque praemoritur: quaesi sollicitare petebat
Christum etiam in coelis, vt saluum redderet illum
Prodigio, sic sic istum valuisse deceret.
Io. Dawson, Art. Bac.

De variolis, quibus infestus obijt, & in morbum relapsu.

CVm Puer, hosce lues premeret vibicibus Artus,
Placatisque fores Stellio numinibus,
Non tulit illa suae natura pericula sortis,
Et repulit morbi versicoloris opus.
Conatus libuit modicos contemnere, donec
Constitit, heu, nimios delituisse dolos.
Parthica fraus morbi (nimis heu tibi Barbarus hostis)
Tela retro misit, plus nocuitque fuga.
Sic vitae strategema tuae tua Fata pararant:
(Te visae est Fatis vita parasse tuis)
Foelices animae, quarum consortia coelum
Ambit, vt haud pigeat composuisse dolos.
Conticet Ideaum iam tandem fabula raptum,
Repperit Achetypum cum Ganymedis amor.
Geo. Griffith, in Art. Bac.
I Cannot weepe for griefe, in men wee prooue
Teares to bee Embleames but of childrens loue:
Nor is't but bastard sorrow which we show,
When we on Funerals Cakes and Wine bestow
More thoughts, than on the buried, then alone,
When we not plumpe for teares, we truely mone.
So truely mone I thee, who, ere thou died,
At once wert Natures, and thy Fathers pride.
Kings, Queenes, and Princes of their Comets haue
As Tragicall fore-runners of their graue:
The Sunne it selfe, as in the West it stood
Vshring thy face, lookt like a globe of blood,
Not two houres ere thou dyedst; and they say,
His frighted Orbe would faine haue run away,
Wer't not hedg'd in with Planets, three and three,
On either side, for feare't should be too free:
O that thy soule, like th' Sunne in his owne Spheare,
Had still remain'd; then friends, without a teare,
Might both haue seene, and hug'd thee, then yet might
Oxford and Shelford haue enioy'd their light.
But Fate preuents my wishes, and now see
Ioues Royall Bird, the soules first resedy,
Not naturally to heauen ascending,
But by Arts faigned miracle, pretending
A better flight: thinke how the other three,
Allyed in Name and Consanguinity,
All Heires deceas'd, doe gratulate this one,
In making there a Constellation,
Like to Deltoton, which before might be
Th'vnhappy Dog-starre, 'cause there was but three.
But as from Phoenix ashes springs another,
So out of thine an Heire, a younger Brother.
But what's the comfort, when each Chaire & Board,
Like breathing Ghosts, cry out their former Lord?
If that for freer Ayre, he chance to walke
Amongst the curled wood, trees seeme to stalke.
Each thing renewes his brothers memory,
Or seemes his brother: If the streames thereby
Whisper, hee thinkes they call him, straightway feares
And striues to make a greater flood with teares:
Perhaps the harmelesse flowres doe kisse his feete,
Hee thinkes they mocke him, goes to th' open streete,
Where as hee walkes, beleeues each tongue and eye
To speake and looke his Brothers destiny.
A Lethargie's on mee, nor can I write
Whats Poet-like, while I conceiue this spite
Of vniust Fortune, yet I cease to brawle:
A Satyre ill becomes a Funerall.
If euer it did thine, the Poets braine
Could ne're inuent such a malignant straine
As fortune acts on thee, while thou preuent
The Dog-dayes Physicke in deaths punishment:
Thy face may rebeget in th' Mothers Wombe,
A Monster fram'd of griefe, whose liuing Tombe
Shall bee the hearts of all that doe lament
To see this Coffin, this Heires Tenement.
I dare not cease, lest iudg'd by my owne feares,
To bee as thrifty of my lines as teares;
Yet who respects them, stones doe sweat and weepe
Other mens sorrowes, but when those that sleepe,
Awake and know neglect of friends, they then
Will gratifie more Marble stones then men.
But feare not thou, hee that shall euer see
Thy Brothers shaddow, sure will thinke it thee:
Thou liuest in him though dead, and as thou dyed,
Thou seemest to dye in iest, so sweetly lyed
Each colour in his owne place, fear'd to part
Thinking thou imitat'st a Players Art.
But now they're vanisht, yet thou art not farre,
A Planet here, aboue a fixed Starre.
Thou, though an Heire, wert but an earthly clod,
Yet Death hath made thee more; an Heire with God.
Thomas Motershead, Art. Bac.
TErra, & sepulchrum, funus, & lachrymaebreues,
Et complementum quod (que) plebeiae necis
Procul recedant; fortis et doctus dolor
Emanet oculis, spiret & musam nisi
Totus virilis, plenus & dignus Deo.
Aeternitati, noster, at (que) vmbraepiae,
Litet Poeta, carminis vires sui
Hinc mutuetur hinc, quibus vitam dedit
Ipsum cadauer (melius ah daret sibi)
Sumus argumento docti, at & nobis tamen
Hoc istud aufers; victor at quare procul
Frater recedit? Mors in hunc vires suas
Experta, victa est, igitur in fratrem ruens
Pudore rubuit, & verecundo dolo
Intus recedens, occupat cordis sinum,
Et se fateri metuit; hinc audax foras
Egressus ipse est, addit & morbo suo
Cerasi ruborem, (cuius insidias ADAM
Non ipse fugeret) mortis & miro modo
Rubore nimto pallet ah tandem nimis.
Et ipse palles, spiritus tanquam duos
Animaret vnus, incipis primùm mori,
Doces (que) natum, qui patrizauit nimis,
Nimium (que) monstrat indolem promptam suam,
Leto vel ipso, gaudet & discens mori.
Campana magna sonuit & nato, & tibi,
Ambos (que) gemuit ipsa secretò tamen,
Horam (que) Nonam facta iam fallax boat,
Mortem (que) pariter, timuit hanc palam loqui.
Dormite tandem, non Magistratus opus
Autoritate est, ambulat tantum dolor;
Turgens (que) factus quis (que) iam lachrymis suis
Inebriatur, gemitus Epicuros facit.
Solare iam te, fortiter tandem gemas,
Solare coniugem, ecce qui vicit necem;
Spes germinantes, & reuiuentes duos
Vno videbis, corpore & mentem gerens
Geminatam in vno, fiet Henricus tibi
Frater (que) & ipse, cerasa tam fratri mala
Labris in ipsis gestat, at (que) eius potest
Imago mortis esse, qui vitae volet.


HOc situs in tumulo est, pro quo lapis insitus illo
Marmoris in lachrymas quis (que) solutus erit.
Canus doctrinâ est, annis quam paruus! at istos
Quos natura negat tradidit ipse sibi.
Nobilitans stirpem virtutum soenore, & haeres
Patris opum merito, qui pietatis erat,
Occidit Oxonij, iacet hìc; terrae ista gemiscit
Ereptum, quem sic haec habuisse dolet.
Debuit at luctus tam publicus esse, iacere
Vno non poterat tanta querela loco.
Posuit officij ergò Geor. Aglionby, Art. Bac.

Vpon the vntimely death of the Right Noble Gentleman, Master Iohn Stanhope, Sonne and Heire to the Right Honourable Philip Lord Stanhope, Baron of Shelford.

SO great, so good, and yet so soone to dye?
Sure, there was Godhead in's mortality,
Of which the greedy heauens, enuying the earth,
Snatcht to themselues, leauing to vs a dearth
Of goodnesse, of vertue a meere penury;
Blasting the hope of an vnstain'd family:
Vnstain'd, and free from such grand villanies
Which poison Honour, hee knew none of these
Hereditary euils, and crimes which some
As 'twere essentiall bring, euen from their wombe:
But like to Demi-gods, all his Progeny
Were good, and honest, innocent as hee:
Hee, whose refined soule goodnesse alone
Ingrost, clayming each vertue as his owne:
Who with his other-selfe did still appeare,
Like to the Twins in heauen, and shone as cleare;
No cloudy vice did e're eclipse their light,
They shone by day as th' other doe by night;
And as they were, so did they Brothers proue,
But not so much by Nature, as by Loue.
Whose sharpest anger ne're did mooue their blood;
The strife was onely which should bee most good:
Thus curious Nature stroue to shew her Art
In these, giuing two bodies, but one heart.
And such an heart which each would sacrifice,
To dry the teares flowing from eithers eyes.
Mee thinks I see when one diseased lay,
The others loue steale the disease away;
And when his sickenesse broke foorth of the skinne,
With what resolued loue hee strooke it in,
To free his Brother, and to bee sure at last
Rather then faile, hee'd perish by the taste
Of fruit enuy'ng his cheekes, seeming to bee
Th' vnhappy fruit of a forbidden tree.
By which perceiuing death to hasten on,
Hee breath'd out prayers with such deuotion,
That his religious Father doubtfull stood,
If hee should liue, or die, hee died so good.
Whose blest departure prou'd him thus to bee,
Full ripe for heauen in his infancy.
Row. Crosbey, Art. Bac.
TO tell our losse, so well to each man knowne,
Were to lament our selues, not him that's gone:
That were to cry out helpe to those that lye
By the same griefe dead to eternity.
Alas! that men may fully vnderstand
Whom 'tis they lose, requires thy braine, thy hand.
But since th' art gone, and wee cannot relate
Thy worth so liuely, yet let's imitate
Thy life, by one that's left vs, for no other
So perfect is, as thou art in thy Brother.
For what thing was it, thou enioyd'st aliue,
That thou didst not impart or wholy giue
Vnto thy Brother, hee againe as true
Thought himself then most blest, when most like you.
And of this loue there euer was such shew,
As it was thought they would haue both dy'd too.
Perchance he ate the Cherries, for to make
Himselfe red-colour'd for his brothers sake.
But O vnhappy triall! they did proue
Too crafty farre, for his well-meaning loue.
Did we not lose enough when Adam fell
By thee, curst Fruit? but thou must longer still
Produce our miseries, and when w'are best,
By tempting one must murther all the rest.
Was he too good for Earth, & did heau'n call
To haue him there, so that he needs must fall?
If so, tis well; for it was equity,
Mankind and hee by the same Fate should dye.
But though th' art dead, thy memorie suruiues,
And thy good deeds shall out-last others liues.
Guliel. Buckner, Art. Bac.
DEpositum (Stanhope) tuum (memorande) supremum,
Ipse pater patriâ concumulauit humo.
Nec licuit feretro nobis suspendere Carmen,
Nec Trentae lachrymas annumerare tuo.
Nostra tamen similes lacrymarum Nympha lacunas
Hauriet, & Trentâ non minor Isis erit.
WEepe, weepe, your sorrowes are well paid,
'Tis a Stanhope here is laid,
You that see this Monument,
And cannot at this sight lament,
The conscious Marble will you show,
How to discharge your comely woe.
Either you may th' occasion sit,
By melting into teares like it:
Or if you punish nor your eye,
By weeping, cause it fatally
Behold his Tombe, then may you mone,
By standing stupid, like the stone.
Yet both these sorrowes are well paid,
'Tis a Stanhope here is laid.
Guli. Treshans, Equitis Aurat. Filius.
IMmitis properare necem Libitina, potir [...]
Dum tanto exoptat coniuge, fata iubet.
Spiritus, ingenium, genius, decor oris, & ortûs
Stemmata quem celebrant, aemula fatae prema [...].
Indole maturum flos indolis abstulit, illum,
Dum numeraet laudes, quis negat esse senem?
Non aeui breuitate fuit fraudata tropaeis
Gloria, cum fuerit copia nulla nouis.
Laude viget, cuius fraterna videtur imago
Accipere & parili reddere fata vice.

In Canem coelestem: eò quòd circa initium dierum Canicularium mortuus sit.

LEge nimis durâ funebria iusta referre
Icarij cogis feruida stella canis.
Icaria peiora precor tibi fata ruina,
Dùm tua sic lachrymas sorbet anhela sitis.
Betrus Tryon, Armig. Fil. nat. max.

In Variolarum luem qua interijt.

HOc Iuuemem placido decus immortale Sepulchro
Aspice, qui viuens immaculatus erat.
Dixissem si non fera Mors, morbi (que) perosi
Polluerant, moriens immaculatus erat.
Ah Laethi crudele genus, cum tetrica vultus
Abstulit, & tenero saeuit in ore lues!
Dulcia deformes ederunt oscula morbi,
Nec data sunt auido pura labella rogo.
Tam celeri si saeua gradu ventura fuissent,
Nonne alia poterant fata venire via?
Sed Mors saeua decus properauit perdere vultus,
Ne posset duras flectere forma Deas.
'TIs not Nobility that is of force,
To stop the Progresse of this Tyrants course;
Nor mortall can vnto himselfe assume
A sparke of time, when Fate hath past her doome.
So fraile are all Earths momentary things;
That Death a Tribute claimes of greatest Kings:
But Death hath had her pay, and he his Crowne,
Where neither Death can strike, nor Fate can frown.
Gul. Pennyman Armig. filius natu max. Ex Aede Christi.
WErt not that dayly spectacles deny
A difference betweene Nobility
And other Pigmy Mortals, good and bad,
The old and young, we iust occasion had,
Of admiration, when we doe behold
Thee so good, young, and noble, vnder mould.
But when the Graues and Sepulchres we view,
We turne our admiration from you,
Not wondring that a life so short you led,
But that our selues haue spun so large a thred
Of our Mortality, when all places see
Some dye continually; so that we
Need draw our neuer-discontinued teares
Vnto the Period of our latest yeeres.
Here one fall's sicke, and dyes, & there another;
Griefe for whose death, killeth, perhaps, his Brother,
Father, or Mother: so it far'd with thee:
For not thou onely, but a Family
Did seeme in thee to die, for loe, thy Father,
Secure of any worse mishap, had rather
Suffer himselfe some perill, than that death
Before his comming, should cloze vp thy breath.
He comes, and iourneying thrice with humble knee
Fall's to the Earth, yet being vtterly
Insensible of this, through the great fire,
Kindled by Loue, obtaineth his desire.
Thy Mother, fearing that thy houre was come,
Striues to bring forth another in thy roome;
And so with motherly compassion, loth
To lose the one, endangereth you both.
Thy Brother of thy Fortune aemulous,
Striues to preuent thee, whose ingenuous
Loue and good-will to thee did then appeare,
When thy last houre did shew he held thee deare.
He faine to heauen would thy fore-runner bee,
And there prouide place for himselfe and thee.
Wherefore he often offers willingly,
Ransome to pay for thy deliuery;
And on condition thou maist here remaine,
Dyes often, but deny'd, reuiues againe
To his great griefe; at last, when nought would doe,
Cryes out, and saies, Shall we be parted too?
Tis true, you must a while, yet weepe no more,
Since all your teares will not his life restore:
Then since your weeping can't recall him gone,
Waile not his death, seeke to preuent your owne.

Ad defuncti fratrem.

DEfunctus foret ipse sibi tantae indolis haeres.
Si possent iustae flectere fata preces.
Sed Natura negat: cui munera tanta relinquet,
Cùm nuda Elysios vmbra pererret agros?
Deuouet haec fratri: hunc haeredem ex asse reliquit,
Quem socium tantae Nobilitatis habet.
Viue tibi & fratri, duplicem sortitus honorem
Sis (que) haeres illi moribus ingenio.
Thomas Ballowe, Alumnus.
AN Heire, and dead? must some erected Tombe
Cloze in the bowels of an earthly wombe,
Stanhopes great Heire? must it a Trophy bee
Of his decease? boast we in misery?
Are these the Lands that he was borne vnto?
To lye dead in some Ephrons Field of woe?
O tell me, Death, why is he turn'd to dust?
Wilt thou plead Fates decree, and cry, He must?
Is thy best reason a necessity,
Or grounded Maxime in Philosophy?
He was not old, for age he did not dye,
Nor was the onely cause Mortality:
This was the chiefest reason he deceast,
Thy hunger was ingenuous, and to feast
Was thy desire, thou't not picke the bone
Of some Anatomy or Skeleton:
As for a Carkasse hanging in the Ayre,
Halfe eaten vp by Time, thou dost not care.
The Wormes are Epicures, whose enuious strife,
Deuoures that Carkasse that had giuen them life;
Nor can I blame them that they so doe eate,
Though hee's a Course, yet is he dainty meat.
Eduard. Price, Alumnus.
I Thinke it is a policie in Death,
To take the young, and spare the aged breath.
Nature's the bane of old men; Times decree
Sends them a packing; Death, they need not Thee;
Thou onely seru'st to crop our tender yeeres,
To draw from Parents eyes abortiue teares;
Thou letst them liue, their children tak'st away,
Knowing that sorrow will be their decay;
But Death, pale, enuious Death! how could'st thou find
Out the sweet picture of so pure a mind?
Me thinkes, although thy bloudy Dart were steel'd
With thy sad purpose; yet it must needs yeeld,
To see the Father melting into teares,
His sad acquaintance, and his Brothers feares;
Who sent as many sighes vnto the Pole,
As might haue made, or else excus'd a soule.
The Roome mournd where he lay, the weeping stones
Ioyn'd with his friends in their relenting mones.
Death migt haue well mistaken, being sent
For one, to see so many that wayes bent;
The Father three times offerd to haue payd
Him-selfe for his Sonnes ransome; had Death stayd
His hasty hand, hee had found many more
That had bin fitter to haue payd this score.
Alas, he was but in the blossom yet
Of tender yeeres, though aged for his wit:
Hee had some insight into euery Art,
That to Nobility might adde a part:
His Parents reapt as much ioy from his spring,
As many childrens Haruest home doth bring.
But hee is fled away to passe the time
Hee ow'd to vs, in a farre better Clime:
There shall his Summer and his Haruest bee,
Where hee shall neuer any Winter see.
Then, Parents, grieue no more; for he's in ioy;
Doubt not; wipe yours; his teares are wip't away.
Death tells mee, he was old enough to die,
And young enough to liue eternally.
Geruase Warmstrey, Alumnus.
WHat fatall booke is this, which doth declare,
That Noble Stanhop's house has lost her heyre?
A Sermon preach'd at Shelford! ah, tisso,
Stanhope is layd in Earth, these lines of woe,
Demonstrate he is dead: yet stay, wer't he,
Oxford would put on sorrowes liuery,
Each Colledge mourne in ashes, euery Hall
Looke like the Embleme of a Funerall.
Christ-church would sink in ruine, were he gon,
On whom shee built her hopes foundation.
Dulnesse has seaz'd vpon me: can I reade
That vertue's slaine, yet iudge not Stanhope dead?
Betweene which two there was such league, that o [...]
Could not subsist, the other beeing gon.
In Churches why should Death triumph, and bee
Hanging vp Banners of her victory?
What siege of Honour has shee won? Is't all,
That shee has payd to Fate one Funerall?
And that of feeble youth? yong Stanhope dyes,
'Cause else shee knowes not where to tyrannize.
It had beene Iustice, if some hoary head
Had felt this deadly dart and perished.
To bee vniust, is Death's iust attribute:
For shee did murder him, not execute.
But why should wee her murders thus relate?
Death's but the Executioner of Fate.
Fate was to blame, whose too too greedy hand
Did breake his thred of life, as loth to stand
The leisure for to cut it with her sheeres,
And so at once rob'd him of many yeeres.
This is not all: his theft's farre greater yet,
In robbing him, Fate rob'd vs all of wit.
For Stanhope might haue liu'd a worke to raise,
Which mought frō Sydney's Temples pluck the Bayes,
At least haue equall'd him: such hopes his braine
Did promise to the world to bring againe.
But wee haue lost him: strangers which but heare
How good he was, are forc't to shead a teare;
Well may his Father say, hee is vndone,
Hee onely knew the worth of such a Sonne:
Let others thinke it strange that griefe should bee,
As bold as death to worke a Tragedy;
Thrice did his Father sound, as if his Ghost
Would take a Farewell of his son that's lost;
Yet wher's your wonder here? at such a sight
I would not think it strange to dy outright.
So would hee, but one Death cannot suffice
T' expresse his griefe, therefore hee after dyes,
And could his sorrowe quit his son from Death,
Hee'd neuer leaue to grieue, whilst he had breath.
Will. Hemmings, Alumnus.
TRiste onus Hexaphori, moestae (que) Epicedi [...] turbae,
Inuitant lachrymas ore madente pias;
Occidit alma Hebe, patris spes, gloria fratrum,
Qui partu primus, funere primus erat:
Vendicat hanc Natura, hanc moesta Academia prolem,
Ars (que) suam petit hanc, Nobilitas (que) suam,
Laurea cum moesca certat numerosa Cupresso,
Charta istos cineres, et leuis vrna petunt:
Sed de virgineo ne sit discordia vultu,
Mors citiùs praedam vendicat atra suam:
Igne crepent gemmae, Domini noctescit ocellus,
Huic gemmae nusquam gemma superstes erit
Pingues, quos tantùm capiti modò sparsit, odores
Iam caput, et plantas, corpus, et omne linant,
Sed tamen vnguento meliori funera lauit,
Dum soluit nimijs imbribus ora parens,
At toti lachrymae non suffecêre dolori;
Pars erat in vultu; plus tamen intùs erat,
Quid miserande Pater langues, animo (que) liquescis?
Cur fugit exanimis, membra supina cruor?
Siste Pater gemitus, et vitae parce ruenti,
Vitam non satis est huic tribuisse semel?
Pace tuâ valeant manes, permitte quietem,
Et praeter famam, murmura nulla sonent;
Manibus Augustis non pandit Cerberus aulam,
Iam canis aethereus regnat, & astra parat.

In Eundem.

HIc & splendidius decus Parentū,
Orta & stemmate nobili propago,
Funestum posuit citò cadauer,
Et compagine spiritus soluta,
Languentis malè corporis fauillae
Extincta est. Lachrymas mouent sorores
Et moestae Tragico sonant boatu,
Dum Parcea indociles fauore flecti
Primae stamina dissecant iuuentae:
Quis non exequijs liquescat istis
Et fati scelus improbet seueri?
Sed fundant Tetricae minas sorores,
Non condet Libitina saeua Famam;
Vita perfruitur beatiori,
Extento (que) diu superstes aeuo,
Vitam artis trahit, & sepulchra ridet.
O pectus iuuenis Vale quietum:
Solennes feretri rogos superbi,
Dum plaudit famulante musa cantu,
Et coetus iuuenûm modestiorum.
O sit terra tibi leuis. (Precamur)
Terrae tam leuis antè, qui fuisti.
Franciscus Minne, Alumnus.
ANne ego te Iuuenem (Stanhope) putabo Senemue?
Cuius verna dies, gloria cana fuit!
Cuius & in decimâ vix quintâ aestate senectus
Imperat, & puerum non puerum esse sinit?
Sic non iustus eras, non fortis, doctus ad Annos:
Sed potuit virtus praecipitare dies;
Non data longa tibi est, facta est longissima vita:
Nec viuendo breuis, sed moriendo fuit.
Iohannes Donne, Alumnus.
NObilis at (que) sagax, properae virtutis alumnus;
Et patris, & patriae gloria prima suae,
Occidit impubis; raptus trieteride quinta;
Eheu, quàm Parcas iam rapuisse pudet!
Vidêre vt multa canum virtute sorores,
Crediderant, viridis qui fuit, esse senem.
DEATH; alas, could none but hee
Suffice thy greedy Tyranny?
Wel thou knowst that thousands more
Long haue run vpon thy score;
And with all humility,
Yeeld themselues as due a fee.
Thy subtile cruelty is spide,
Whilest in one a thousand dy'de:
Hadst thou tane Achilles Dart,
Strucke, and then releas'd that smart;
Thou hadst done well: Once or twice
It was thy sport to let him rise
Out of his Bed: Now he stray'd
Too farre with thee, now he stay'd.
So Apollo slew his friend
Hyacinthe against his minde,
Whil'st the Quoit that he had thrown,
Smote his gentle Play-mate downe.
Grieue not then for him that's gone,
See; Death's sorry for what's done:
Let no cryes oppresse your eares,
Dry, O dry distilling teares;
What though honour, vertue, grace,
Though Nobilty of race,
By the fatall Dart doth lie
Subiect to Mortality?
Let it not torment your minde
See the Picture's left behinde:
His Brother, modest, mild, as hee,
Doth in vertue most agree.
Aske not for them both together,
This alone may passe for either.
Martinus Tynley, Alumnus.
HEere, though his spotlesse span-long life be spent,
Are silent steps to shew where goodnesse went.
Nature did in such rare compleatnesse make him,
To shew her Arte, and so away did take him.
For he was onely to vs wretches lent
For a short time, to be our President.
Goods we inherit dayly, and Possession,
O that in goodnes were the same succession.
For then before his soule to Heauen he breathed,
He had to each of vs a part bequeathed
Of his true wealth: and closing thus his eyes,
Would haue inrich'd his Sex with legacies.
Sebastian Smith, Alumnus.
ANd is he dead? Immortall creature! thou
Whom the proud heauēs sport to immantle now!
Was Death ambitious? must he seaze on thee
In th' Alphabet of thy mortality?
Did hee o'retake thy life? and wast thou got
In ripenesse to be man, when thou wast not?
A stedfast conscience well might shake to see
Vertue at such a pitch, as'twas in thee,
Vntimely cropt. Thy predecessors lie
In marble, not to teach thee Heraldry:
Vertue gaue thee thy name, and made thee bee
Vnto thine owne selfe, thine owne pedegree.
When thou didst liue, thou well didst purify
The drosse of sinne with pious Alchymy;
And in thy time, no Latinist was hee,
That declin'd Vertue by the name of Shee.
Sorrow and teares now fit a blubberd eie,
'Twas griefe, to thinke that thou should'st euer die.
Eclipse thy selfe, O thou Diaphanous Light,
Let sable darknesse canopied in Night,
Baptize thee throughly: drawe and suck vp heere
Such Sublunarie moisture to thy Sphere,
That, with a pious prodigie, thy beames
May transubstantiate themselues to streames,
And beare a part in Sorrow: should'st thou shine,
Wee should haue an Eclipse, although not thine:
Vntill his Constellation appeares,
And dries the fertill moisture of our teares:
'Tis this we thirst for: thirst still rauish vs,
Wee will not grieue to be Hydropique thus.
Vitam relinquis, frueris antequam plenâ:
An ideò tantum veneras, vt exires?
Thomas Browne, Com.
HVnc quòd surripuit mortis lex saeua, Deosne
Creditis iratos? fuit hoc sapientia, amor (que);
Numen tam sacrum superi inuidere nefandis,
Tantus inest animis coelestibus ardor amoris.
Vt te mors perdat (numen mortale) rogauit
Matris opem, tantum haud potuit deuincere sola:
En ipsam mortem inualidam, vires (que) petentem
Alterius, mortis non sufficit vna potestas.
Sed victus tandem es, dudùm statione peractâ,
Excepit gaudente polo te regia coelì.
Viue illic igitur, subiecta (que) sydera calca,
Dulce onus Atlanti, tam grato pondere presso
Inuidisse iuuat, luctus haec vna voluptas.
Non satìs in paruas tibi mors saeuire tabernas?
Nobilium turres ambitiosa petis?
Improba, coniunctosne iuuat sèiungere fratres,
Quos solùm possis corpore, mente nequis.
Te nimìs angustam nostrae sensere querelae,
Tu sola in nostram non satis inuidiam.
Heu quid iam superest? fatis nolentibus ipsis,
Nitemur nomen deripuisse rogis:
In chartis ipsis accrescet gloria, quod (que)
Dij nollent, ipsi carmina nostra dabunt.
Nil opus est tumulo, hunc erexit propria virtus,
Illi cuiusuis pectus erit tumulus.
Eduardus Cluues, Commensalis.
OVtinàm possent imitari carmina luctus
Fraternos, feretro vt sint ea digna tuo:
Non illo meliùs quisquam lugere, tuòue
Quis poterat fato nobiliore frui.
Inuidiosa alijs haec gloria mortis, erit (que)
Talis abhinc luctûs ambitiosus honor.
Euan. Seys, Commensalis.
Is't the reward of vertue to become,
The subiect of vntimely Martyrdome?
No sooner can wee put on honesty,
But grimme death darts at our mortality.
Did not death lately act this tragicke part,
In butchering the innocentest heart,
That hee ere hit? who beeing truly good,
Thought vertue made him nobler then his bloud.
T' was but the wit of death to kill him now
In's infancy, when like a tender bough,
Hee might him this or that way bend at pleasure;
Had hee prorogu'd his end, and lent him leasure,
To nurse his free-borne vertues, sturdy death
Had not with ease suckt out his vitall breath.
Though young in yeeres hee was, yet old in good,
To shew, that goodnes not in old age stood:
His age and body told vs hee was yong,
His courage, prou'd him old, and witty tongue.
T' was not one combat with our enemy,
(Which like grasse mowes downe our mortality)
That could subdue his courage, hee had two,
To shew, that more then mortalls hee could doe.
When t'was suppos'd from vs hee was departed,
Hee streight reuiu'd (and so seem'd double hearted)
And strongly set on death: but after sent
His forward soule to th' heau'nly regiment.
Yet his Ghost walkes, his heyre of what was good,
His liuing Sepulcher, by whose hot blood
Our teares dry vp: in this reioyce wee may,
That partiall death tooke not them both away.
Et moritur virtus? hoc viuida Musa negauit.
Hìc iacet ille suis qui vidit saecula cunis,
Grandeuus (que) puer: quem sat vixisse Sorores
Senserunt, cum vix tentasset uiuere; tantis
Noster abundauit virtutibus alter Apollo.
Sacratos cuius cineres licet haec breuis vrna
Contineat, vix terra animam, caeliue tenerent.
Non rabidae mortis tormentum hebetaret amorem,
Qui castam effundens animam, sic voce locutus,
Viue tuo, frater, nostro quo (que) tempore viue.
Henry Pastilew, Alumnus.

Vpon the Measels.

WHy did our Ancestors in former time,
Account it for a grand detected crime,
To feed on Swines-flesh? What great worke might be
The cause of that so strange Antipathie?
Could that commanding Miracle you knowe
Amongst the Gadarens, amaze them so?
Would that same stiffe-neck'd race, for such a sight,
Torture their stomake and their Appetite?
'Twas not the Beast they loath'd, her durty haire
Could not pollute her flesh, nor did they care
Where she did wallow last, but surely these
Abhorr'd them first for that corrupt disease
They still inherit; and this cause alone,
May well excuse their superstition.
Sure, were thy sicknesse and disease but knowne,
And how thou diedst of their infection,
They would be curst euen now, and wisht the fate
That those two thousand had; nay men would hate
Their very name; And this vnhappy newes
It were enough to make vs all turne Iewes.


Haste spoileth hope whilst after hope he flies,
Haste giues the fall, and here on ground he lyes.
Will. Kitchen, Commen.

De tempore Comitiorum OXONIENSIVM in quibus mortuus est.

FAllax vita hominis, nimis (que) fallax;
Quidni fabula? quae breuis, minuta est,
Quae toto tenet, occupat (que) cursu
Actus quinque sed OPTIMIS negatos.
Quaenam istud noua crimen execrandum
Parcis addita Parca perpetrauit?
Aut quo? quo properas Amor Parentum
Phoebo pulchrior & sorore Phoebi?
Eheu! fabula, quae breuis, minuta,
Festinata tibi est: tibi merenti
Cornìcis vetulae quater senectam;
Interrupta tibi est; & in * secundo
Actu (non rediturus) exijstì.
Hen. Elsynge, Armig. Fil. natu max. Commensalis.
STanopum primâ rapuit mors atra iuventâ,
Delicias vestri (turba novena) chorj.
Si quem fortè mori vetuerunt carmina Musae,
Nùnc venam & vires Castalis vnda probet.
Qui desunt vitae numerentur laudibus anni
Sic fiet manes, & sine morte cimis.
Dic quibus in terris coelum capit vrna? Stanopi
Hac quâ parte iacet mersa fauilla. sapis.
Quid parios lapides & marmora sacra paratis?
Quem nemo deflet, Pyramis ista decet,
Stillant Heliades, stillant Electra Camaenae,
Vt tegat exanimem succina gemma cutem.
Sic decuit clarum tumnlo lucere Stanopum
Qui vixit nostrae Sydus honos (que) togae.
Io. Wall, Sa. The. Dr. ex Aed. Ch.

Of the transportation of his Corps from Oxford to Shelford in a Coach.

HEre Charon Coach-man, gently waft frō Thames
To Trent, this Body: iog him not; he dreames
Now of Eliah's Charriot, and a Paire
Of Angels drawing him along the Aire,
In stead of Horse. Innocence may not feele
The Iustice of a Purgatorie wheele.
I prethee vse him gently: I resigne
Into [...]hy hands a thing, that whilst 'twas mine,
Deseru'd the curt'sie, if th'adst pau'd the way
[...] boughes or rushes; as the Iewes, the day
[...] he Passion, did entertaine
[...] [...]erusalem, for him home againe.
[...]n, goe before, let vs diuide
[...] rankes, and I will ride
[...]rd; now or ne're we goe
Vnto ou [...] [...] Pi [...]grimage of woe:
For we do [...] all: He that shall aske
Me who is dea [...], do [...]h put me to a Taske
I cannot answere well; yet, if we know
Effect by Cause, and demonstration shew
A necessary Consequence; I guesse,
The King, not's Father, had the losse, no lesse,
(If the Natiuitie be cast of's breeding)
Honour can follow so direct Proceeding.
Were I not tongue-tide, or some reference
Muzled my Pen from telling of the sence
Of this young Mystery, I could read who
Remembred God in's youth, and neuer knew
[...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...]
How to run out in Oxford, nor th' expence
Of Sinne or Money, 'les 'twere to dispence
Vnto the Poore. You that dispute the Case
Of Mans Saluation, thinking it a grace
To vse a neat distinction, learne to doe
Of him, that learn'd the Theorie of you.
Harke, the Bels ring, away, peace dolefull sound,
Let vs enioy our woes, doe not confound
Still Passions with loud Musicke: yet ring on,
Helpe to make vp solemne Procession,
Now is Rogation weeke. Here Oxford ends:
And here Northampton-shire: Lester extends
It selfe vnto this Bridge, and then we be
Riding along in Notingham: A Tree,
Though young, yet wither'd, did distinguish one;
Another was distinguish't by a Stone,
Fit for an Epitaph. Here I sow'd a Teare,
Which I will reape againe when I come there.
Thus euery thing's an Enblem that we see,
To represent to vs our misery.
The poore o'th Parishes accompany
Vs in our Progresse, and as lowd doe cry
Vnto, as for the dead: and some in loue
Drowne their Religion, calling God aboue,
(As if the dead their Prayers did auaile)
To blesse the Burden that we goe withall.
Thus we found pittie, though we found no ease;
And Trauelling will seldome bring release.
For Care will be a Horse-man. Now I'ue grieu'd
Threescore and ten, to Shelford, and haue liu'd
The date of Man in Miles; the surplusage,
Like Dauids, is a trouble, not an Age.
I. Hodsdon.

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