Svffolks tears, or, Elegies on the renowned knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston a gentleman eminent for piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his country, and therefore highly honored by them all : he was five times chosen Knight of the Shire, for the county of Suffolk, and once burgess of Sudbury, in the discharge of which trust, he always approved himself faithful, as by his great sufferings for the freedoms and liberties of his countrey, abundantly appear : a zealous promoter of the preaching of the Gospel, manifested by his great care, in presenting men, able, learned, and pious, to the places whereof he had the patronage, and also by his large and extraordinary bounty towards the advancing of religion and learning, both at home, and in forreign plantations among the heathen.

Svffolks tears, or, Elegies on the renowned knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston a gentleman eminent for piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his country, and therefore highly honored by them all : he was five times chosen Knight of the Shire, for the county of Suffolk, and once burgess of Sudbury, in the discharge of which trust, he always approved himself faithful, as by his great sufferings for the freedoms and liberties of his countrey, abundantly appear : a zealous promoter of the preaching of the Gospel, manifested by his great care, in presenting men, able, learned, and pious, to the places whereof he had the patronage, and also by his large and extraordinary bounty towards the advancing of religion and learning, both at home, and in forreign plantations among the heathen.

Svffolks tears, or, Elegies on the renowned knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston a gentleman eminent for piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his country, and therefore highly honored by them all : he was five times chosen Knight of the Shire, for the county of Suffolk, and once burgess of Sudbury, in the discharge of which trust, he always approved himself faithful, as by his great sufferings for the freedoms and liberties of his countrey, abundantly appear : a zealous promoter of the preaching of the Gospel, manifested by his great care, in presenting men, able, learned, and pious, to the places whereof he had the patronage, and also by his large and extraordinary bounty towards the advancing of religion and learning, both at home, and in forreign plantations among the heathen.

Table of contents

§

Title page

To the VVorſhipful and highly honoured Lady, the Lady Jane Barnardiston. An Offertory.

AN Acroſticke Elegie on my ever Honoured Friend Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, who faithfully in all imployments ſerved his Country, was renowned for Piety, and exemplary in Religion, dyed the 25. of July, 1653.

An Elegie containing a Dialogue between the Author and his Muſe, and between Death and an Angel.

An Elegie upon the death of that truly noble Gentleman, famous for Piety and Religion, the right Worſhipfull Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, Aug. 25. 1653.

An Elegie on that eminently religious Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, his Hallelujah,

To the Memory of that Highly Noble, and Religious Knight Sir NATH. BARNARDISTON.

Epitaph.

Anagram. Nathaniell Barnardiston. Born in an All-ſainted Hart.

PARENTALE, or an ELEGIE on the Highly Honorable and Right Worſhipful Sir Nath. Barnardiſton, Kt.

An Elegie on that ever honoured Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston.

An Elegy at the Funeral of that truly Honorrable, and moſt Religious Knight, the Right Worſhipful Sir NATH. BARNARDISTON.

On the Death of that Noble Patriot of his Country Sir Nath. Barnardiſton.

A Funerall Elegie on the Right Worſhipfull Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

An Elegie on the much lamented death of Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

On the Right Worſhipful and ever honoured Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

The Offering of an Infant-Muſe to the Memory of Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

Obſequies to the Memory of Sir Nath. Barnardiſton, Kt.

An Epicedium upon the death of that thrice worthy Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, eminent for Piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his Country.

To the Memory of that renowned Knight, Sir Nath. Barnardiſton,

An Elegy on the Death of the Right Worſhipful Sir NATH. BARNARDISTON.

On the Death of that moſt Illuſtrious and worthy Knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

ACROSTIC.

An Elegie on the Right Worſhipfull Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

ACROSTIC.

On the much lamented death of the right Worſhipful Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

Memoriae Sacrum equitis Nobiliſsimi, Pientiſſimique Viri, Nathan. Barnardiſton. Equ. Aur.

Chronogramma. SI patrlae fIDVs perIIt & VerVs aMICVs, VIr pIVs at que bonVs, VIta perennIs erIt.

Epitaphium.

Ad Lectorem.

Juſta Nathanieli Barnardiſtono Equiti Aurato.

Carmen funebre in obitum clarisſimi viri D. Nathaniel Barnardiſton. equitis Aur.

In obitum Illuſtriſſimi Domini, D. Nath. Barnardiſton, Equitis Aurati.

An EPITAPH. NATHANIEL BARNARDISTON. Anagram. And Art Is In An Noble Hart.

[Page]ELEGIES ON That renowned Knight SIR Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

FINIS.

§

[Page]

Sr Nathaniel Barnardiston of Ketton in Suff. Kt Obiit A. D. 1653 [...]t 66. F. H. van. Houe Sculp.

§

[Page]

SƲFFOLKS Tears: OR ELEGIES On that Renowned Knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton. A Gentleman eminent for Piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his Country; and therefore Highly honored by them all. He was Five times choſen Knight of the Shire, for the County of Suffolk, and once Burgeſs for Sudbury. In the diſcharge of which Truſt, he always approved Himſelf Faithful; as by his great ſufferings for the Freedoms and Liberties of his Countrey, abundantly appear. A Zealous Promoter of the Preaching of the Goſpel, manifeſted by his great care, in preſenting Men, Able, Learned, and Pious, to the places whereof he had the Patronage; and alſo by his large and extraordinary bounty towards the advancing of Religion and Learning, both at home, and in Forreign Plantations among the Heathen.

Dignum laude virum Muſa vetat Mori.

London, Printed by R. I. for Tho. Newberry at the Three Lions in Cornhil, near the Royal Exchange. 1653.

To the VVorſhipful and highly honoured Lady, the Lady Jane Barnardiston. An Offertory.

[Page]

[Page]

THrice Noble Lady, ſpare that melting Bead,

Our ſorrows want no jewel from your head;

Still let thoſe ſilver drops, that lightly lye

Like little delug'd worlds within your eye;

Fixed abide in their own brighteſt ſphear,

His fame wants not thoſe pendents for her ear;

Thoſe falling ſtars rob heaven, we need not thence

Borrow our griefs, or taxe you with expence:

Behold how every Mourner brings his ſheet

To wipe your eyes, and weep himſelf; 'tis meet

That this ſo publick loſs by th' Countries charge

Should mourned be: Spare, Madam, then: this large

And thicker Volume that is here annext,

Is but our Comment on that publick text:

Come Argus, Hieraclicus, lend your eyes

To pay on's tomb a liquid ſacrifice;

Lo all the graſſe that round about him lye,

Hangs full of tears ſhed from Dame Natures eye,

See how ſad Philomele (that yonder ſits,

And to the dancing twig her muſick fits)

[Page] Now mourns for him, the ſilver brook runs on,

Grumbling to leave thoſe loved banks, whereon

A Manſion once he had; that's now ſet round

With Cypreſs trees, and with their branches crown'd;

So dark, it ſeems Nights mantle for to borrow,

And may be cal'd, the gloomy den of ſorrow.

E're ſince he di'd; the Heavens their griefs to tell,

Daily in tears to earth's wet boſome fell;

Not in an April ſtorm, or thoſe in June,

Whoſe trembling Cadents makes it rain in tune;

But like a grave Decembers day, or thoſe

Who mourn in Cicero's ſtile, and weep in proſe.

Madam, you ſee all Natures wat'ry ſtore

Attends this ſable day, weep you no more;

Angels, that on your eyes with bottles wait

To catch your falling tears, do now retreat

With veſſels full; anon again they'l ſtoop,

And lightly hover round the mourning troop,

Whilſt I in ſilence do his Shrine adore;

If worſhip doth offend, I then implore,

And crave a favour, Madam, 'tis this one,

Adde to his memory no pictur'd ſtone;

Leſt whilſt within the Church my vows I pay,

I to the Image of this Saint ſhould pray.

Madam,

your moſt humble and faithful ſervitor: Samuel Faireclough. Jun.

AN Acroſticke Elegie on my ever Honoured Friend Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, who faithfully in all imployments ſerved his Country, was renowned for Piety, and exemplary in Religion, dyed the 25. of July, 1653.

SHal ſuch Friends dye, and my Muſe idle bee?

Is't poſſible? can ſuch ſtupidity

Remaine in me, and I not dead with thee?

[Page] Nature don't give, but lend its life to men,

And at its pleaſure cals it back agen.

The image grav'd on man, Gods right doth ſhew,

His image 'tis; let Caeſar have his due.

And in this Microcoſme we plainly ſee

No leſſe then part of Gods Divinity,

In ſmaller letters; for the Soul's a ſparke

Even of his kindling, and (though in the dark

Lodg'd in the grave, the body ſeems to be)

Let's hope, and we ſhal find re-unity.

Body and Soul ſhal joyn by heaven's great power

As once they were, before the parting hour:

Rally the Atomes ſhal, and then each part

Not looſing ought, by Gods Almighty Art

Attaine ſhal to its juſt and proper due,

Returning to each corps its former hue;

Deſcend then ſhal the Soul, and with a kiſſe

Its ancient friend awake to perfect bliſs:

So theſe new married couple joyfully

To heaven aſcend, and match eternity.

Oheavenly Muſick! endleſſe harmony!

None can deſire to live, that's fit to dye.

So ſlept our former Patriots (when they

Had ſerv'd their country) in a bed of clay;

Fleſh may incinerate, when Man doth dye,

The body in the grave may ſleeping lye;

But there's a ſpark remaines, which ſhal return,

And re-inform thoſe aſhes in their urn,

VVhich when the laſt days morning ſhal draw nigh,

Shal raiſe its flame by heav'nly Chymiſtry:

So ſprings the Phoenix, from which Riſe

She's ever cal'd the Bird of Paradiſe.

[Page]

Si quis; qui bonus, & pius eſt? inquirit; Iëſus

Reſpondet, verus Nomine Nathaniel.

Inquire whoſe good? Chriſt wil thee tel,

It is a true Nathaniel.

WILLIAM SPRING Barronet.

An Elegie containing a Dialogue between the Author and his Muſe, and between Death and an Angel.

MAke haſt my Muſe,

The Author to his Muſe.

lay off thy brighter plume,

The ſable wings of darkeſt Night aſſume,

Cover thy head with blackneſs, do not faile

Thy brow with mournful ſhadow now to vaile;

Thine eyes now cloud, which may pour down apace,

A ſhowre of briniſh tears upon thy face.

Fill up thy breaſt with ſighs, and ſaddeſt grief,

With Rachels ſorrows, that refu'd relief;

Now let a living Spring thy ſorrow feed,

That may ſupply, with running ſtreams, thy need:

The depth in ſilence paſs, noyſe not the ſame

Leſt Nature hear, and do diſſolve her frame;

Attire thy ſelf in ſaddeſt mourning weed,

Put on thy tragick Buskins, haſte with ſpeed

Unto the place where grieſly Death doth dwel,

The houſe of death.

Within the ground in loweſt darkeſt cel;

Pale kercher'd ſickneſs lyeth at the door,

To him the Porter openeth every hour.

[Page]

About, above, the Monuments remaine,

Of old and young whom direfull death hath ſlaine:

There the worlds Victor vanquiſhed doth lye,

There Caeſar, Croeſus, and grave Cato by;

There David, Jedidiah, Daniel,

And there with theſe our true Nathaniel.

Of doleful Ebony the Portal's made,

The roof of fatal diſmal Ewe is laid,

The pillars of black polliſht Marble be,

That may endure til time you ended ſee;

The wals intire of Adamantine rock,

The two-leav'd gates of Steel, ſo key and lock.

The chambers there with Coffins plancherd ſure,

Corruptions ſap wil not let long indure;

Theſe worn and torn, in time renew'd again,

The coſt of future Funerals maintain:

The lower floor's of earth, moſt rooms be ful,

Loe here the dead mens bones, and there the skul.

The trophies of triumphant Death are there,

The rooms all hung with whited linnen are;

The corps intomb'd with juyce of Poppy ſmear'd,

There reſt and ſleep in duſt, no danger fear'd,

Till that theſe bodies, putrifactions prey,

Be raiſed up to life at the last Day.

The way is beaten to this houſe of Death,

A deſcription of Death.

The fatal enemie of Mortals breath.

A raw-bon'd carcaſe, of his Head the haire

And fleſh is falne, and left the skul all bare;

His eyes no eyes, cannot be ſeen not ſee,

Worm-eaten noſe, one jaw, no teeth hath he:

[Page]

Yet heaps of men he daily doth devour,

And hundreds fall before him in an hour.

Within his cruel breast he hath no heart,

Yet full of courage, and with deadly dart

He kils, yet neither arm he hath, nor hand,

He hath no feet, yet walks o're ſea and land.

Nor arteries, fleſh, nor ſinews (wonder)

Hath he, all his joynts they are aſunder;

His bones, there one, and here another lyes,

He ſmites, there one, and here another dyes;

Haſte thither, knock, call, know the cauſe, why thus

This leane ſtarv'd Heluo ſnatcht our joy from us.

Could ſacred Piety,

The Muſes meſſage and complaint to Death, lamenting the death of this worthy

that adorn'd his mind,

The grace of heart and life, no pitty finde?

Wilt thou thus wrong (oh death) the Publick weale?

And juſtice ſlay, extinguiſh fervent zeal!

Pull down the Temples pillar, quench the fire

That Heaven's ſent, and did to Heaven aſpire?

Could neither faith nor faithfulneſs find grace?

Nor friendly love keep off thy Serjeants Mace?

Could not integrity and truth him ſave

(With Hezekiah) from the greedy grave?

O Sun return, yet ſhine on Sions hil,

On Ahaz Dial keep the ſhadow ſtil.

Why fel he not upon Eliſha's herſe,

That could the dead againe to life reverſe?

Where is He now that Lazarus did raiſe?

Where is the widow of Sarepta's praiſe,

That might in flaming Chariot let him ride

With him to heaven? then he had not dy'd.

[Page]

Shal I not once within this vale of tears?

(Or ſhal I hold my peace, not ſpeak my fears?)

Shal I not once again on earth behold

That countenance ſo grave, ſo brave, ſo bold,

Which with a look could daunt the face of ſin,

And make offence to hide it ſelfe with in?

Shal I not ſee his preſence? bleſſe the wals,

Wherein did ſound his frequent ſacred cals,

Of wife and children, and of all the reſt,

To waite on God; who is for ever bleſt,

And beams of bleſſing from this Sunt' expect

That bleſt theſe bleſsings, might on him reflect.

And as the Rivers to the Ocean pay

Their tribute ſtreams, that in their channel play;

So daily Prayer anſwerers re-aſcend

In praiſes might to God, and never end:

O never end your prayers and praiſes due,

To him that gave ſuch ſweet returns to you.

That you ſhould pray, and yet ſtil praiſe his name,

And walk in right before him without blame;

So did he walk, and ſo attended went

VVith all his traine: and in the Temple ſpent

Both hours and dayes, and of all dayes the beſt,

VVherein both Chriſt did riſe, and God did rest.

The time though divers, yet the precept's one,

Writ and ingrav'd by Gods own hand in ſtone,

In midſt of that his everlaſting Law,

VVhich might at all time keep in dreadful awe

All hearts, and all induce, his voyce with feare,

And faithful care, and conſcience to heare.

[Page]

Oh! ſhal I never more obſerve that eye,

Intently lifted up unto the skie?

And hands ſtretcht out unto the throne of grace,

And bended knees to fall before the place,

VVhere ſhadowing Cherub cover'd with his wing,

The Mercy-ſeat of heavens mighty King?

From Golden Altar did the incenſe fly

In clouds of ſmoke, and mounted up on high:

God ſmelt the ſavour, in his heart he ſaid,

Behold, it's done according as thou pray'd.

And now O death, can thee no prayer melt,

Wherein the higheſt God ſuch ſweetneſs ſmelt?

Releaſe thy Priſoner, and ſet o'pe thy gate,

Breake off thoſe fetters, free thy ſelfe from hate,

And let him riſe from off that fatall bed

VVhereon thou forc'd him to lay down his head:

Vnto the votes of high and low reſtore

Their joy, to be enjoyed as before.

VVhat ayleſt thou,

Deaths anſwer [...] to the Muſe.

O Muſe, bereft of mind?

VVhat mean theſe words, theſe empty puffes of wind?

VVil't change the Fates, and burn the ſacred rowl

Of Gods Decree, and make thy ſelfe a ſcroul;

There to deſigne each one to death or life,

And heaven and earth to ſet at diſmal ſtrife?

Shal brazen mountains with a blaſt remove?

Or ſhal the Sun run retrograde above?

Shal morning o'pe her purple door i'th VVeſt?

And Moon and Stars to rule the day be prest?

And night ſhine forth with Phoebus orient beams?

And at thy will all rivers change their ſtreams?

[Page]

Then my Commiſsion I to thee Wil give,

The living ſhal not dye, the dead ſhal live;

And mortals all, immortal ſhal become,

And wither'd branch, with winter blaſt ſhal bloome;

And Adam ſhal with Eve to Eden go,

No fruit ſhal kil, no friend ſhal be a foe.

But if that Adam muſt no more return,

Why ſhould I break up Barnardiſtons urn?

His faith? ſo Abraham dy'd, yet did beleeve;

But Truth did Hezekiah once reprive,

And Lazarus did life againe inſpire,

And to his body did the ſoul retire:

But know'ſt thou not how theſe of death did taſte?

And back again unto my Palace haſte?

Nor Abrams faith, nor Iſaacks, Jacobs feare

Could ſheild them from deaths deadly piercing ſpeare;

So Joſeph, Joſhua, and Joſiah all,

By ſooner, later ſtroakes of death did fall.

And Job was patient under death's ſad blow,

And mighty Sampſon unto death did bow;

And David with his Worthies all did yeeld

To death, againſt his ſtroke they found no ſhield;

And John, Chriſts boſome friend, did hither hye,

And Christ himſelfe, the Son of God, did dye;

Eliah left his Mantle him behind,

They ſought him, but in no place could him find,

His change like death; and Enoch he is not,

Nor Rachels children, Death became their Lot.

And thou (O Muſe) ſhal be as one of theſe,

When Atropos thy thread to cut ſhal pleaſe.

[Page]

O cruel Death!

The Muſes reply to death.

can nothing then aſſwage

Thy ſavage fury, and thy direful rage?

Muſt all (O Charon) thee thy ferriage pay?

And all take Boat, and all have over-lay?

Then come, and to our Lazarus let us go,

And as he dy'd, with him, let us do ſo.

As Joſeph went unto old Jacobs grave,

So ſhal this Saint, of us attendance have.

What mean'ſt (O Muſe) and whither doſt thou wend?

The Angels meſſage to the Muſe.

When of thy pasſion wilt thou make an end?

Wilt thou preſume on Sion Mount to ſtand,

And Heavens ſcepter ſway in thy right hand?

The Lord by power and providence divine,

Did all unto their place and end aſſigne:

The Earth to Plants, in Seas the Fiſhes ſwim,

The Birds in th' air do wave their feathers trim;

Shal not the fixed Stars in heaven ſhine?

What God doth own, wilt thou detain as thine?

And why among the dead doſt thou enquire

For theſe that live?

A deſcription of Heaven.

lift up thy eye, look higher,

There is a place beyond that mount moſt bright,

Whence Phoebus chariot ſhines with flaming light;

The ſtately City new Jeruſalem,

Wherein doth dwel Jehovah, God of Shem.

Her glory doth as Jaſper ſtone appear,

Her light like to tranſparent Chryſtal clear;

Her battlements are high, her ſtreets are gold,

Her gates twelve glittering Pearls, their price untold,

Twelve holy Angels at the gate attend,

Whereon twelve names of Iſraels tribes are pend.

[Page]

The gates, all nightleſs day, ſtand open wide,

That Saints in golden charriots in may ride.

Three where the Sun doth ſhed his orient beam,

Three ope where he doth looſe his fiery team,

Three from the North receive Chriſts holy train,

Three from the South that Saints do entertain.

The twelve foundations, each a precious ſtone,

The Jaſper, Saphir, and the Chalcedon,

The Sardonix of colour red and white,

The Sardius next, and golden Chryſolite,

The ſea-green Beril, and the Topaz rare,

Chryſopraſus as gold with green moſt faire;

The Jacynth then, and next to that is ſet

The Amethyſt like purple violet,

In thoſe the names of Chriſts, Apoſtles are,

That through the world the Goſpel ſpread ſo farre.

On thoſe an hundred fourty cubits height▪

And four, the wal ſo broad, of Jaſper bright.

Four ſquare the City, and the meaſur'd ground

With golden read a thouſand furlongs found;

The Angel ſo the length and breadth did take,

The height the ſame no Cannon great can ſhake

The wall, that doth this City compaſſe in,

VVhere none can enter, nor abide with ſin.

No need of Temple, Sun,

The Saints glory and happineſs, and this Saint among them.

or Moon there is,

VVhere dwels that Trine in one, in endleſs bliſs,

The Lamb his everlaſting light doth give

Unto it, there the Saints in glory lives

Upon their heads, they Crowns of glory wear,

Their faces like the radiant Sun appear.

[Page]

They cloathed are in Linnen ſins and pure,

No Fuller ever made the like, 'tis ſure:

And Palms of victory in their hands they have,

Triumphant Trophies, on the wal moſt brave

Do hang the Monuments of conquer'd Hel,

VVith all the Fiends and Furies, there that dwel;

Their Crowns and Palms before the Lamb they caſt,

By whom the danger of the war they paſt;

They all bedight with glory, round about

The Lambe doe follow, going in and out,

Unto the tree of laſting life they haſte,

In midſt of Eden, and the fruit they taſte.

Thence to the Wel of Life they take their way,

VVhence living ſtreams do never ceaſe to play;

VVith Mannah eke, and ſweeteſt Nectar fed,

They, by the Lamb, into the Palace led;

The Song of Moſes and the Lamb doe ſing,

VVith ſweeteſt harmony to heavens King.

In cloſe hereof came Barnardiſton in,

VVho late the field from vertues foe did win:

A troop of Angels bleſt had been his guard,

Into the Palace, to a place prepar'd:

VVherein the Emerauld of virld hue,

For beauties honour ſtrives with Saphir blew:

And Topaz ſeeks to have away the fame

From Carbuncle, that ſhines with fiery flame.

There he arrayed in the robes of glory,

Had to the preſence Chamber, tels the ſtory,

How he in fight with Sin and Death had ſtood,

[Page] And overcame them by the Lamb, Chriſt's blood:

The Lamb my Captain was, I won the field,

Lo there his Word my Sword, his faith my ſhield.

The Angels then did all their Trumpets blow,

The Victor's bleſſed welcome there to ſhow;

The Lord commands a crown of golden Bayes,

Vpon his head are ſet the Victors praiſe.

The Saints afreſh renew their happy joy,

Them neither ſin nor ſorrow doth annoy.

Moſes and Aaron, ſang the ſame that was

By Iſrael ſung, when they the Sea did paſſe;

And Miriam did on ſounding Timbrel play,

And David tuned to his Harp a Lay:

The reſt took hands, and danc'd a ſacred round,

The vaults of glory echoing did ſound,

There did I leave him, there in bliſs he lives,

VVith him, to Saints that grace and glory gives.

Go haſte, and tell all thoſe that did him love,

How he ſits on a golden Throne above;

On earth he in his hand a ſword did bear,

His hand in heaven doth a ſcepter rear:

There ſhal he always live, and never dye,

And there ſhal waite on highest Majeſty;

And waite to ſee his Wife and Children dear

Increaſe his joy, in this his glories ſphear.

The Lord we pray, there grant to them a place,

VVith their allyes, and to their budding race.

[Page]

In eundem carmen funebre, comprehenſum

In Dialogo inter Muſam & Vitam.

Tene quid abripiet nobis?

M.

(mors improba!) mortem

Tu (que) premes, victam tu perimeſ (que) necem.

Vita fugis mortem? meditaris morte fugamne?

Vivas, ut mortem morte fugare queas.

Dum vixi,

V.

vitam viveham, ut perdere poſſem:

Dum morior mihimet, reddita vita mihi.

Chriſtopher. Burrell. Rec. Wratten Mag.

An Elegie upon the death of that truly noble Gentleman, famous for Piety and Religion, the right Worſhipfull Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, Aug. 25. 1653.

THou ſtately Top-bough of a noble Stem,

One of Gods Jewels, and thy Country's Gem,

That help'd to bleſs the Land wherein thou waſt

Lately a Saint: but now thoſe joyes are paſt;

And we in ſorrows left, with hearts moſt ſad,

To think we'ave loſt that bliſſe we lately had

In thee (Great Sir:) alas, we're now without

A thouſand comforts, that from thee dealt out

But lately were, to us, and to all men,

VVith whom thou had'ſt to do; how ſhal my Pen

Be able to ſet out to th' world that worth,

That was in thee? or who can warble forth

Thy praiſes due? or to the life, let's ſee,

[Page] What by thy death we 'ave loſt, in looſing thee?

What rareſt Oratour, or Poet can

Set forth the uſe, or loſſe of ſuch a man?

Thou bleſſed Soul; the Model of perfection,

Guileleſſe Nathaniel, winner of affection:

Belov'd of God and Man; why didſt thou dye,

And leave thy friends nought but an Elegie▪

Could'ſt thou but hear our plaints, but hear our groans,

But ſee our mournful tears, and know what moans

Are utter'd here, ſigh'd, ſhed, and made for thee,

Th' ould'ſt pity's all, if thy felicity

Could give thee leave, but in that place thou art,

Where ſorrow's ſhadow cannot reach thy heart;

VVhere thou haſt good of all ſorts, plenteous ſtore,

And joy at Gods right hand for evermore.

There reſt (bleſt Saint) thy ſoul in heavens high ſtory,

Until the duſt th'aſt left ſhal riſe to glory.

But ſhall I thus have done? how can it be?

To leave already ſuch a Saint as he;

To ſay no more of ſuch a Son of Grace

Then hath been ſaid of him, were to diſpraiſe

Him; ſo ſhal I, when I have ſpent my ſtore,

VVhat I can ſay, wil be too [...]at, too poore:

Could I but chant out now, ſuch notes as he

Doth in Heavens Quite, before the bleſſed three;

I'de tel his praiſes, i'de declare his fame

To after Ages, i'de make known his name;

An uncorrupted Patron that did hate

Out of the Churches means, t' augment his ſtate

He look'd upon it as abhorred thrift,

To gaine t' himſelfe a farthing by the gift

Of any Benefice, though he had thoſe,

VVhich if that others had ſuch to diſpoſe,

They would have worm'd and ſcru'd out two or three

[Page] Hundreds of pounds, and yet have faeid how free

Have I been to my Clerk? I did preſent

Him to ſome hundred pounds: but yet in Cent'

Gat fifty to himſelfe; God never mean

It ſhould be ſo, which thing this Saint knew wel,

And loath'd ſuch baſeneſs as he loathed hel.

He was a Benefactor to our Tribe,

VVe freely had his boones, he ſcorn'd our bribe.

If he were now, whence once he was ejected,

(To heare Petitions from the ill-affected,

Begging of men in power to haſte, and ply

The begg'ring of the godly Miniſtry,

By ſtripping them of means, and maintenance,

And 'th other honour due; good countenance,

That God allows them, and hath given command,

That no man openly, or under-hand

Should rob them of it, or with-hold their due)

He would have hated to have prov'd untrue

To truth, or them; loathing ill-gotten pelfe,

And would have kept them up; or faln himſelf.

And not by ſeeking theirs have ruin'd thoſe,

Gods faithful ſervants, which himſelf hath choſe,

Gifted, and ſent diſpencers of his minde

To them that ſat i'th dark with eyes-ful blind;

And God hath bleſs'd their pains; maugre her's ſpight,

And brought them out of darkneſs into light;

Yea to their calling God hath ſet his ſeal,

Their people their Epiſtle are, and weale

Of many Souls, through grace, effected by

Their faithful Labours in their Miniſtry.

I truſt our Worthies now in power wil ſtand

Strong for the Truth, and Goſpel in the Land,

Preach'd and profeſs'd, and maugre all our ſcorners,

Preſerve us, that we fly not into corners,

[Page] VVhere pining ſouls their Teachers cann [...] ſee,

So ſtarve and dye through Romiſh policy.

Thoſe that have gotten any Goſpel good

From Preachers lips, muſt love them; though none ſtood

For them, and their incouragement, but they

Wil chuſe to dye before they'l e're give way

To throw them down, and Heachenize the Nation,

Knowing 'twil prove Religions extirpation.

They'l lend no eare in this corrupted time,

To them wh'ould make the Word a cover-crime.

But whither runs my pen? my Muſe return,

And fall again to mourning o're the urn

Of this deſceaſed Saint, whoſe loſſe is ſuch,

Thouſands we might have loſt, yet not ſo much

As we have loſt in thee, blest ſoul, on ground

Say, where is ſuch another to be found?

Where's ſuch an Husband? Father? Friend? or Brother?

A word of comfort; ſay, where's ſuch another

Patron? a Saint ſo good? juſt? meek? ſo kinde?

So ſelf-denying? ſuch an heavenly minde?

His husbanding his time, ſo godly ſpent,

Told me h' was bound for heav'n before he went.

Since he's commenc'd above, and got his grace,

VVe cannot leave him in a better place.

Yet one word more give leave for, e're I 'ave done,

Much honour'd Lady, you his eldeſt Sonne;

Yee children all, who put to't, would much rather,

Have choſe the loſſe of all, then of your Father.

Let ſorrows ſurges ſink, let comfort come,

And joy your ſad and heavie hearts; make roome

For gladneſs, know ye 'ave mourn'd your ſhares,

Your deare is gone to glory, ſtay your tears.

Yee ſee what God hath done, and who may have

Like liberty to take, as he that gave?

[Page] Submit to God, bear Chriſtianly this Croſſe,

He can reſtore you manifold your loſſe.

Madam, take comfort, and truſt God to be

A better Husband to you farre, then He,

And to your vertuous Daughters, widows left,

Both, like your ſelfe, of Husbands late bereft;

Not only Husband, but of Father too,

To you and yours, thus doth the Promiſe go.

Worthy Sir Thomas, now, great God expects

In you ſuch graces, from you ſuch effects,

As in, and from your bleſsed Father were,

Take care, herein you truly prove his heir;

My prayers for yee all ſhal be this rather,

God make ye better, then your Gracious Father.

‘Loquitur poſt funera virtus.’

Ro. Cooke.

An Elegie on that eminently religious Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

STay (Reader) ſtay, ſtand, but a while, and ſee

The diſmal face of this ſad obſequie

Where all are Mourners, where you'd think you ſpy

A Son or Daughters tear in every eye.

Hark, Reader, haſt thou ever ſeen what Grace,

What Majeſty was ſeated in his face?

Then bow before his ſhrouded head, and know

What honour's due, where age white hairs did ſnow;

Where vertue, where a noble minde did dwel,

Which nothing can (beſide its ſelf) excel.

[Page] Democritus himſelfe, ſhould he but know

What caus'd theſe tides of tears to over [...]flow,

The watriſh humour in his eye (I feare)

Would melt the Chryſtaline into a tear.

Reader, firſt pay a tear, and then paſſe on,

'Tis no dry ſubject we are now upon:

But hold, God too wil have his harveſt free

From rainy ſhowres of tears, as wel as we:

This full-ear'd Wheat of his, firſt bow'd its head,

So gather'd was to's Garner with the dead.

Apoſtrophe ad defunctum:

Bleſt Shade, your pardon, that thus late my verſe,

In black and white attends your ſacred herſe;

My Muſe was fondly loath, I muſt confeſs,

To mixe with ſables in an Engliſh dreſſe;

Thought that too homely, wanton; did deſire

A perſick, Syriak, Arabick attire,

Or any more exotick; Parrots ſeek

A Caeſars favour in no leſſe then Greek:

Pardon her ſoft-pac'd meaſures, her delayes,

She in ſad broken Accents ſighing ſayes:

Should ſundry Tongues, each with a diverſe tone

Lament our loſs, all muſt conſent in one.

Write on the weeping Marble, here doth lye,

Mecaenas, and the Muſes Deity.

Sic flevit, Gulielm. Stephenſon.

Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, his Hallelujah,

[Page]

Saint.

THrice holy Lord, at thy right hand I ſee

The Incenſe pillars up aſcending be

From thy moſt precious bloud, on which doth lye

The Rooſe, and hang the Pavement of this high

And glorious Court, by them brought up I ſtand

Before thy face, expecting thy command.

Almighty.

Drop of my ſelfe, eternally my Dear,

(Diſtance away) draw to this boſome near;

Lo here, thy elder Brother, did'ſt not long

To ſee thy Jeſus? ſeeſt thou not the throng

Of crowned Saints about thee, that rejoyce

To joyn thee to their Chore, who with their voyce,

My everlasting praiſe do ſing? this ſphear

Of Raviſhment, that doth thee circle here▪

The native heat is of thy Fathers breſt,

From whence when firſt thou ſparkled'ſt I thee blest,

VVith my unknown delight, and love; to me,

Thou art not ſtrange, but from eternity

Thou always preſent wert▪ behold thy name

Deeply in-laid upon the Covenant frame

Of my Free Grace, that Archive Archy-type▪

And Index of this Court, the firſt grand Pipe,

Conveighing down my love unto my Son,

Through him, and all his Goſpel veins, to run

Into th' elect, thoſe Gulphs of love; find'ſt not

My half beleeved Goſpel true? thy Lot▪

Does it not fill thy heart, fulfill my Oath?

Doe I delude the ſons of men, when loath

[Page] To mind or love me, I them wooe, and pray

To daine acceptance of me, that they may

Be wel, and pleaſed here? doe I deſerve

That ſlight and ſcorn, that duſt and aſhes ſerve

Me daily with? the Leprous ſcales of ſin,

Have they more weight of joy then what's within

The ſpangles of thy Crown? which of the two,

The lower wilderneſs of thorns and woe,

Or this eternal gallery of love

VVould'ſt chuſe thy walk? theſe proſpects here above,

And not Luſts ſnakie Groves true pleaſure yeelds:

Earths ſence-inſpiring glances in May-fields

Cauſe but an ulcerous Ich; thoſe leaps of ſprite

Men think they feel in earthly loves delight,

Are here indeed the ſouls eternal dance,

Rais'd by the dartings of my countenance;

Look and be raviſh'd, ſpring, and ſing my Dove,

Tuning thy meaſures to my eye of love.

Saint.

How low's this Chore? how Faint's this eccho here?

Is this th' Almighties praiſe that now I heare?

Can the thouſand thouſands raiſe no higher?

Jehovah, thy acceptance I admire:

Is all the powers of Saints and Angels joyn'd

Beneath thy love, and glory thus confin'd?

(O love thy ſelfe, my God) were this a place,

Tears ſhould reflect thy beams upon my face:

Canſt thou not make a Temple higher roof'd,

wherein on louder Organs may be prov'd

The Art of treble-voiced Seraphims,

Joyn'd with deep Accent of wing'd Cherubims?

But neither I, nor theſe, alas can raiſe

Ought elſe but love; Lord reckon that thy praiſe.

And I am glad th'art great beyond our ſongs,

[Page] Becauſe we feel thee good, beyond our Tongues,

And ſince thou ſmil'ſt to hear thy Nurc'ry ſing,

In broken Notes, their Fathers name, I'll bring

My Jews-Trump to thy ſet: Chore let us joyn:

Saint and Chore.

All might and power, tranſcendant Lord, is thine,

Above thy Creatures thoughts, thy glory is:

Their utmoſt ſtretch, can give to thee no bliſs,

Yet 'tis their joy, and everlaſting gain,

That they to ſing thy praiſe, their ſpirits ſtrain.

Thou canſt have but their all, their all they ſpend

Upon thy Throne, yet neither waſte or end.

O bleſt be thou, thou ſelf-ariſen Sun

Of Light and Love; from whence hath ever run

Beams both of Life and good, thickning to Globes

And Worlds: This Heaven of Saints is but the Robes

Of Rayes about thee; thou Eternal Spring

(In which th'riſing ſtreams, moſt ſweetly ſing)

Of Life and Love, and Joy, of Good and Right;

From whence we flow, and whither thou invite

Thy Channels to return; there are we well,

And not to be in thee, is loweſt Hell.

All might of love be to thy Spirit given,

Who leaſt we ſhould by Helliſh winds be driven

Into the gulf of woe, didſt with us mix,

And ran along our wavering courſe, to fix

On thee Life's Ocean. Fruits of that love

Now in our Center we do taſte and prove.

Our life is thine, O lovely God and Man,

The wonder of thy death, who of us can

Half comprehend, much leſs repay. But ſee

The goodly Off-ſpring of thy Blood, and be

Self-ſatisfi'd, while we behold thy Face

Fill'd with delight, rejoyce thou in the Grace

[Page] Thy Blood hath ſprinkled round about thy Throne,

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Three in One.

His Character.

Moſt perfect Image of the God above,

Without was Majeſty, within was love:

One drawn with ſweetneſs by an Infants hand,

Ne'r driv'n by violence, or Baſe command:

Religion's Patron, Crown of Piety

Upon his Houſes Ancient Chevalry.

To Lawful Senates, was his Countrys choice,

The laſt diſſolv'd, above he gives his voice.

To a wiſe and beauteous Lady joyn'd,

Into a gen'rous Off-ſpring Both are twin'd.

He went not hence, till he might clearly ſee

Himſelf in's Heir, ſhould much exalted be.

His Votaries Prayer.

O let no Curſe, no Sin, no Fate, no War,

His long-lin'd houſe, e'er blot, defame, or ſcar.

But let its numerous ſeed, ſtill run along,

Till it receive Chriſt's coming, with a Song.

The Gentries Vertues, Glories let it wear;

But all its Vices, let it ſcorn to bear.

His Houſe a School of worth, let ages ſee;

And Lord, a Church of Graces, let it be.

Richard Fairclough Rector of Mells in Sommerſetſhire.

To the Memory of that Highly Noble, and Religious Knight Sir NATH. BARNARDISTON.

[Page]

PArdon great Sir, though others to your Tomb,

Bring Volumes of your praiſe, and I be dumb.

A Verſe or two is all I can; not want

Of ſorrow, but the greatneſs makes me ſcant.

I cannot write, Tears make my Paper ſink;

My Pen weeps too, its proper tears of Ink.

Theſe, whil'ſt I ſtrive to Checker my white ſheet,

Correct my Error, and tell me 'tis meet

That all be black, that every part ſhould mourn,

And ſo my ſheet into a pall they turn.

How can I make a Verſe, who want my Feet?

Rooted I ſtand, amazed at the great,

And ſtrangneſs of our loſs, ſad Niobs fate

Transform'd to ſtone, is mine, incorporate

I to a quarry am; Then take from me

His Monument, his Grave-ſtone I will be;

And ſo for ever, I upon my Breſt

Shal wear this Epitaph, and weep the reſt.

Epitaph.

Here lies thoſe Sacred Aſhes, once the ſeat

Of Heav'n-born-fires, and Loves diviner heat.

No Basket-Juſtice, or Brib'd Committee,

No purged Senator, but all Purity.

In's Conſort happy, both in Off-ſpring Crown'd:

Birth made him noble, Piety renown'd.

Anagram. Nathaniell Barnardiston. Born in an All-ſainted Hart.

[Page]

How well All Saints, give honor to his Urn,

Whoſe Faith was in An Hart All-ſainted Born.

The World's unworthy of him, whoſe beſt part,

Liv'd, and was Born in an All-Sainted Hart.

Nathaniell Fairclough Rector of Stalbridge in Dorcetſhire.

PARENTALE, or an ELEGIE on the Highly Honorable and Right Worſhipful Sir Nath. Barnardiſton, Kt.

BY Euphrat's Floud, when Captive Iſrael ſate,

Increaſing it; their Harps inanimate

Hung ſpeechleſs by: All ſorrows want their Tongues,

Theſe Organs ſpeak not, fill'd from ſighing Lungs.

Great anger makes a Poet; but the ſenſe

Of greateſt grief, ſtops flowing eloquence:

Who groans in tune, hath learn't the Hebrew art

To weep with th' eye; but bleed not at the heart.

My Theam's too great, that Pegaſus ſhould wear

Such ſtraitning Fetters; he can't mount the air,

Or ſoar aloft, whil'ſt pinion'd is his Wing.

England lies here; your boundleſs tears then bring,

[Page] And Mote it round; let every weeping eye

Now pay its River, till the Springs be dry;

Then offer them: Galatian tribute here

Is due, he payes an eye, that hath no tear.

The Academy, Country, Church, at once,

Have loſt their cheifeſt Patron, and thus groans.

Erſt while I ſaw a Spring ('twas Hippocrene)

Brim'd round about with Sable Jet, within

The waters ſwell'd; and paſt their common bounds:

Strait I drew near, t'obſerve, and ſearch the grounds

Of this late Floud; and ſilently I ſpy'd

The Orphan Muſes by; all ſadly cry'd:

And as they wept, the dewy tears that fell,

Slid to that watry lodge, which made it ſwell;

Their Patrons death (Apollo) caus'd this wo,

Which falling beads now tell; a wrinkled O

From every fall, their griefs in water wrote,

And ſpake the ſadneſs of their ſighing note.

The common people next, diſmaid with fears,

Dewing their Boſoms; thus fills all our ears.

Swift Time (Heavens Purſevant) ſtraitly ſummons

To th' Lords Houſe, this Member of the Commons;

Thrice choſen Senator, let Ipſwich fame

How oft her ſtreets have eccho'd with his Name;

But cruel dint of death's ſeverer Dart

Suffolks great Soul, from Suffolk now doth part.

Nor mourns the State alone; the Churches chime;

Religion ſighs; her trickling tears keeps time

Whil'ſt ſobbing thus, ſhe ſings, Here lies the Knight,

Lifeleſs, that did maintain the Goſpels Light.

Let Ketton boaſt; how from her ſacred Hill,

Her Sun with brighteſt Rayes, the World doth fill;

Here fix'd by him: O joyful, Heavenly meet

Of thouſands, Sainted by his means; that greet

[Page] His crowned head, whoſe Crown they are, then haſte

We too, to add more gems, and be ſo plac'd.

SA. FAIRECLOVGH. Fel. of Gon. and Caius Coll.

An Elegie on that ever honoured Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston.

NOt for to ſcrape acquaintance with the great,

Much leſſe, like ſome, to get a good meals meat;

Not that my stranger Muſe ſtrives to be known,

As if ſhe thought ſh' were elſe as good be none:

A mourning Ribband, or a parie of Gloves,

Can nothing tempt her from that reſt ſhe loves?

My Muſe is no ſuch hackney, none of theſe

Can draw her from her now accuſtom'd eaſe;

Nor doth ſhe now (as earſt) catch after wit,

And hap'ly ſometimes had the praiſe of it.

In part, She mindes her ſelfe, now cal'd away,

From lighter ſtudies, to a graver way;

In part, ſhe thinks 'mongſt Country Clowns to riſe

In ſtraines of wit, were but to ſolaeciſe.

Partly her wil's in fault, and may be too,

Though ſhe were ne're ſo willing, 'twould not doe.

Chiefly, my Muſe puts on ſo grave a dreſſe,

Becauſe th' occaſion cals for ſeriouſneſſe.

And now ſhe ſpeaks, ſhe doth not meane to raiſe

A Trophie to his name from's father's praiſe:

Though here (if Anceſtry muſt have a place)

She knows no ancienter, no nobler race.

Thoſe who have nought to brag of, but the glory

Of their fore-fathers, blot their fathers ſtory.

[Page] I'de put the Ape, and ſuch men both together,

That could be proud of borrow'd Peacocks feather.

But here no ſluggiſhneſſe did make a ſeat

Of Grandſires glory, there to ſit compleat;

But he made what he found left by his Sire

But as his foot-ſtool, that ſhould raiſe him higher.

And as the circled glaſſe contracts the flames,

That noon-tide Sun did ſcatter with his beams,

And makes them like meridian lines, at laſt

To meet in one point, as from one they paſt:

So here thoſe nobler flames that were compreſt,

Some here in one, ſome in anothers breſt,

Of all thoſe famous Barm'ſtons, once alive

Met here, in this conjunction cop' lative.

So that to raiſe a Trophie to his fame,

From thoſe ſame vertues that have run ith' name,

And hence to fetch one ſtone, and thence another,

To catch at this in that man, that in t'other;

This were to goe about, as he ſhould ſtray

From hence to London, ſhould take York in's way.

VVe'l make a ſhorter cut of it by farre,

VVhile he alone both compaſſe is, and ſtar;

And though our Logick-mongers teach for truth,

That accidents muſt never dare (forſooth)

To change their ſoyl (but like ſome fetter'd Aſſe,

Inclos'd in wals, muſt alwayes feed on graſſe;

Or as we read it was with Shimei)

But ſtir from ſubjects once, they needs muſt dye.

Yet here we finde thoſe vertues all doe dwel,

In which each Sire of his did moſt excel;

And having leſt their former ſoyl, yet more

Did thrive in him, then e're they did before.

So wel, (though Logick ſcoffe) without correction,

Divinity maintaines her reſurrection,

[Page] In ſhort, his Father gave him life and breath,

But he (O Miracle) even after Death.

Revives his Fathers Fathers, makes them be

(Being long ſince dead) freſh in our memory.

Yea, he ſurvives himſelf, and cannot die,

Until the ending of eternity.

But minde thy ſelf, my Muſe, remember how

Thy calling makes all other things to bow

To one, (Religion) leave all other then,

And make this one, the ſubject of thy Pen.

Nor need'ſt thou here put on Creative power,

As Poets ſometimes do; who in one hour

Create him Saint, being dead, who all men know

A walking devil was, when here below:

None need to ſtretch his conſcience, here to tell

Officious lies for one, that burns in hell;

To draw belief to't, by his forged ſtory,

That, that damn'd caitiff, is a Saint in glory;

And thereby make even Boyes and Girls to point,

And ſay, The Preachers conſcience's out of joynt.

No, ſpeak he moſt▪ then can; there is no fear▪

It ſhould offend the tend'redſt conſcienc'd ear.

No new truths can be preach'd, but what are known,

No better by the Preacher, then the Town.

All men that knew him, by his life might know,

He was not onely great, but godly too:

Nor was his ſaintſhip of that new Edition,

Which Sequeſtrations make, or a Commiſsion:

Gain brought him not to Piety. To riſe

From ſin to grace, he ne'er learn'd by th' Exciſe.

Nor did he (Proteus like) to all mens view,

Change his religions face, ſtill for a new,

As th' old grew out of credit; he ne'er made▪

Religions change to be his gainful trade.

[Page] 'Twas Conſcience made him Pious, no deſign

To rob thee (gaſping Church) of what was thine.

He deem'd that which the new Saints of our Age,

Count a main peece of Piety, Sacriledge.

But peace my Muſe; thou'dſt fame to th'later times,

And cloath this Heroes actions in thy rhimes;

Thou long'ſt to bring partic'lars on the ſtage,

And would'ſt; but that the growing Peers o'th' age

Being ſet o'th' counter part, would ſurely raiſe

Thine Elegiake ſtrains, to Satyr layes,

And make them ſpeak ſo loud, that without doubt,

They'd doom thee to't, to have thy tongue cut out.

I think it therefore, far the ſafer way,

Thou prate no more, but that thou rather pray,

Many ſuch Barnardiſtons God would ſend,

Th'unhappineſs of Church and State to 'mend.

Samuel Reyner, Thirloe Mag.

An Elegy at the Funeral of that truly Honorrable, and moſt Religious Knight, the Right Worſhipful Sir NATH. BARNARDISTON.

WHat Marble now is dry? then ſhall not we

Our tears pour forth, at this ſolemnity?

In ancient time the men of Carthage Town,

Upon Maſiſtius death, their Towers brake down;

Their Walls they hung with blacks, and Towers torn,

That ſo not onely men, but ſtones might mourn.

[Page] The Rock it ſelf, when Moſes ſmote did ſpring;

Streams Cryſtalline the fiery Flint did bring.

Much more ſhould we, now God himſelf doth ſmite,

Send forth our ſtreaming tears; for theſe of right

Are due; if we deny this tribute, then

The ſtones that now ſhed tears, will ſhame us men.

When Pompey by Septimius was ſlain,

The valiant Julius Caeſar did diſdain

To view his head; when to him it was ſent,

His Kingly heart, with pity did relent;

His Cheeks bedew'd with tears, his clemency

Did manifeſt ev'n to his enemy.

If Julius Caeſar wept thus for a fo,

Then for a friend, much more ſhould we do ſo.

For ſuch a friend, whom all men may of right,

Moſt truly term, The High Gods favorite.

His deareſt darling, and all mens delight.

Who whil'ſt he liv'd with us, out-ſhin'd in grace

The reſt of men, now ſees God face to face:

When that the Emp'ror Titus did depart:

What cloudy looks, moyſt cheeks, and heavy heart,

Might be beheld all o'r the Roman State,

Each ſingle man bemoaning his ſad fate:

And thus concerning him, they did complain,

Titus is gone, t'our loſs, though to his gain.

The ſame may we take up; Gods darling's gone.

'Tis for his good, though our affliction.

Well mourn we may, as in ſome ſilent grove,

Whil'ſt he in heavenly joyes, triumphs above.

Nathaniel he was, Gods gift to us;

A Gem, a precious Pearl eſteem'd, and thus

[Page] The greater was our joy; but now deceas'd,

The more our grief, and ſorrows are increas'd.

It ſeems God gives and takes, who can gainſay?

God ſaith, Give me my gem, who ſhall ſay nay?

Who ſhall reſiſt his will? Lord take thine own,

But give us leave, our loſs for to bemoan.

A cuſtom 'twas of old, that men renown'd,

Not onely living, but when dead, were crown'd.

Marcellus once this honor did receive,

The ſame the Emperor Auguſtus gave

To Alexander's Tomb: Demetrius

His Urn (when he was dead) was crowned thus.

Not any man more worthy of this Bay,

Then he for whom we celebrate this day.

A King he liv'd, moſt worthy to be crown'd,

In whom ſo many graces did abound.

A King he di'd, Deaths Victor now ſits down

In Heaven reſplendent, with a glorious crown,

When Death uncas'd his Soul, it to Heaven tended,

And by his declination he aſcended.

How now grim Death, whence cometh thus thy rage?

What, could'ſt finde none but th'Phoenix of our age,

To exerciſe thy cruelty upon?

No twinkling Star, none ſerve thee but the Sun,

Thus to eclipſe? How do'ſt thou think ſhall we

Deport our ſelves, when we no Sun can ſee?

Whence this thy hate to break our Rule and Line,

To take our Pattern from's that was Divine?

Hadſt thou no white, but innocencies heart,

Whereat to level this thy forked dart?

O 'tis not he, but we that feel the ſmart.

[Page] Lo here a Spectacle we ſee,

To teach us all, what we muſt be.

Wouldſt know thy mettal? then look on

The Mould and Earth, thou tread'ſt upon.

Look here proud man, behold thy Mother,

For at the firſt, thou hadſt no other:

She brought thee forth, thou art her ſon,

Fleſh of her fleſh, bone of her bone.

Thou muſt repay again, what ſhe hath lent thee,

Thy fleſh thy bone, and what e'r elſe ſhe ſent thee.

Tho. Marriot. M. A.

On the Death of that Noble Patriot of his Country Sir Nath. Barnardiſton.

I Heard that many Poets went of late

In a full throng to knock at Heavens gate,

Humbly beſeeching Jove of his quick brain,

(From whence Minerva, without Mothers pain,

Or Midwifes help, a witty Dame did flow)

Some few ſmall Particles on them beſtow;

And highly their immortal ſouls inſpire,

With a divine and active nimble fire;

That they might fancies, quick, and high conceive,

And might even Virgil of his Bayes bereave.

'Twas granted; then in haſte to Helicon,

With fury rapt beyond themſelves they run,

And for their guide, among the nine they chuſe,

A fullen, melancholly, penſive Muſe,

[Page] To ſhew that bitter ſtream of Pegaſus,

That prompted Naſo with De Triſtibus:

Of this they largely drinking to their fill,

Did into farre more bitter tears diſtill,

Sounding aloud, in hideous lamentation,

As when Plague, Sword, and Famine fright a Nation.

I wondring, curiouſly the cauſe deſir'd,

VVhich ſo much wit, and ſo much grief requir'd;

'Twas anſwer'd in a ſad, and doleful voyce,

By one whoſe ſorrows did ſurmount his noyſe.

Alas! of all good men (of ſuch though bleſt,

The Catalogue's but ſhort) we' ave loſt the beſt;

Prince in his Tribe, his Countries Patriot,

By election made, not undiſcerning Lot;

A juſt, wiſe, honeſt, noble Senator,

Lover of Peace, contentions Arbiter,

Patron of Learning, Poverties releife,

The Angels joy, and eaſe unto friends grief.

Farewell, brave Soul, whom now the Saints do greet,

In all things high, but in thine own conceit.

Theſe great Elog'ums did me little move,

(A ſtranger to his perſon, and his love:)

Beſide, I knew that Poets, ſome for gaine,

Many for feare, and more for hunger, ſtraine

The muſick of their pliant, giddy paſſion,

To any humour of Mecaenas faſhion;

Yet ſome impreſſion I muſt needs admit,

Seeing whole Families, and Hamblets ſit

Like Iſrael by Euphrate diſcontent,

As if his abſence were their baniſhment.

I therefore did unto the Funerall ſhow,

If not a Party, yet Spectator goe;

There was the much lamented herſe let down,

In hope of reſurrection to a crown;

[Page] In ſilent vault confin'd with worms, and duſt,

Where marble muſt conſume, and iron rust;

Whence we expect a glorious releaſe,

For th' ſeeds corruption tendeth to increaſe.

But when I ſaw the mournful Dowager,

Like Mary Magdalen by th' Sepulcher,

Fixing her eyes upon the greedy grave,

Which humane fleſh unſatisfi'd doth crave;

As if in that cold bed ſhe'd rather lye,

Then part with her old loving company.

When Children, Nephews, Kinſmen there ſtood dumb,

Like Images, to deck the dead Knights Tomb;

I could not then refraine, but theſe tears lent,

As drops to th' Sea, their ſorrow to augment.

Sure he was very good, who when life fayl'd,

Left ſo much wealth behind, and's yet bewayl'd;

Whoſe heir can ſlightly look upon his gold,

And wiſh't ith' live Teſtators hand untold?

But grieve not Sirs, nor envie him, his mind,

He's far above what he hath left behind;

Nathaniel is not dead, but was entic'd,

To leave his Fig-tree, for to follow Chriſt.

Edmund Vnderwood.

A Funerall Elegie on the Right Worſhipfull Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

WHen Abner dy'd, King David then could ſay,

A great man fell in Iſrael that day.

But how may we lament, to ſee Gods hand,

Thus ſnatch this great and good man from our Land?

[Page] This our right Worthy, Sir Nathaniel▪

Who did not ſuffer guile in him to dwel;

But when our giddy-headed Nation run

After ſtrange Meteors, he moſt like the Sun,

Kept on his courſe in Juſtice, Truth, and Right,

And ſhin'd more clearly in this ſable night.

Rend now your hearts, and be confounded all,

That love the truth, at Barnardiſtons fall;

When ſuch ſtrong pillars from the Church are ta'ne

VVhat can we judge in reaſon to remaine,

But deſolation? yet great Jove can ſtill

Extract much good from greateſt ſence of ill.

Near forty years hath he moſt glorious been,

In ſtrengthning vertue, and ſuppreſsing ſin;

Of all that knew him was he moſt renown'd;

And now by God that made him is he crown'd,

And in immortal glory ſhall remaine,

Until that day that all ſhal riſe againe:

And then with Chriſt his Saviour ſhal appear,

To judge all thoſe that were Apoſtates here.

John Soame, Gent.

An Elegie on the much lamented death of Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

VVEre I indued with that learned skil,

To mourn thy doleful death, with ſuch a quil

As might it grave in lines, as faire, as thoſe

Thou wrot'ſt thy noble life in; and compoſe

[Page] Each ſillable by ſo exact a ſquare,

As that whereby thy actions formed were;

Then might I ſuch an Elegie invent,

As ſhould thy death unto the life lament;

Then ſuch ſad accents, ſuch a doleful verſe

I might breath forth, as might become the herſe

Of a Nathaniel, and might fully tell,

How ſad's the death of one that liv'd ſo well:

How as th' Inamorato of Sol's ray,

The Heliotrope, which in the lightſome day

Diſplayes its wideſt beauty to his light,

Doth cloſed mourn his abſence in the night:

So doth the Country, which with great deſire

VVont to receive th' influence of that fire

Of prudent Piety, which from thy breſt

Sent forth moſt glittering rayes, but now (th' art bleſt

Elſe-where with light more glorious, and dear)

Lament thy ſetting in our Haemiſphear.

But 'tis an Art my ruder Pen can't reach,

To mourn thee as becomes; and ſo to teach

Strangers to know thy pious worth, and ſee

How great a joy all good men loſt in thee.

Beſides, to ſpeake ſo highly in thy praiſe,

As thy true worth requires, may chance to raiſe▪

In ſome mens mindes miſtruſt of flattery,

And thy due praiſe be thought Hyperboly.

But ſince perhaps: it might be thought a crime,

Now to be wholly dumb, at ſuch a time,

When ſo renown'd a Heroe cals to ſpeake;

Somewhat i'le ſay, though but in accents weak,

And yet but little wil I ſpeake, and that

Not in thy praiſe; (Reader, do'ſt ſtart hereat?)

The reaſon's this; Not that I envie thee,

That, which is known of all, thy due to be;

[Page] But that thy worth far doth my Pen tranſcend.

And he that poorly praiſe doth diſcommend.

Not to diſparage then thy worth in Layes,

Too meane by far for thy deſerved praiſe:

All that ile ſay is only this, to tell,

Thy worth needs not my praiſe, 'tis known ſo well.

Ralph Garnons. M. A.

On the Right Worſhipful and ever honoured Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

A Grave! a Funeral! my Muſe, no toyes

Become this Scene, no fancies like decoyes,

To tangle Readers in a pleaſing maze

Of lofty words, wrapt in Luxuriant phraſe:

Theſe are not ſeaſonable, now our verſe

Can nought elſe ſpeake, or think of, but a herſe.

That Macedonian Trumpet, that did bring

Memento mori to a mighty King,

Inſtead of Ave Phillip, late hath brought

Vs doleful newes, a ſad diſaſtrous thought.

Stand off, come not too near, give aire, give breath,

I faint to ſpeake of late unweildy death,

Snatcht not a Philip, but Nathaniel hence,

An Iſraelite, that of no guile had ſence,

One whoſe rare piety that's much admir'd,

Speake him an earthly Angel, though attir'd

In Robes of Fleſh; one of a higher mind,

Then could to lower regions be confin'd,

Whoſe heaven-born ſoul did ſtill in contemplation,

Paſſe o're thoſe heavenly joyes, whoſe adumbration

[Page] He fully now enjoyes; thoſe pleaſing ſhades,

In ſweet Elyſi'um, where joy never fades:

Thoſe Hills of Solyma, where pureſt ſtreams

Make glad the region of that Sun, whoſe beams

Thoſe healing wings, continually refreſh

The Sacred Pilgrim, when diſ-rob'd of fleſh:

There reſts this holy Saint; what heretofore

He could but ſee in part, and wiſh for more;

H'ath now attain'd: O rare ſtate of perfection,

The end of hope, joyes center, Saints election.

Nor did his ſtrict religion onely ſpeak

His Peerleſs worth, which we (alas) poor, weak,

And crazy mortals, knew not how to prize:

But he had gifts more obvious to our eyes,

Love to his Country, whoſe affairs he minded

With ſo great care, that none but envy-blinded

Can ceaſe condoling him, whoſe name who hears

In future times ſhall ſteep himſelf in tears:

And like ſad Niob', ſtanding o'er his Tomb,

Shall kiſs the Earth, in whoſe moſt happy Womb

He lies inclos'd; and to his ſacred Urn,

As to a Delphick Oracle ſhall turn.

But ſtop my Muſe, his V [...]rtues ſo tranſcend

Thy weak expreſſion, that perhaps i'th' end

Thy minde may be miſ-deem'd, and ſome may raiſe

An argument againſt thee from thy praiſe:

Better forbear to ſpeak, then ſpeaking wrong

The harmleſs dead, to whom all praiſe belong:

Condole we then his loſs, his Vertues paſs,

Prais'd by themſelves, engrav'd in firmeſt Braſs,

Which time ſhall ne'er wear out, nor malice blot,

But Fame ſhall render blameleſs without ſpot.

Yet this admit, the more his Vertues ſhone,

Our loſs the greater, and the more our moan.

[Page] O for a Mount of Tears to ſleep upon,

Acis or Biblis, for a Helicon:

But wiſhes boot not, clear we then our eyes,

He's ſinging now triumphant Elegies.

Whil'ſt we poor mortals groveling here below,

Fall ſhort of that his praiſe, we fain would ſhow.

This onely dare we own, that for his Herſe,

If fancy fail, yet grief hath made a Verſe.

Abrah. Garnons, M. A.

The Offering of an Infant-Muſe to the Memory of Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

YOu Sager Heads, that do attend this Herſe,

Accept the Homage of a Yonglings Verſe.

Tears are griefs rhetorick, and a Childe though weak,

Knows how to weep, before it learns to ſpeak.

I have my end, although my ſtile be rude;

Who do not ſtudy wit, but gratitude.

This Noble Gentleman, when firſt I came

Into the world, beſtow'd on me my Name.

Now he hath lately left the world, ſhall I

Fooliſhly modeſt, ſuffer his to die?

What though far abler Pens applaud him, yet

They meant to pay their own, and not my debt.

His prayers for, and favors to me ſhown,

No other Muſe proclaims beſides my own,

Which though a new-Born ſpark, yet ſuch a Name,

May quickly mount it up into a flame:

A Name wherein you nothing mean, can ſpy

His Birth, Place, Perſon, Graces; all were high

[Page] Whileſt here: But now he in thoſe heights doth dwell,

That nothing, but an Angels tongue can tell.

My Infant-Muſe oppreſt with ſuch bright glory,

Leaves flaming Seraphims to write his ſtory.

Nath. Owen. Anno Aetat. 12o.

Obſequies to the Memory of Sir Nath. Barnardiſton, Kt.

GIve leave (my Friends) unto this ſable Herſe,

To offer up a Tributary Verſe:

Even ſuch, as love and ſorrow ſhall ſuggeſt:

Sorrow ne'er made good Poet, Love the beſt.

O! how much rather, if th'all ordering hand

Of Providence Divine (which none withſtand)

Had ſo diſpos'd, I would have brought this day

My ſalutary vows; but now the way

To joy's ſhut up: The ſcene which whylome we

Thought Comick, now ends in a Tragedy.

Where were yee Galen and Hippocrates?

Thou Paracelſus, who didſt vainly pleaſe

Thy ſelf, to boaſt with thine Elixar's art

To make a man immortal? could'ſt that part

Have acted here, or ſome years luſters more,

Have added to his lives leaſe? on this ſcore,

Like loyal Romans for Auguſtus, we

A during ſtatue to thy memory

Would have erected; grav'd thy name in Braſs,

Laſting to ages glory: But (alas!)

[Page] Nor Themiſon, nor Aeſculapius,

Machaon thou, nor Podalirius,

'Mongſt the Galenick Nation, though you be

Cheif Doctors, conld you bring a remedy

To ſuperſede this fate: That hand that gave

This wound (Achilles like) could onely ſave:

Then which no other weapon-ſalve, I know,

Nor univerſal medicine here below.

He's therefore gone, and we alive to ſee,

The Monument of our mortality,

His ſacred reliques; and remember what

He was in's life, and ſtudy to be that.

But is there any that will undertake,

To write his copy; I fear his hand will ſhake,

Or's Penſil's dull, or ſome fault in his eyes,

That he'l indent deform'd obliquities.

Yet his clear eye, and ſteady hand ne'er drew,

But ſtrait lines from the center, for he knew

And learn'd from ſuch a maſter, who alone

Could guide the hand and hearts poſition.

And ſo he guided was, that few are ſeen

On this worlds Theater, or er'ſt have been

Equal proficients with him in this art,

This heavenly art of living well; which part

He much adorn'd, and 'twas his greateſt grace,

And worth's embelliſhment in ſuch a place,

As God had ſet him, to be good as great;

Goodneſs and greatneſs, both well here did meet

In him. How ſoon began! for in his prime

He choſe (not like luxurious youth) his time

To ſpend in th'ages wanton revellings;

But ſought that merchandize, which onely brings

That great advantage (after all his care

And travel) now poſſeſs'd, without all fear

[Page] Of looſing: he by firm indenture bound

Himſelf to God, not for years; for he found

They might expire, and's Fathers legacy

Was more then this poor worlds annuity.

Therefore in graces tenure, humbly he

Caſt anchor unto all eternity.

And now his torn, and weather-beaten bark

With the worlds ſtorms and tempeſts, like the ark

Puts int' a quiet harbor, even as that

Reſted upon the Mountain Ararat.

He left this world i'th' ſtorm by Land and Sea,

Yet he a calm and ſweet tranquillity

Found in himſelf; as one that ſwom to Land,

Having ſcap'd ſhipwrack, doth i'th' Harbor ſtand

Safe and ſecure; yet viewing with ſad eyes

The Monuments of Neptunes cruelties:

Or he whoſe ſhip from ſome far Countrey bound,

Laden with Gold and Spice, at length hath found

The wiſhed Port, prayes that his Friends may ſee,

The like returns advantage; ſo did he,

Having receiv'd his lading home ſecure,

Prayes God, the States and Churches to enſure.

But whil'ſt we minde his gain, we value not

Our loſs, nor can: The Saints indeed have got

One that will bear a part with them, whil'ſt we

Are left to ſing a doleful Elegie.

To mourn, becomes us well; here needs no art

To paint a tear, that comes not from the heart:

Or that we hire ſome ancient praefica'es

To howl their well-diſſembled nania's.

For ſuch ſad Sables (Sorrows Livery)

Well may they hold a ſemblance to the eye,

Of ſome thing which we ſee; but for the reſt

Behinde the Curtain, Cannot be expreſt.

[Page] So did that Artiſt when he came to draw

The Parents grief, for Iphigenia,

Caſt o'er a veil, (the reſt within made good

By an Apoſiopeſis underſtood)

Then draw the Curtain here (my Muſe) and tell,

The World thou can'ſt with no lines parallel,

Their grief, whoſe honor 'twas once to have had,

A Wife, or childes relation here: So ſad

Appears the Scene, There's none that bears apart

A mourning robe, without a mourning heart.

Yet once again (thou Cypreſs tree)

Let me now pluck a branch from thee;

Bitter conſtraint, and ſaddeſt wo,

(Alas) compels me ſo to do.

Thou wont'ſt not to receive a call

To every vulgar funeral.

We'll therefore not impropriate

Thy cuſtom, ſince 'tis our ſad fate

To looſe a Heroe of that worth,

As nature rarely bringeth forth.

Mourn then, for on this woful Beer

Lies one, that hath not left his Peer.

For whom the Heavens (as if too long,

They had expected him among

His Fellow Saints) at laſt have ſent

Now to compleat their Parl'ament.

Saxa ruunt Mauſoli inviſa, ruunt (que) Coloſsi

Mole ſua; & ſi quae porrò Monumenta vetuſtas

Condidit, illa abolevit edax; vel quicquid Apelles

Pinxerit, ant ſi quid Lyſippus duxerit olim,

[Page] Apparent nuſquàm (ne ſubſiſtente ruinâ.)

At meliora tibi pietas Monumenta locavit,

Quippe fides tua clara (aevo rariſsima noſtro)

Te petrae inſeruit. Titulo te poſſe carere

Ergone Marmoreo? licet aut componere parvis

Maxima? Nam (que) Choro coeleſti aſcriptus iniquum

Ut remeare velis diviſis mente Britannis.

Qui tamen, (et ſi nos tot blandimenta nepotes

Chara reliquiſti) ſuperes ubi nulla cupido

Invadet redeundi, non ſi populuſve ſenatus

Antiquum ad meritum (que) locum revocare poteſſet.

Conſociare tuis, te ſuaviloquentior uſquàm

Nec fuerat dum tu fueras, nec amantior ullus

Qui potuit. Quoties dextram (Venerande) benignam

Tu mihi, quàm gratos amplexus ſaepe dediſti,

Nulli ementitos? verus monitor (que) fidelis

Idque frequens mihi; cultor eras quia tu neque parens

Numinis atque alios mecum ſuadere ſolebas.

Oh quoties & quae nobis memoranda locutus

Digna velut clavo maneant infixa trabali?

Nam neque tu quenquam vano ſermone morari,

Pejorem ſolitus coram aut demittere triſtem.

Quos vultus, quales vidi candore micantes!

Atque oculos? mihi quos ſpectare (heu non licet ultra.)

At nunquam? Oh nunquam noſtras reſonabit ad aures

Vox antiqua ſonos modulans mihi quàm bene notos:

Nam mihi nunc ſuperas heu diſſociabilis; oras

Lenta nimis vela impellent ſuspiria noſtra

Haſce iterum infidas, ut fruſtrà referre conemur.

Aſt ego quando quidem nobis te fata tulerunt,

O quàm te memorem, & memorans ſuspiria [...]undam,

Dum maeſtus reddam ſolennia vota Sepulchro.

Joh. Clopton. Gent▪

An Epicedium upon the death of that thrice worthy Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, eminent for Piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his Country.

[Page]

IT's eaſie for to write an Elegie

On common fates, great ſorrows ſtupifie;

A toe or finger loſt, we can complain,

But wounds receiv'd in liver, heart, or brain,

(The parts that be architectonical)

Oppreſs the ſence, we ſhould complain withall.

A cask that nought, but the light air doth hold,

Sounds far more ſhrilly, then one fil'd with gold;

Fleet ſtreams are clamorous, the deepeſt joyes

And ſorrows, their own depth do keep from noyſe.

Our loſſe ſo vaſt, as would a country breake,

We want both help to bear, and ſtrength to ſpeak.

What is't to hear a wife, or children cry,

Should ſuch a father, ſuch a husband dye?

Or a few mournful Schollars make this moan,

Our-dear Mecaenas, our beſt friend is gone;

Th' expences of a ſorrow that's thus large,

Should be borne out at a whole Nations charge;

A publick taxe of grief, whole ſubſidies

Of tears, and freely given, wil ſcarce ſuffice.

Where are you all, who while he was alive

Own'd none but him, your repreſentative?

Reſound a Barm'ſtons name, cannot that breath

Which ſilenc'd other Rivals, ſilence Death?

Shal the graves priſon your free choyſe prevent,

And break a priviledge of Parliament?

[Page] Tell him, he hath your ſuffrages, leaſt we

Judge you have loſt your voyce, as wel as he;

But ſince your tongues avail not, let your eyes

Diſcharge their laſt debt to his obſequies.

Tears have a ſtrong (though ſilent) eloquence;

You cannot ſpeake, yet ſigh thus out your ſence,

Our Patriot is dead, who oft was known,

Saving our freedoms, to have loſt his own.

From right who would not ſwerve, or conſcious wreſt,

To pleaſe a ſide, or ſerve an intereſt;

Who liv'd by rule Divine, and human Laws,

And did not dread the power, nor court th' applauſe

Of the wilde multitude, but firmly ſtood

To his firſt principles, and thoſe were good;

And as his Tenents, ſo we may be bold

To ſay, his honours and eſtate were old.

H'was born to both, had no need to deſire

To warm his hands, by's neighbours houſe on fire.

His plentiful revenues did not riſe

To higher rates, ſince taxes and exciſe;

Fames trump ſound's forth his anceſtours renown,

When th' Henries, and the Edwards wore the crown;

Muſhrooms of Gentry can ſtreight from a blew

Be dipt in ſcarlet, which is honours hue,

Yet in his birth and bloud he found a ſtaine,

Till 'twas innobled, and he born again.

You reverend Divines go on to tell

His following ſtory, whom he lov'd ſo wel.

You are Gods Heraulds, and by place deſign'd,

T' emblazon his moſt noble heav'n-born mind;

His faith moſt vigorous, though croſt by ſence,

Could graſp a promiſe, eye omnipotence;

Through the black clouds, that 'fore the Church were drawn,

He could fore-ſee her day was near to dawn.

[Page] The rage of enemies now grown ſo ſtout,

He judg'd a blaze, before their light went out;

His zeal tow'ring aloft to heavenly things,

Yet was diſcreet, had eyes, as wel as wings;

Humble in height of place, troubles he knew,

Though great, yet juſt; by bearing, to ſubdue.

His love to Chriſt, the Church, ſhone bright as day,

Ireland can witneſſe, yea America:

In all theſe he enjoy'd the name, and ſtile

Of a true Iſraelite, and free from guile,

Though not from ſin, yet in a Goſpel ſence,

Sincerity is counted innocence.

This, at his death, caus'd him ſuch peace within,

For death ſcares none, but where it meets with ſin.

His Noble Lady now diſconſolate,

Like a true Turtle, which hath loſt her Mate,

And ſad poſterity known by their eyes,

We do not here invite to ſimpathize;

'Twere cruelty to ſtraine a bleeding ſore,

Inſtead of ſtanching to provoke it more.

Oh, dry your tears up, whilſt you ſtil complain;

You only mind your loſs, but not his gain;

Were't not more love for to rejoyce, as he

Doth there, then to wiſh him our miſery?

Repine not at his change, would you again

Hear him complaining under ſin, and pain?

We in retired corners melt our eyes

In tears, and breath our ſpirits out in ſighs,

Whilſt he in glory is triumphant; where

He never hears a groan, nor ſees a tear.

Our Muſe ſings nought but Elegies, his tongue

Is now a chanting forth a marriage ſong.

Grieve not at his new honour lately ſent,

To ſit ith' upper houſe of Parliament,

[Page] where all three States agree, and none doth ſtrive

For Priviledges, or Prerogative;

Before whoſe bar other great Courts ſhal come,

To give up their accounts, and hear their doom:

In this the worlds ſupream juſt Council, none

Can cauſe; or fear a diſſolution.

Ergo triumphatis inferni finibus, ipſâ

Morte exarmatâ, regna ſuperna petis.

Quid non fata regunt? ſenio monumenta fatiſcunt;

Ipſa (que) cernuntur poſſe ſepulchra mori:

Sed pietas & rara ſides patriae (que) cupido

Fervida vicerunt jura ſuperba necis.

Dignum hunc laude virum, lex, plebs, eccleſia, cleru [...],

Catera ſi taceas, vivere muſa jubet.

Ciſtula diffringi potuit, ſed gemma ſuperſtes

Uſ (que) nitens, nullo eſt interitura die.

Non is vana fuit ingentis nominis umbra,

Praemia ſed meritis fama minora dedit.

Quem non prava jubens irati principis ardor,

Non populi rabies mente quatit ſolida.

Perſtitit ut rupes variis vexata procellis,

Fixa baſi firma, quae tamen uſ (que) ſtetit.

Heu! vereor ne haec magna domus ſuffulta columnis,

Tam validis, ruptis hiſce, miſella cadat.

Joh. Owen. Rect. Wrat. par.

To the Memory of that renowned Knight, Sir Nath. Barnardiſton,

[Page]

LOok as the Heliotrope the Sun's lov'd flower,

That ſpreads the yellow curtain of her bower

At his fair riſing, cloſes it again

When he declineth weſtward to the main:

Ev'n ſo ſhould we, (our Phoebus gone to bed,)

Shut in our joyes, and hang a drooping head:

Our lips in ſables dreſſe, cloſe mourners all,

Our tongues are to pronounce a funerall;

A Barmſton's funerall; recall that name,

A name ſo old, 'twil fit the trump of fame;

A name too heavie for a ſlender quil,

Whoſe very echo would a Nation fill;

A name ſo good, poſterity may run

Diviſion on that name, till time were done.

Pardon (great Sir) we cannot ſpeak thy worth,

Apollo's tongue-ty'd, and muſt liſp it forth;

To ſcore each vertue on thy noble tombe

Would ſtrike invention, and the Muſes dumbe.

What Quire of wel-breath'd Lungs ſcrew'd ne'r ſo high,

Can reach the Ela of that harmony,

That did concenter in thy pious breſt,

Warb'ling forth Airs, ſuch as the Sphears might feaſt;

Sweet conſort! where the Graces tune their throats,

And vertues chant their Polyphonian notes,

Striving t' excel in thoſe diviner Layes,

And crown their Maſter with coeleſtial bayes.

But oh! we lack an Orpheus in our eares

That might diſtinguiſh (they are ſtopt with tears)

[Page]

[...]

[Page]

[...]

[Page] Each lofty ſtraine; each Rapſody reſound,

And take each quaver at the firſt rebound;

Our ſence is dul, and cannot comprehend

The words they breath'd, unleſs his Ghoſt do ſend

A key t' unlock the cloſet of his heart,

(Which may their language to our eyes impart)

We muſt diſpair to read thoſe Heav'n-borne tones,

And be content to ſpel their minde in groans.

Sure 'twas his Muſick act, he's gone from hence

To Heav'ns-Kings Chappel there for to commence

Doctor in glory, and hath left us here

To celebrate his feaſt, our funeral chear.

Oh! how his conſort, and his mourful train,

Their Criſtal ciſterns broach, draw, tun again,

Brim full with tears, each tender eye o' reflows,

And proves a running banquet in the cloſe.

That friend, who brings a pallate in his eyes,

May fill his ſtomach at theſe obſequies.

But now our dear Mecaenas leads the way,

Come, come; enough, our ſorrows cannot ſtay:

The ſlow-pac'd Mourners wait upon the herſe,

And teach their feet to tread elegiac verſe:

The vertues which were inmates in his breſt,

Hover about, now they have loſt their neſt;

And fear leſt they who had a cage of gold

Be forc'd to wander (charity's ſo cold)

Nay beg for harbour, woo each heart they meet,

Yet find no lodging but a winding-ſheet.

Unhappy hand of fate, that went about

To make the holes whereat theſe Birds flew out [...]

Theſe pretty Phil' meles hop from flag to flag,

Filling th' air with ſweetneſs, as they wag

Their lovely wings, each eare with elogies,

And thus extol their patron to the skies.

[Page] VVhat ſoaring pinion's able to expreſſe

That wel ground conſtancy, the ſole impreſſe

That rul'd thy actions, and as firmly ſtood

As doth the Oke the Monarch of the wood;

VVhoſe ſtately towring top ſcorns to ſtrike ſayl,

(Like to the Poplar) to each whiffling gale,

And dance a quaver with a trembling bough,

VVhen Boreas plays a crochet on his brow?

Men now adays in ſuch a poſture ſtand,

That's ready to receive each baſe command:

Blow what wind wil, like the wind-ſerving Vane,

They wil comply, then as you were again.

Mechanick ſpirits with their ſupple joynts

Can ring the changes to a thouſand points,

And pleaſe their ears too with that Stygian ſound,

That's harſh enough ev'n Babel to confound.

But Barm'ſton moved in an higher ſphear,

Diſdain'd to crouch unto degenerous fear,

And on the Hinges turn his Patron knee,

To dance the humours of diſloyalty.

Bluſh, bluſh you ſervile natures, that can mould

Your very ſouls into what frame you would;

New caſt your moulds, and work your brittle clay

To ſuch a temper, as with honour may

Heav'ns-broad-backt Porter Atlas ſtrength excel,

And under-prop the Churches cittadel,

And tott'ring ſtate. A pillar we have loſt

By deaths unhappy ſtroke (our glory's croſt)

An ancient Pillar, whoſe firm baſis ſtood

Supporters of the truth, and what was good,

Ev'n when ſurrounded with the dangerous ſeas

Of Errors, [...]hiſms, and Metamorphoſes;

Call it Seths pillar, wonder, and vouchſafe

To read th' inſcription in this Epitaph;

[Page] Behold Nathaniel, ſayes ſacred ſtyle,

An Iſra'lite indeed, in whom's no guile;

An holy veſſel tunn'd with noble breath,

By Surgeons broacht, to be drawn out by death.

Mirrour of goodneſs, and of conſtancy,

Gods gift, our loſſe, within this vault doth lye.

Quòte, maeſta pedes? an quò via ducit, in aedem?

Muſa▪ perantiquum quid petis aegra locum?

Fortè ſepulchrales mens eſt inviſere ſedes,

Et veterum exuvias; oſsa (que) ſpectra times?

Flebilis illa refert, vix ora in verba reſolvens,

Heu! cineres magni nominis urna tenet!

Et dictura fuit Barmſton, dolor occupat ora,

Sic vox ipſa haeret faucibus: exit Io.

Teſequar; at lentis pedibus modò currite verſus;

Funeris, heu, maeſtos cogor inire modos!

Stella ſerena poli cecidit jam gloria noſtri;

O decus! O noſtri ſtella ſerena poli!

Hac ſignante viam, non qualem erraticus ignis

Nil metuit populus, ſtagna profunda, dolos.

Infauſtos nuſquam radios diffudit in orbem,

Evomuitve iras, bella nefanda, neces.

Indidit huic nullas vires natura malignas,

Quales cancer habet, ſcorpius, a [...] (que) canis.

Quin dedit aſpectus aequos frontem (que) benignam:

Luce ſub innocuâ non latet ulla lues.

Scilicet innumeri fulgent hinc indè planetae,

Et nova diſpergunt lumina: quale decus!

Fert quaſi ſtelliferam per dorſum stellio ſphaeram:

Sed cave, tabificam pixida pectus habet.

Lucifer Angelico zeli larvatus amictu,

Decipit incautum credulitate gregem.

[Page] Auguſtam Phoebi faciem mortalibus aegris.

Invida opaco aufert corpore Luna ſuo.

Non tulit haec noſtrum, magno dum luxit in orbe

Aequali peragens tramite Sydus iter.

Meeoenas, Trabeatus, Eques, Paſcit, Colit, Ornat,

Clerum, Jus, Patriam, Munere, Voce, Fide.

Singula quid memorem? Nil non laudabile Barmſton,

Stemmata nobilitans, ſtemmate priſca ſuo.

Nubibus immunis tranſlato eſt mortis Horizon,

Occaſu claro, pulchrior ortus erit.

Ra. Aſtel.

An Elegy on the Death of the Right Worſhipful Sir NATH. BARNARDISTON.

IF Davids Worthies, God himſelf recount

In Writ Divine, which doth humane ſurmount.

If Chriſt, the anointing of his holy Head

Deign'd, as an honor done t'his Funeral Bed;

And to requite this pretious Maries favor,

Embalm'd her name with Everlaſting ſavor.

Then do we not amiſs, this faithful Knight

To praiſe and recommend; if ſo me might

Hereafter move to pious emulation,

Poſterity by holy imitation.

And not his Son alone, to bear the Name

And Heir his Grace, but others gain the fame

Of being like this er'ſt renowned Knight,

To equal and ſurpaſs him, if they might.

[Page] (Whil'ſt others envy) Miniſters are bound,

His praiſe by Word, and writing forth to ſound.

To him who did Prophets on Earth receive,

Prophets reward, both God and Man ſhall give.

Nathaniel don coruſcus Barnardiſton

Vixit in hac terra nobilitatu [...] Eques.

Vixiſſet ſemper, regeret si ſtamina vita

Vox populi, cujus claruit auspic [...]it▪

Clarus ad invidiam, quem ſic ne (que) dira ſimultas

Flexit ab officio carcere, ſive mini [...].

Miſta priora novis, nec ſumma pericla movebant

Obſtrictum Patriae cumpiet ate Deo.

Eripit hunc nobiſ (que) ſuit mors ſcaeva, videmur

Orbatam patriam flere, perinde domum.

Quem Deus indid ſit, rapuit mors ſava, queremur,

Non rapuit reddens officioſa Deo.

Oſſa quidem nobis anima aſcendente reliquit;

E [...]apſam ut veſtem quam tenet arca pia,

Qua, Deus expurgans ſimul & fulgore deaurans,

Regis in adventu veſtiet ad thalamos.

Haec vates ſperans, ovat geſtit (que) videre

Nunc Monumenta ſpei, tunc documenta rel.

Obſervantiae cauſa poſuit. Clemens Ray.

On the Death of that moſt Illuſtrious and worthy Knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

[Page]

OFt have I ſeen (in veiwing Monuments)

Of Roral Drops from Marble ſtrange deſcents:

Wonder not why this Rocky Marble weeps;

For lo! here Noble Barnardiſton ſleeps

The ſleep of death; 'tis ſtrange to cloudy ſence,

That in the Tomb there ſeems no difference

'Twixt juſt and unjuſt, Pebble and the Gem.

Here vertue ſeems to wear no Diadem.

'Tis ſtrange here ſeems to fall ſuch equal lots

Upon the Traitors, and true Patriots.

But ceaſe fond heart to wonder, 'tis not hard,

God is to ſuch th'exceeding great reward;

And ſure to him, who yet could ne'r be wone

To act a Proteus in Religion.

Reward in life, he met with great renown,

God did his faithful acts with glory crown.

Reward in death, for (when the world ſhall ſee

Thoſe Pha [...]tons in duſt interred be,

Both names and bodies too; and them ſhall laugh

To ſcorn, to ſee no better Epitaph

Then this: Lo here their skeletons are laid,

Who once their Country, and their Church betray'd:)

His name ſhall live as one, that witneſs'd well

Himſelf to be a true Nathaniel.

ACROSTIC.

Nomen in aeternum, Barnurdiſtone, perenne

Auguſta humanum pectus dum capſula condit,

[Page] Tulampas terris aſt inter ſydera coeli,

Haud minimus meliore tui jam parte manebis:

Accingens radiis nitidis tua tempora Phoebus,

Noſter amator eras, artis ſophiae (que) patronus:

Imminuere decus gentis, virtutis honorem

Electi Heroes; fidei tu ſemper amicus;

Lex tibi grandis erat virtus quae neſcia vinci.

Bruma perennis adeſt nobis te ſole cadente,

Aſtra calore carent nitidi ſine lumine Phoebi,

Rara fides genti virtus procerum (que) propago,

Noſtrorum (que) decus capitis tua gloria magni,

Aſt nihili pendens, tu talia [...] Chriſti

Reſpectu (que) Dei: ſacrato ſanguine venas,

Diluvians, cauſa eſt magni Theodorè triumphi

In coelo ſolio frueris ſemper (que) frueris.

Siſte viator iter: vultum cortina recondit

Talem quem memores lacrimarum flumine deflent

Omnes, dona Dei nobis cum numina poſcunt,

Nos decet hanc deflere vicem, gemitu (que) dolere.

Joſephus Skinner, M. A.

An Elegie on the Right Worſhipfull Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

HEre's one that was an Iſra'lite ſincere,

In whom all noble vertues did appear;

A faithfull Patriot, one that ever ſtood

Firme to Gods Cauſe, and to his Countries good;

And yet by cruel death's impartiall hand

Laid level with the duſt: Who can withſtand

[Page] Death's all commanding power? this tyrants Law

Is that which keeps the univerſe in awe;

He nips the Infant bloſſom when it ſprings,

And aged Snow to diſſolution brings:

And though the faded Roſe year after year▪

With a freſh colour in her leaves appear,

Age knows no ſpring, and death will not reſtore

His ſtollen goods, till time ſhal be no more.

O happy thoſe that doe betimes begin

To love Chriſt Jeſus, and to leave off ſin;

To walk in holy wayes with Simeon old,

That in the armes of faith their Saviour hold.

The life of ſuch is bleſt, their death much more,

For then they reſt from labour, not before.

Thus (worthy Barnardiſton) thou art bleſt,

Who from thy labours and all pains doſt reſt.

Death which for thee a crown of gold prepares,

Gives unto us a thorny crown of tears,

And puts us in a mourning frame, for we

Cannot but have ſad hearts, when as we ſee

The Chariots and the Horſmen yeeld to fate,

And few ſuch left to guide the affairs of State:

But yet our grief for thee ſhall not proceed,

'Tis charity to give to thoſe that need,

That's to our ſelves; our miſeries and feares

Require not only floods, but ſeas of tears.

Therefore for thee we'l ceaſe our lamentation,

And tak't up for our ſelves, and for the Nation;

Though for our loſſe we cannot chuſe but grieve,

This comfort ſhal our paſſions yet relieve;

That heav'n is joyful, and thy bleſſed ſtate

Shall be a means our griefs to mitigate.

O what a happy ſtate it were, if we

Had no more cauſe of ſorrow but for thee.

ACROSTIC.

[Page]

Non audis noſtras, Barnardiſtone, querelas,

Aut lacrymis opus eſſe putas; ſed funera fletu

Tu tua nos ornare vetas; at nos tamen ipſi

Haud ita ſentimus, vanum licet eſſe fatemur

At (que) ſupervacuum pro te (vir ſumme) dolorem;

Non ita pro nobis, nam mors tibi maxima merces,

Ipſa tamen ſummi nobis eſt cauſa doloris,

Et poſcit lacrymarum imbres, luctum (que) perennem,

Lumina (que) ut lacrymis turgeſcant ſemper amaris.

Buſta viri tanti ſtudeant ornare Camaenae,

Adſit Melpomene, moeſtiſ (que) boatibus auras

Repleat, & totus reſonet plangoribus aether,

Nam pietas & priſca fides, & maſcula virtus

Angligenum (que) decus, jam nunc periiſse videntur.

Religionis honos venerabilis, artis amicus

Defunctus jacet hic▪ titulis & honore priori

Impoſitis parvo turba comitante Sepulchro,

Sed lacrymis jam parce, ſat eſt, non prorſus ineptus

Te Theodore mori, quiſquis vel poſſe putabit.

Onimium Felix frueris meliore ſenatu,

Nil ubi juris habet mors, mars, aut Barbarus hoſtis.

J. C.

On the much lamented death of the right Worſhipful Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton.

I VVonder not that Barnardiſton's dead,

But rather that he ſpun ſo long a thread;

[Page] Sure 'tis a ſound hath eccho'd through the earth,

Chriſts verdict on Nathaniels ſecond birth.

Behold an Iſra'lite: 'Twas then a wonder,

But now the Gloworm times that we live under,

Write ſuch men Miracles, and they we know

Are ceaſed, dead, and buried long ago.

We would enjoy'd him longer, but we knew

Who was the gift of God, was Heavens due.

(So Job, he gives and takes) ceaſe then to tell

His worth, whoſe Epitaph's a Miracle.

[...].

[...],

[...]

[...]

[...].

[...]

[...].

[...].

Memoriae Sacrum equitis Nobiliſsimi, Pientiſſimique Viri, Nathan. Barnardiſton. Equ. Aur.

QUote corripis, viator, properans?

In hunc tumulum converte oculos,

Si modo permiſerint

Lacrymae & ſingultus tui.

Jacet hic

[Page] Eques auratus, & vir verè aureus,

Sinè fuco Iſraelita, & abſ (que) dolo:

Ipſemet enim Nathaniel:

Decus Patria, & familiae antiquiſsimae,

Quae inter trophaea ſua hoc jactitat,

Quòd talem peperit.

Amor cleri & Patrocinium:

Orthodoxa Religionis ingens exemplar & columen,

Veris Evangeliti Miniſtris tutela & praeſidium,

Apud eos dum vixerit,

Hi omnes ornarunt calculo

Mortuum,

Lugubri Epitaphio.

Quippe quòd his indulſit, ut parentem decuit,

Ut filium, auſcult avit obſequentiſsime;

Sic quos humi calcavit aetas impia,

Hic fovebat in ſin [...].

Ipſimet enim in deliciis, quos mundus reputat

[...].

Lumina eccleſiae radiantia,

Quae ſeculi rabies

Extincta vult, & effoſſa penitus.

Heu! quoties [...] eſt, & (Conſtantini more)

Deoſculatus ſuaviter.

Defe male ſuiſ (que) metuit

Reformata religio.

Dum talem [...]

Fidei columnam & [...] naculum.

Quem non gementem audies? Abiit, hem obiit

Noſter Nathaniel;

Tam coeli quam terra [...]

Utrobi (que) affulſit [...],

Hic equeſtri cinctus [...],

Illic corona redimitus gloriae

[Page] Improba & aetate degeneri.

Cum ultra vivere penitus displicet

Eja! tunc juvat mori.

Ultimi in occaſu ſeculi

Occaſum is paſſus eſt,

Ut celo fulgeat fortiori jubare

Hinc diſce Lector;

Tunc tunc nos coelo maturi ſumus

Cum huic ſumus mundo decidui.

Poſuit honoris

Et debitae obſervantiae ergô.

Johan. Allot.

Chronogramma.
SI patrlae fIDVs perIIt & VerVs aMICVs, VIr pIVs at (que) bonVs, VIta perennIs erIt.

MOrte manet juſtis ſua ſpes, poſt fata, futura

Soecula cum venient, ultima cum (que) dies.

Optima ſanctorum remanebunt lucra virorum

Illorum effari gaudia nemo poteſt.

Peſsima pravorum remanebunt damna virorum

Illorum effari triſtia nemo poteſt.

Epitaphium.

AN juſtus periit? dici hunc periiſſe licebit?

Non licet; in Chriſto non periturus abit.

Aſt periit juſtus, dici hunc periiſſe licebit?

Heu! periit nobis, non rediturus abit.

[Page] Rara avis in terris eſt juſtus, pura (que) corda

Sunt inter spinas lilia nata Deo.

Eſt conſtantis opus durum quin ampla corona,

Spes perit illius qui recidivus erit.

Temporibus duris frigent pietatis amici

Vani: ſinceri ſe renovare ſolent▪

Talis erat vivus Barnardiſtonus, & inter

Omnes emicuit vir bonitatis amans,

Nathaniel vivus fuit, expers fraude doloque

Sincerus, conſtans in pietate fuit.

Funus juſta petit, juſtum hunc plorare decebit

Ne plorate nimis, non decet iſte dolor.

Dum vixit Chriſti valde eſt gaviſus amore,

Cum Domino moriens percupit eſſe ſuo.

Non ſibi ſed Chriſto vixit, nunc mortuus ipſe,

Cum Chriſto coelis gaudia ſumma ſapit.

Ad Lectorem.

En perit juſtus, perit imbrobuſ (que)

Sorte communi perit omnis, ecce

Vanitas mundi, cito tranſit ejus

Gloria fallax.

Dum viges fac ut ſapas ſuperna,

Poſſidens mundum quaſi non haberes,

Eſt pio terris peregrina coelis

Vita perennis.

Pet. St. Hill.

Juſta Nathanieli Barnardiſtono Equiti Aurato.

[Page]

SIccin' abis? Ò ſerve Dei ter maxime, ſplendor

Et columen patriae, & religionis honor.

Heu! nos cur dubio rerum ſub turbine linquis,

Turbatur mediis, publica puppis aquis.

Forſitan ingratum quod ſeſe praebuit orbis,

Praemia nec meritis aequiparanda dedit,

Vel te ſubducis dum tranſit iniqua tyrannis

Caelitus ereptus, quod ſuper aſtra regas?

Irrita vota forent terris obſtante caterva,

Sed fient coelis omnia quae (que) velis.

Te te priſca fides, teque ipſa Eccleſia poſcit

Patronum, fer opem, jam celerato pedem.

Quid ſtas? at cadis heu! Deus optime ferſ (que) referſ (que)

Gloria quòd dederis ſit tribuenda tibi.

Subtrahis heu nobis, Deus optime quod (que) dediſte,

Quod tibi cum placeat, gloria ſumma tibi.

Abſtinet a lacrymis quis jam? turgentia guttis

Lumina quis non fert? nocte die (que) fluunt.

Ac veluti fierent modò lumina flumina; cordum

Hinc gemitus, dolor hinc, quòd pius ille jacet.

Qui ſteteras à parte Dei, dum vivus adeſſes,

Mortuus aethereas ingrediare domos.

Miles ut emeritus Chriſti ſplendeſcis honore,

Coeptis ſuſceptis glorificando Deum.

Perditur extremus tuus hand orabilis hoſtis,

Mors Chriſti Domini quod teneare fide.

Ergo praeſtiteris cum quod Deus imperat, euge!

In cameram Domini posſis inire Dei.

[Page] Offert ſe nobis Iſraelitica nubes,

Parte priore nigrens, poſteriore nitens.

Quod ſis ſublatus ſequitur nigredo ſuperſtes,

Quod tua progenies emicat, inde nitor.

Ecce triumphantem jam ſpiritualibus armis,

Non ſecus ac Chriſtum tu, ſequar ipſe ducem.

Jo. French. Art. Mag.

Carmen funebre in obitum clarisſimi viri D. Nathaniel Barnardiſton. equitis Aur.

OCcubuit clarus claro de ſtemmate natus

Barnardiſtonus, gloria certa ſuis;

Gloria certa ſuis, magis an genere an pietate

Emicuit quaeras: clarus utro (que) fuit.

Sanguinis en quanto fuerat dignatus honore,

Mentis candores pingere nemo poteſt.

Effigiem verae virtutis nobilitatis

Candoris nivei religionis babes.

Flete viri, lugete ſenes, plorate puellae,

Pulpita maeſta, ſacri funera flete viri.

Nos res lugemus noſtras, Eccleſia luget,

Interitum deflet patria maeſta tuum.

Te nobis vitia & mores rapuere maligni,

In coelis virtus te tua ſancta locat:

Terra tegit corpus, mens aureo regnat Olympo,

Fama Anglos inter celſa perennis erit.

Nath. Eyres.

In obitum Illuſtriſſimi Domini, D. Nath. Barnardiſton, Equitis Aurati.

[Page]

PRo dolor! inſignis ſuccumbit gloria noſtri,

Nobilium ſplendor, juſtitiae (que) decus.

Spes dulcis Patriae decreſcit te moriente,

Te vivente, tuo lumine tuta fuit.

Aegrite, [...]udi (que) carent, & carcere clauſi;

His data non tarda ſunt tua dona manu.

Muſarum Pater es, qui ſit, poſt funera Patris

Praeterea vereor nullus adeſſe velit.

Fulgida ſtella cadit non ultra credita terrae

Immeritae, at coelis jam quo (que) fix a manet.

Verus amor, ſpes firma, fideſ (que) inſignia Chriſti,

Omnia florebant pectore clauſa tuo.

Inquè oculis charites habitant & grata venuſtas,

Nec minor es proavis tu pietate tuis.

Coelitùs haec bona te ſanctum fecere beatum,

Et nunc in coelis praemia digna capis.

Te lugeant omnes, lacrymis ſint undi (que) ſparſi,

Veſtitus nigros induat omnis amans.

Qui color albus erat, nunc est contrarius albo:

Jam, jam, conveniet luctibus ille color.

Haec ego; dum laudant alii tua facta, tuaſ (que)

Ingenio laudes uberiore canunt.

Rob. Hobart.

An EPITAPH. NATHANIEL BARNARDISTON. Anagram. And Art Is In An Noble Hart.

[Page]

A Generous Knight and Noble Heart lies here▪

I'th' Art of living well, he had no Peer.

A true Nathaniel, and void of guile.

Stay and admire (Reader) but a while,

Here Barnardiſton lies, our loſs bemoan

With briniſh Tears, as doth this weeping Stone:

Here lies his worst, in Heaven's his better part.

True worth, And Art Is In An Noble Hart.

Sylvanus Morgan.

Information about this book

Title statement

Svffolks tears, or, Elegies on the renowned knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston a gentleman eminent for piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his country, and therefore highly honored by them all : he was five times chosen Knight of the Shire, for the county of Suffolk, and once burgess of Sudbury, in the discharge of which trust, he always approved himself faithful, as by his great sufferings for the freedoms and liberties of his countrey, abundantly appear : a zealous promoter of the preaching of the Gospel, manifested by his great care, in presenting men, able, learned, and pious, to the places whereof he had the patronage, and also by his large and extraordinary bounty towards the advancing of religion and learning, both at home, and in forreign plantations among the heathen.

Faireclough, Samuel, 1625?-1691.

Edition statement

1653

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2007-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A61970

ID [STC]

Wing S6164

ID [STC]

Wing F109A_CANCELLED

ID [STC]

ESTC R21324

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

12054640

ID [OCLC]

ocm 12054640

ID [VID]

53139

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A61970)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 53139)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 581:9 or 867:24)

Source

— Svffolks tears, or, Elegies on the renowned knight Sir Nathaniel Barnardiston a gentleman eminent for piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his country, and therefore highly honored by them all : he was five times chosen Knight of the Shire, for the county of Suffolk, and once burgess of Sudbury, in the discharge of which trust, he always approved himself faithful, as by his great sufferings for the freedoms and liberties of his countrey, abundantly appear : a zealous promoter of the preaching of the Gospel, manifested by his great care, in presenting men, able, learned, and pious, to the places whereof he had the patronage, and also by his large and extraordinary bounty towards the advancing of religion and learning, both at home, and in forreign plantations among the heathen., Faireclough, Samuel, 1625?-1691., Faireclough, Samuel, 1625?-1691..

Extent

[4], 66 p. : port.

Printed by R.I. for Tho. Newberry ...,. London :: 1653.. (Attributed to Samuel Faireclough. Cf. BM.) (The dedication in verse is by Samuel Faireclough.) (Some verses in Latin.) (This work appears at reel 581:9 as Wing S6164, and at reel 867:24 as Wing F109A (number cancelled in Wing 2nd ed.).) (Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.)

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