LINES DEDICATED TO FAME and TRUTH: Written by Sr. FRANCIS WORTLEY KNIGHT and BARRONET. Vpon the consideration of the various Fortunes of that Blessed and most Vertuous Lady ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.
Printed at York by Stephen Bulkley, 1642.
Lines, Dedicated to Fame and Truth, Written by Sir Francis Wortley Knight and Barronet, &c.
IF all those vertues which the Criticks call
Vertues Devine, and vertues cardinall,
If these together mixt with Royall blood
Can scarcely make a claime to merit good,
If her great merits could not impetrate,
So much as not to be unfortunate,
And in misfortunes to exceed so farre,
As if the worst of all her sex she were;
How light will our best worke be in heavens scale
If Shee thus farre in points of merit faile,
Had Shee been Romes her Superarogation,
Had been sufficient for the British Nation,
And would have made the papall Sea as great
As Rome was when it was Augustus seat.
Who would not have a blessed Pilgrim been,
Had he ever read the Story of this Queen.
Had not the Romane Doctrine been disputed,
That others merit cannot be imputed,
The Antinomists though th'are very loath
To trust to works, their thred bare faith would cloath.
[Page] In Her rich merits, so even they might hope
By merits to be sav'd without a Pope.
The Character of patience Iob, even He
must lose some Glory, if compar'd with Thee.
The Story of thy sufferance, who can tell,
This I dare say, it hath no paralell.
Thou wer't the Daughter of a mighty King,
Great Charles His only Sister, and did'st bring
A portion worthy the Imperiall Crown;
Besides, the greatest portion was thine own;
'Twas for thy sake the German Princes did
Set Bohems Crown upon thy Husbands Head:
They saw (good Queen) thy vertues were so great,
They would have pla'ct Thee on th'Imperiall Seat.
All these thou lost at once, that we might see,
The Gods on Earth have a capacity
Of fatall change, that Kings and Queens may know
There are no fixed fortunes here below.
Lord! What a Sea of Princely Christian blood
Hath been pour'd out, to make thy Title good.
Had shee been Romes, all these had Sainted been,
And stil'd, The blessed Martyrs of this Queen.
Thou and thy King with a distracted Train
Before thy Foes fled, and pursu'd amain.
Thy Husband banisht from His Native soyl,
Friends, Cities, Country, made a wofull spoyl
And sackt. The Plague, the Famine, Fire, and Sword,
Were glutted all, Nature the sights abhord.
[Page] Yet, as enough, thy patience were not tri'd,
Thy Gould in new fires must be purifi'd:
Thy first born Son which was the greatest losse,
With Ayry Nailes was sixt upon the Crosse:
Twixt Heaven and Water, and the Vessell drownd
There frozen to the Mast was next Day found.
Then Sweadens King that thunderbolt of War,
Who had He liv'd, had been an Emperor,
Had rais'd Your Husbands Heart, that He espi'd
Some glimering hopes, and in that twi-light died.
Before thou could'st recover such a crosse,
Sad News was brought thee of another losse,
That Great Gustavus was untimely slain,
(As t'was suppos'd with Pistols sent from Spain)
Whose Martiall Soul, not us'd to be said nay
In it's Ascention, got a glorious Day.
As in His Journey, it the Planets past,
'Twas so much honored there, great Mars at last
Begun to fear, He could not choose but see,
His Legions did incline to mutiny,
And joyn'd together would a Councell call,
To make that Spirit of His their Generall.
Never the Soul of any King Ascended,
Who had from Earth to Heaven been more cōmended.
My Muse grows weary with this Tragick Story
(Nor could I force her) were it not Her glory
Whom it concerns, (now to the last I come,
So may it be her brave Heroique Son)
[Page] Whose sweetnesse here hath so much honour got,
Except the Queen, few have so great a stocke
In Court, and Country both, nor would I see
A kinder Father saving Majestie
Then our King was; and seldome have I seen
A kinder Mother, then our vertuous Queen.
When this sweet Prince had here tri'd some few freinds
And had propounded to the King his ends,
He ships himselfe, needs but to hoise halfe saile
Least prayers and sighes should raise too great a gale,
Words are but ayre, and prayers but words in forme,
'Tis but excesse of Ayre that makes a storme.
Austria too long for Justice hath been suited,
Their cause must now with sharpe swords be disputed.
Our King and they with treaties were deluded,
Both she and hers by Act of State excluded,
From all their Rights, an Army then they rais'd,
On such a suddaine, it the world amaz'd;
He brings them to the field, beseidg'd a Town,
Which to th'Imperiallists was quickly known;
Two distant Armies correspondence hold,
(Which made even both the Armies far more bold)
The lesser dares him out, keeps him in play,
Meane while the stronger marches night and day
And got behinde him, to his passage make,
Which with their horse, too strong for his they take;
When the Prince saw his army thus enclos'd,
He cals a Councell, he himselfe suppos'd
[Page] 'Twas best to charge those which the passage kept,
Which all agreed on, and before they slept,
They March away, though they were almost tyr'd
And over Marcht, their Trenches then they Fir'd.
Into Brigadoes they their strength devide,
Flanker their foot, with Horse on either side.
Their strength was Horse, their Baggage they inclose,
Guarded their Cannon; then He Craven chose,
And to his charge He did commit the Van,
Who prov'd himselfe that Day, A Daring Man,
And shewd himself so resolute and bould,
His name is in the Book of Fame enrould.
He and His Brother did bring up the Reare,
Whose high born Spirits did that Day appeare.
Craven charg'd home and did them sore dismay,
But for their fresh supplies, He won the Day.
The Battles joyn, the Imperialists increa'st,
And as they grew, Death had the greater Feast.
The Reare came bravely up, the young Prince He,
In thirst of Honour, sence of injury;
Himself to such high hazards He expos'd,
As He was often by His foes enclos'd;
Yet who enclos'd Him, or enforst His stay,
He, by their ruines, made himself still way.
But when Prince Robert, Her brave second Son,
(Who 'mongst the Souldiers hath such Honour won)
Heard that His Princely Brother was ingag'd,
With love, and Martiall fury both inrag'd,
[Page] Through troops of Horse and Foot He forst His way,
And finds Him freed, yet there He would not stay,
He forward prest into the greatest throng
Of all His foes, His Sword there told His wrong:
He pickt out their Commanders whom He knew
By Marks were giv'n Him, those He took or slew,
Whose troops of Horse and Foot; His fury fly,
Those He encounters must, or yeeld, or dye,
'Twas happinesse to them (who did command)
Since they must Dye, to Dye by such a Hand.
His Horse, His Arme, His very Sword was tyr'd,
That Spirit of His, twice Sampsons strength requir'd;
And vvould their Waggons vvith rich spoyls have laded,
Nay all the troops of German Horse have Jaded.
And thus retyr'd, they blockt Him up (they say)
When none durst charge, 'twas thought the safest vvay.
Have you eare seen a chafed Lyon stand,
With toyles encompast, and on every Hand
With Hunters gall'd, yet none the Lists dare enter,
Least he too dearly pay for his Adventure.
VVhil'st all the Hunters various waies contrive
To take this Lyon (if they can alive)
So gald and wearie brave Prince Robert stood,
The Earth about him dy'd with German Blood.
At last a Troop of desperate Men they Horst,
Who on all sides assault him, so enforst
With multitudes, when all the wayes they'd try'd,
They took him living, who would fain have dy'd;
[Page] Which News too soon did through the Army fly,
And that the Enemies had a fresh supply
Who had encompast them on everie side,
In everie face that after this News dy'd:
He who had skill in Phisnomie might find
How to revenge the Souldiers were inclind.
'Tis true, they lost the Day, but they behav'd
Themselves so bravely, they their Honour sav'd:
The meanest Souldier by Example led,
By Troops together mixt with Enemies dead.
The Paulsgrave was advis'd to quit the field,
Which He refus'd, He scorn'd so much to Yeeld.
Being rudely prest, He cuts himself a way
Through all those Troops, none durst enforce His stay.
He to the Wesen comes, into it Leapt,
Which Him as safely as it's Soveraign kept:
His sprighfull Steed so bravely landed Him
As if He had Great Neptunes Dolphin been.
'Tis true, the VVaves in multitudes increast
And crouded in, to welcome such a Guest;
Yet so obedient were to their commands,
The proudest VVaves there, durst but kisse His hands.
Thus Landed safely on proud VVesens Banks,
He lifts His Eyes up, and gives Heaven the thanks,
VVich such a confidence to Heaven He prayes,
He had Solomons blessing given, and length of Dayes.
You who were once dear Wives, sad Widdows now,
Mothers of Children, who have kept each Vow
[Page] Either to Heaven, or to your Husbands made:
Think how the Queen was with this News dismaid;
But you were never Daughters to a King,
Nor did such Portions to your Husbands bring,
The Worlds great love to you hath never cost
It any Blood, you have no Kingdoms lost,
No hopes of Empire, ther's no Prince hath try'd
His Fortunes in your cause; No Kings have dy'd
In your just quarrell: You have not left Estates,
Or if you have, not two Palatinates.
Your Eldest Son was not in Shipwrack lost,
Nor was your second in the Wesen tost;
Your third not taken Prisoner by his foes;
Had you all those, and not such Sons as those,
How can, how dare you judge of hers,
But as poore Vassals, speak of Emperors;
They do beleeve at Court there are such things
As they have heard their Magistrats call Kings;
Like those that dare the Stars by name recite,
Or count by Unites to an Infinite,
They're forst to end where they at first begin,
And so in arrogance commit a sin.
So should you rob this good Queen of her glorie,
(But I much more) by telling of this Storie.
In this I do but as most People use,
I with a greater wrong, a lesse excuse:
That which my naked Muse should cover (Love)
In this case doth my disadvantage prove,
[Page] The World stands so affected to Her Storie,
No Muse, I know, but would impaire Her glorie.
The competition might grave Homer raise,
Or Maroes Soule to sing this good Queens praise;
Who eare he be he needs not to complain,
For this high Subject will enrich his strain,
And Impe the proudest Feather in his Wing,
That with the Larke he may mount high, and sing
Even to the admiration of the Quier,
Sute but the Subject, and none can sing higher.
Congratulatory Lines, Written upon the Landing of the renowned Prince Robert, Nephew to our dear Soveraign, and Son to the glorious Queen of Bohemia, and Second Brother to the Illustrious Prince Elector.
WElcome, thrice welcome brave Heroick Spirit,
He's no good Subject Joyes not in the merit
Of deare Eliza's blessed Progenie,
He's no brave Man, hath not his share in thee.
If th'English, Danish, Scottish, German Blood
Wanted their Stories, thou wilt prove them good.
Yet let me tell thee, thy brave Mothers Storie,
Like the bright Sun, admits no rivall glorie;
[Page] When our brave Cordelion was betrai'd
By Austria's Arch-Duke, and his Prisoner made,
Such was our sorrow then, and discontent
As here was for thy late imprisonment:
Such was the Joy when He came safely home,
As here late was, that thou wert hither come;
Eliza is derived from His Line,
And hath a braver Heart then his or thine;
Her Name to all succeeding times shall bee
Glorious as His; but more renown'd by Thee.
Poets are Prophets, then accept from me
These humble wishes, as a Prophesie:
The Names no Stranger to th'Imperiall Seat,
May thy Sword make our dear Prince, Charles the Great
May thy dear Mother in blest old Age see
Her wrongs, and losses all, repayr'd by Thee.
FINIS.