DEATH REPEAL'D BY A THANKFVLL MEMORIALL Sent from CHRIST-CHURCH in OXFORD, CELEBRATING THE NOBLE DESERTS OF the Right Honourable, PAVLE, Late Lord VIS-COUNT BAYNING of SUDBURY. Who changed his Earthly Honours Iune the 11. 1638.
OXFORD, Printed by Leonard Lichfield Printer to the Vniversity, for Francis Bowman. M.D.C.XXXVIII.
TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE THE LADY PENELOPE DOWAGER of the late VIS-COVNT BAYNING.
GREAT Lady, Humble partners of like griefe
In bringing Comfort may deserve beliefe,
Because they Feele, and Feyne not: Thus we say
Vnto Our selves, Lord Bayning, though away,
Js still of Christ-Church; somewhat out of sight,
As when he travel'd, or did bid good night,
And was not seen long after; now he stands
Remov'd in Worlds, as heretofore in Lands;
But is not Lost. The spight of Death can never
Divide the Christian, though the Man it sever.
The like we say to You: He's still at home,
Though out of reach; as in some upper roome,
Or study: for His Place is very high,
His Thought is Vision; now most properly
Return'd he's Yours as sure, as e're hath been
The Iewell in Your Cask, safe though unseen.
You know that Friends have Eares as well as Eyes,
We Heare, Hee's well and Living, that Well dies.
ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE THE LORD VISCOVNT BAYNING.
THough after Death, Thanks lessen into Praise,
And Worthies be not crown'd with gold, but bayes;
Shall we not thank? To praise Thee all agree;
We Debtors must out doe it, heartily.
Deserv'd Nobility of True Descent,
Though not so Old in Thee grew Ancient:
We number not the Tree of Branched Birth,
But Genealogie of Vertue, spreading forth
To many births in value. Piety,
True Valour, Bounty, Meeknesse, Modesty,
These noble off-springs swell Thy Name as much,
As Richards, Edwards, three, foure, twenty such:
For in thy Person's linage surnam'd are
The great, the good, the wise, the just, the faire.
One of these stiles innobles a whole stemme;
If all be found in One, what race like Him!
Long stayres of birth, unlesse they likewise grow
To higher vertue, must descend more low.
Whē water comes through numerous veins of lead,
'Tis water still; Thy blood from One pipes head
Grew Aqua-vitae streight, with spirits fill'd,
As not traduc'd, but rais'd, sublim'd, distill'd.
Nobility farre spread, I may behold,
Like the expanded skie, or dissolv'd gold,
Much rarified; I see't contracted here
Into a starre, the strength of all the spheare;
Extracted like th' Exlixir from the Mine,
And highten'd so, that 'tis too soone divine.
Divinity continues not beneath;
Alas nor He: But though He passe by death,
He that for many liv'd, gaines many lives
After hee's dead: Each friend, and servant strives
To give him breath in praise; this Hospital,
That Prison, Colledge, Church, must needs recall
To mind their Patron; whose rich legacies
In forreigne lands, and under other skies
To them assign'd, shew that his heart did even
In France love England, as in England Heaven.
Heav'n well perceiv'd this double pious love,
Both to his Country here, and that above:
Therefore the day, that saw Him landed here,
Hath seen him landed in his Haven there;
The selfe-same day (but two yeares interpos'd)
Saw Sun and Him round shining twice and clos'd.
No Citizen so covetous could be
Of getting wealth, as of bestowing, He;
His Body, and Estate went as they came,
Stript of Appendix Both, and left the same
But in th' Originall; Necessity
Devested one, the other Charity.
It cost him more to cloth his soule in death,
Then e're to cloth his flesh for short-liv'd breath;
And whereas Lawes exact from Niggards dead
A Portion for the Poore, they now are said
To moderate His bounty: never such
Was knowne but once, that men should give too much:
A Tabernacle then was built, and now
The like in heav'n is purchas'd: Learn you how;
Partly by building Men, and partly by
Erecting walls, by new-found Chymistry,
Turning of Gold to Stones. Our Christ-Church Pile,
Great Henrie's monument, shall grow a while
With Bayning's Treasure; who away hath took,
Like those at Westminster, to fill a nook
'Mongst beds of Kings. Thus speak, speak while we may
For Stones will speak when We are hush'd in Clay.
W. STRODE D.D. Canon of Ch. [...].
In obitum Illustrissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING
QVid voveat dulci nutricula majus Alumno,
Quam bona Fortunae, Corporis, at (que) Animi?
En haec Heroe hoc simul omnia; quid petat ultra?
Quid potius? Coelum: quod novus hospes habet.
The same Englished.
Can Nurse choose in her sweet babe more to find,
Then goods of Fortune, Body, and of Mind?
Loe here at once all this: what greater blisse
Can'st hope or wish? Heaven; why there he is.
ROB. BVRTON. of Ch. Ch.
On the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
SO when an hasty vigour doth disclose
An early flame in the more forward Rose,
That Rarenesse doth destroy it: Wonders owe
This to themselves still, that they cannot grow.
Such Ripenesse was His Fate: Thus to appeare
At first, was not hereafter to stay here.
Who thither first steps, whither others tend,
When He sets forth is at the Iourney's end.
But as Short things most vigour have, and we
Find Force the Recompence of Brevity;
So was it here: Compactednesse gave Strength,
The Life was Close, though not spun out at Length.
Nothing lay idle in't: Experience Rules,
Men strengthn'd Books, & Cities season'd Schools.
Nor did he issue forth to come Home thence
(As some) lesse Man, then they goe out from hence:
Who think new Ayre new Vices may create,
And stamp Sinne Lawful in Another State;
Who make Exotick Customes Native Arts,
And Loose Italian Vices English Parts:
He naturaliz'd Perfections only; gain'd
A round and solid mind, severely train'd,
And manag'd his desires; brought oft checkt Sense
Vnto the sway of, Reason comming thence
His owne acquaintance, morgag'd unto none,
But was himselfe His owne possession.
Thus starres by journying still, gaine, and dispense,
Drawing at once, and shedding influence:
Thus Spheares by Regular Motion doe encrease
Their Tunes, and bring their Discords into Peace.
Hence knew He his owne value, ne're put forth
Honour for Merit; Pow'r instead of Worth:
Nor, when He poyz'd himselfe, would He prevaile
By Wealth, and make his Mannors turne the scale.
Desert was only ballanc'd; nor could we
Say my Lord's Rents were only Weight, not He:
Only one slight he had; from being Small
Vnto himselfe, He came Great unto all:
But Great by no mans Ruine: For who will
Say that his Seat e're made the next Seate ill?
No Neighb'ring-village was unpeopled here
'Cause it durst bound a Noble Eye too neere.
Who could e're say my Lord, and the next Marsh
Made frequent Herriots? or that any harsh
Oppressive usage made Young Lives soone fall?
Or who could His seven thous and bad Ayre call?
He blessings shed: Men knew not to whom more,
The Sun, or Him, they might impute their store.
No rude exaction, or licentious times
Made his Revenewes Others, or His Crimes:
Nor are his Legacies poore-mens present teares,
Or doe they for the future raise their feares.
No such contrivance here as to professe
Bounty, and with Large Miseries feed the Lesse;
Fat some with their owne almes; bestow, and pill;
And Common Hungers with Great Famines fill,
Making an Hundred Wretches endow Tenne,
Taking the Field, and giving a Sheafe then:
As Robbers, whom they spoile, perhaps will lend
Small summes to helpe them to their journey's end.
All was untainted here, and th' Author such,
That every gift from Him grew twice as much.
We, who erewhile did boast his presence, doe
Now boast a second grace, his bounty too;
Bounty, was judgment here: for he bestowes
Not who disperseth, but who giues and knowes.
And what more wise designe, then to renew,
And dresse the brest, from which he knowledge drew!
Thus pious men, ere their departure, first
Would crown the fountain which had quencht their thirst.
Hence strive we all his memory to engrosse,
Our Common Love before, but now Our Losse.
W. CARTWRIGHT of Ch. Ch.
Vpon the Death of the Right Honourable, the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
O Had He been at Rome again, for there
The Mercy of his Sicknesse did him spare;
Acknowledging this Law, that 'tis but just
The place which gave him breath, should make him dust:
That as we have a Native soile, so we
Ought not to beare Forreine Mortality.
Though He was only distant then from's grave
Some store of Miles, not Years, and we can have
No worse then Absence, whether in the Tombe
He lye, or in a Climate live from home:
Yet had He been, though from our selves, remov'd
To any distance, if from death bestow'd,
We would have buried Envy, bin content
His presence was to any people lent,
Bin glad some time was still to come, though small,
And could not long rejourne his funerall.
Death now came Hasty on him, and so quick,
He searce had leave or time for to grow sick,
But dy'd almost in Health, and you may please
To call his very life his chiefe disease.
The Vrne may triumph that the fatall dart
Hath wonne the spoile alone, without the Art
Or learned help of Physick, not a Graine
Or curious scruple from the Doctortane
Made up a skilfull wound, but he did dye
By the rude stroke of plain Mortality:
Which was not give [...] [...]en his haire turn'd frost,
And wore the colour which his Ashes must;
When all his Youth and Beauty were so spent,
That Age had made him his own Monument;
When it might be Humanity to kill,
And the most deadly Drug might proue good-will:
But in a Spring of fresh and active Blood,
When there was nothing old in Him, but Good;
He had Graie vertues, and by view of's mind
Not yeares, he was so soon to heaven design'd.
He who saw that, could see He liv'd his Age
Of fourescore, made his Race a Pilgrimage.
And still he lives, and from his latest night
Breaks out unto the world a glorious light,
Getting this conquest over death, that He
Was snatch'd away in's Liberality,
In's Piety to build, and care to frame
Such sumptuous Trophies as will save his name.
Had he one vacant houre from Bounty spent,
And in that houre unto his grave been sent;
'T had been lesse glory to his Fall, to dye
Iust in the sleeping of his Charity:
But to be caught in Good, in Vertue strook,
Made him Triumphant ere He earth forsook.
So did the stout Athenian stand in Death,
Rearing his Statue while he lost his Breath.
I. MAPPLET of Ch. Ch.
To the memory of the Honourable Lord BAYNING.
FOrbeare yee whining Wits to rayle at Fate
In viler termes then Scolds at Billings-gate:
Nor brand poore Death with baser Epithites
Then Textor has when of the Divell he writes:
All such ill-sounding Dirges yee can have
Are but as Mandrakes planted on his grave.
Your teares are now ridiculous; were I
A Poet, I would write Deaths Elogie.
Shee here was just, and courteous; Suppole
We should in Ianuary see a Rose
Full blown, would we not pull't, and think it worth
Myriads of those that May or Iune brings forth?
This early fruitfull Flowre being ripe i'th' Spring
Was a fit Present for our Soveraigns King.
Should shee have left it for the Summers Fly,
Or Autumn's Worme, 't had been ill huswifery:
Shee cropt it suddenly, and was as nice
In killing Him, as Priests a Sacrifice.
Lest any bruise should happen, 'twas her strife
To cut, and not saw off his thread of life.
Shee knew he was prepar'd, and therefore sent
No Gout to tell him that he must repent.
A tedious sicknesse had his Friends more greiv'd;
He then had longer died, not longer liv'd.
We judge a Keeper dull and hard of heart,
That wounds the timorous Dear in every part.
He doth in Skill and Courtesy excell,
That kills not hurts, and makes his Prey die Well.
Deaths quicker blow did then no injury,
But that it hindred Doctors of a Fee.
There's none will curse a winde cause it doth send
Their ship too soon unto the journies end.
Doe any Trav'lers think their Horses sinne,
Vnlesse they bring them Late unto their Inne?
He now a Voyage took; He that did goe
To France and Rome, must needs see Heaven too.
What would you say of him that went about
To see all England, and left London out!
'Twas for His Glory that He died so soon;
Should He have lingred till his after-noon,
We had suspected Him of grosser blood;
By short continuance we judge things Good:
A fine pure silken vesture cannot weare
So long as garments weav'd of hemp or hayre.
By this his early fall He did present
The Gods with a perfume of sweeter sent.
Tapers that burne and languish 'till they come
To th'socket, leave ill odours in the roome.
Lords count it a disparagement, if they
Should not have suits which seem new every day.
Had it not injur'd his high Soule to weare
His Body till the flesh had look'd thred-bare?
Seeing he died so Young, it may be said
That he's transplanted rather then decay'd:
By his fresh looks, and his faire youthfull chin
We may believe he's made a Cherubin.
Those then that wet his Hearse, and vainly Cry,
Not Mourne, but Pine at His Eternity.
Envy that here still follow'd Him, is made
After His death, the shadow of His shade.
Whil'st others studied how to loose their time,
Thinking that Logick would their Birth beslime,
As if it were Gentile not to Dispute;
It was his chief ambition to confute;
Who not alone aym'd to deserve his Grace,
But seem'd by paines to wish a Students place.
Though Heralds did to Him great Names afford,
He heard Sir BAYNING sooner then My Lord.
Lest the proud noise of Titles might beginne
Thoughts that might swell His Plenty into sinne,
Arts and Religion gnarded them; He knew
His Fortunes were but Crimes, without these two;
And in a noble scorne disdain'd to spell
The Lord ith' Scutchion more then Chronicle.
His Pride was to be Eloquent, and Able
As is Our Dorset at the Councell-Table.
He knew unlesse a bright Retinue come
Of Vertues too, Man's but a glorious Tombe,
Carv'd ore with names of Honour, which may win
The eyes applause, but is but Stench within.
Did you but read his Will you'd think that He
Had been a Reverend Bishop; Lords there be
That falling in their youth bequeath alone
Their Bodyes to our Churches, not a Stone,
Vnlesse for their Gwn Tombe; twas His high care
They should his Lands as well as Carcasse share.
As if he meant each place his Heire should be,
He blest the Prisons with his Charity.
Iayles are now Hospitalls; to some 'twill be
Not to be bayld or freed, a courtesy.
His Guifts will still the New-gate Cries; we shall
Heare the cag'd Birds hereafter sing, not ball.
Much doe we owe to him besides that Plate,
Which is when full of fragments full of State:
The Knife and Voider's such that to a Guest
Taking away is as a second feast.
But the Example of his Life will be
To after times the richest Legacy.
R. WEST of Ch. Ch.
To the Lady BAYNING.
PArdon our Bold Teares, Madam, that we doe
Presume to joyn our selves Mourners with You.
Grief is no Herald; there's no Rule in Moanes,
We never stand on Titles in our Groanes.
Manners and Complement we prize the lesse,
Where a Confus'd sad Griefe is the best dresse:
Yet we doe hope You will no Censure make,
And Teares swoln up with Grief for Pride mistake;
Nor call our sighs to th'Court of Honor, wee
Doe not lament for the Brave Company.
Where our own losse prompts us, you need not fear
Rivals in plaints, as Iealous of each Teare.
We all enjoy'd so much of Him, we dare
Allow You but a Part, and Common share:
His Goodnes was so much diffus'd, we doe
Think we might love him without wrong to You.
May we not think him now but cross'd the Seas,
And count His Death 'mong other Voyages?
Sure, as no Land he here did travell o're
But what in's Study He had pass'd before,
And first knew France and Spaine in England, ere
He was a Witnesse of their Actions there;
So was his pure Refined soule we know
So well acquainted with the place it now
More fully dwells in, 't may be truly said
He had been much in Heavn'n ere he was Dead.
But this doth only cheat our Grief, the maine
Comfort's our Hope to see him here againe,
In that brave off-spring which your Blood yet keeps
Alive in memory of Him that sleeps.
Which when you shall give Birth to, He being gone
We all will count his Resurrection.
ROB. MEADE Ch. Ch.
On the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
VVHen Titles fall, and Death ambitious how
To raise his Triumph, makes some great one bow,
Not Cadmus teeth could halfe so soon infuse
A soule, as can Their dust inspire a Muse;
Whiles death enlivens death, and most wits have
Their Resurrection from anothers Grave:
Nor were the wonder strange thus to behold
Our Ice inflam'd, our Heat spring out of Cold,
Did all like BAYNING dye; did every Lord
More griefe for Vertue lost, then State afford,
How might bad verses be excus'd, when we
Found all writ truth, no other Poetry;
When height of Fancy left Expression weak,
Not able to Begin, much lesse to Speak
And tell to th'full, that hence whats e're cald verse,
Will be but Tribute due to this Mans hearse?
Such was thy worth; whose dawning prov'd that Light
Which aged beams send forth, to Thine true night:
Whose Pastime spent in Oxford (for what more
Is it for Noble-men to turne Books ore?)
Prov'd Serious Play: True Honour does know how
To Rise to Vertue, not make Vertue Bow.
This Gaind Him Reverence, Young: Receiving, He
Gave to th'University a degree:
Thus Blossom'd in his Bud, thus early wise
Grown now the Ioy, not Envy of mens eyes:
Travell's His Choice, not Refuge; unlike those
Who what they want at Home, Abroad disclose,
Passing this Country to shun that; thus round
Spend all their Own to out-run Forrein ground.
Lustre went with Him, and whiles He did passe,
That place was thought worth seeing where He was.
Rome entertain'd Him, which you then might call
The worlds Head justly, when the Cardinall
Enrich'd by's Presents, found his Honour more
By what He added to his Princely store.
Thus big with forreine Praises, Hee's come home,
But all was only here to find a Tombe:
Where we must let him rest, thus good, thus young;
For too much grief would doe His Vertues wrong;
Whose Morn though clowded, see's His hastned years
Extended to their full in his Friends Tears.
H. GRESLEY of Ch. Ch.
On the Death of the Lord BAYNING.
'TIs not ambition drawes my juycelesse pen
Thus to distill a Poëm; 'mongst such Men,
Or rather Gods of Poetry 'tis Pride
To come behind, Duty to be descri'd
I'th' list of Them; besides I think't not fit
To raise a fire where floods of teares should meet;
And Poëtry's a fire: but my Muse feares
A kindling from this urne, lest drown'd with teares
It quickly turne to ashes, and there be
Not a spark left to weepe an elegie.
Yet this, Great BAYNING'S dead! That's all I have
Or can speak: Silence best becomes the Grave.
Yet this againe, Whilst with us here He striv'd
To outdoe Goodnesse, Bounty, All, He liv'd
His Character; who in his carriage than
Shew'd of himselfe that, which no Poët can:
Who with his rarest art, and choycest quill
Must serve here only to expresse him ill.
He was so pure, so spotlesse, so refind,
I took Him for some Angell, Soule, or Mind,
And think it no hyperbole to call
As others From, To heav'n this Angel's Fall.
I dare not write an Epitaph, for feare
The Vrne devoure my Verse, being so neare.
Yet thus much to their Honours at the Court,
(Two losses being knowne) I dare report,
(And 'tis no treason, these great names being read,
Herbert, and Bayning,) That all Vertues dead.
T. D. of Ch. Ch.
Vpon the Death of the Lord BAYNING.
MOst sacred hearse, let it no sin appeare,
If I upon thy Vrne doe weepe one teare!
I must vent out my sighes, it cannot be
A losse to us, to th'Vniversitie,
Nay the whole Nation too, should slightly passe
With this memoriall only, that He was:
Whilst vertue shall be talk't of, till we shall
See nought that's good, thy memory cannot fall.
If e're we shall of some Vtopian heare
That never knew rash boldnesse, or cold feare,
No riot, no injustice, no excesse,
Nor want, but all things in just perfectnesse,
Actions so rul'd by prudence, and so all
As if his Vertues too were Naturall:
Then we shall think on BAYNING, sweare that Hee,
That wrote it, meant it for His History,
Proper to Him: Whose Life was such, we can
Scarce Iudge by which He greater Glory wan,
His Actions, or His Studies: what the Sage
Appropriate to the Wrinckle, and Old Age,
Knowledge, He compast in His Smoother Dayes,
And did Greene Passions up to Wisdome raise.
Learning He thought no Burden, or to know
In Theoricke Vertues which He meant to show;
Nor took't a Blemish to Nobility,
To have a Schollar's merited Degree,
Esteem'd it not sufficient to heare
Compleate at home, and move but in one Spheare:
This Nation's too Contract; He does goe o're
Laden with Vertues to a Forreigne Shoare,
Not to exchange for Vice, or leave behind
To them the qualities of His Vertuous Mind;
As if He could no Traveller appeare,
If He return'd the same man He was here:
But He addes to it all the good France can
Call Proper Hers, all the Italian,
Which without Stay so easily He cou'd,
As if He were by Inspiration good.
To them He seem'd a Native, they would sweate
He never was in any part but there:
He was so perfect without travell, we
In Him both Kingdomes Vertue here did see.
Thus fully furnish't with all nature's dowre,
With Art, Experience, and Uertue's Power.
We saw him flourishing, but nature here
Begins her bounty quite exhaust to feare;
And being of her lavish store now dry,
She cuts Him downe full in Felicity.
Thus the best Fruits just ripe are crop't, although
Without corruption they might longer grow.
But let this serve to stop our flowing teares,
That he dy'd Full: Age is not Numerous yeares;
Nor are they only Old that longest live,
Perfection and Uertue Fulnesse give.
THO. ISHAM of Ch. Ch.
Vpon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
TO weep one Great and Good, t'adorn his Hearse
Whose Life was above Chronicle, or Verse,
Requireth those, whose fancies could create
A subject like to Him, as Good, and Great.
These Lines (alas!) they are not meant to give
Life to that Name, by which themselves must live:
That Name, Which doth employ each tongue, each Quill
To sing His Praises, write his Chronicle.
BAYNING! Whose very sound perfumes the Ayre,
Commands a Reverence, and a listning eare.
Books were a Guide t' his Youth, and Company;
He thought of them with greater Charity
Then those, who think them fit to entertaine
Only the houres of a hot Sun, or Raine.
When He perus'd great Acts of History,
His large thoughts did suggest them Prophecy,
And Types of Him: when He the Uertues read,
And saw himselfe transcrib'd, and copied,
He with a modesty admir'd to find
Men so familiar with His Thoughts and Mind.
Season'd, and ballasted with these, He then,
Leaving our Athens, went to studie Men.
Not like to those who travell to bring home
A Fashion, or to say they have seene Rome;
But to observe each State and Policy,
T'enrich his Mind, more then Geography.
And now returned home, when he begun
To practise here each Observation,
While we behold Europes Epitome
Of Men in Him, of States in's Family,
While Charles expects his aid, the Realme no lesse,
Death stops his Glory, and our Happinesse,
But Good Men have liv'd long when e're Fates come:
Their Age by Vertues, not by Yeares we summe,
SAM IACKSON of Ch. C
Vpon the Death of the honourable Lord Viscount BAYNING.
GReat Lord of Ghosts, we sigh not out Thy Fall,
As only Thine, But th' Muses Funerall:
We weepe our Colledge second Ruines; and
May Question chiefly Death's erroneous Hand,
That yet we boast Intents alone, an Heape,
And Breaches, only not entitled cheape,
That Those who entring Srangers, here would look,
Doe Passe ours, as a Colledge but mistooke:
Yet Orphan-like w'are not bereft of All,
The same that waile, share too Thy hastned Fall;
Thy Piles bequeath'd yet, which shall firme and safe
With Wolseys stand thy larger Epitaph.
But we not misse His Gifts alone, nor weepe
Mercy and Bounty only fallen asleepe;
We boast no Scutchions, nor admire Thy Blood,
(Great Soule) but best descent by Learning Good,
Though Noble, mourning not the Losse of Thee,
As of a man but Vniversitie:
Who grac'd our Schooles with a Degree; All Parts
Arriv'd, A Breathing System of the Arts.
Not like our Silken Heires, who only bound
Their knowledge in the Sphear of Hauke or Hound,
And, there confin'd, limit their scant disourse,
Know more the Vaulting then the Muses Horse:
Who if They rescue Time from Cards or Dice
To Lance or Sharpes, or some such manly Prize,
Advance Their Lineage, raise Their Stock, if They
But more severely loose the Precious Day.
He could unriddle each Schoole-knot, untie
All, but Death's sad contrived Fallacie:
For th' Stroke was Project Here, no Siege, no Art
Of lingring Death, or Preface to His Dart;
No tedious knotty Gout, or feverish Drought
But all as Soft and Peacefull as His Youth:
He only slept in Hast, as if to Die
Had no Departure been, but Extasie:
So gliding we descry a starry Ball,
Which f [...]om it's Sphear doth rather Shoot, then Fal.
Yet Thy short Thread wee'le not revile, nor vexe
'Cause Th' art not imag'd in the Nobler Sexe;
For such Transcriptions wee'le not anxious be,
Where we discover full Maturitie:
Ripened for Death Thou art Deceas'd, not Kill'd,
Nor is Thy great Name Perish'd, but Fulfill'd.
For what can adde unto the justest Height,
Who Hopes encrease to Glorie's perfect Weight,
To Him that had survei'd all Forreigne parts,
Extracting not Their Vices, but Their Arts?
Th' Italian Brain, not Heate, was skil'd from Rheine
In Their exactest Manners, not Their Vine.
Their Deepest Mysteries did only reach,
And Had more Languages, then others teach?
All Worth His Eye He view'd, that such a Fall
Might share a sorrow Epidemicall,
FRAN. POWELL of Ch. Ch.
Vpon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
DEath's Chambers are enrich't, and we may say
He did not Kill, but Stole This Prize away.
For th'now pale Mansion, where his Soule abode
Does make the Coffin precious by it's Load:
Yet that was but His Drosse; search, you will find
Him at Fifteene a Sophy; 's Nonage Mind
Made the Schooles boast Him Graduate; and's Wit
Writ Him th' reviv'd refined Stagerite.
And lest the Sophisters might erre in this,
Granted Platonicke Metempseuchosis;
And did conclude, Maugre their Brains and Books,
Arts doe not alwaies lie in ill-fac'd looks;
And th'totred Gowne no longer now should be
Held for an Embleme of Philosophy.
He did adorne the Scarlet which he wore;
And made them Robes which were but Cloth before:
Titles were truths in him; Young, Fair, Rich, Learn'd
No complements, but Purchase, truly earn'd:
No Would-be-Wits maintain'd Hee at His Board,
Nought was in him suspitious but The Lord:
Yet no Braines cloth'd, or Phancy fed Him; Hee
Rich in Estate, as Ingenuitie:
And might have (without doubt of missing it,)
Petition'd for th' Monopoly of Wit:
To this vast masse of Wealth He had assign'd
As ample thoughts; no narrow, griping Mind,
Mansions by Industry compos'd, not Hands
He fed on; and devour'd His Books, not Lands.
To whose large Guifts we of this place must owe;
Since that He thought His Owne He did bestow.
Thy Volumes nam'd Our Library, and We
As well for Stones as Bookes indebted be.
For though no Founder of the place, yet must
We say, thou rays'dst our Buildings out o'th' Dust;
Thou didst bequeath 'em Their Nativitie;
And they doe Glory Their New-Birth from Thee.
Thus liv'st Thou, Maugre Fate; Thy better Parts
Survive thus in our Memories, and Hearts:
Nor need'st Thou claime statued Antiquity;
Vertue Perpetuates Thy Nobility.
Since we may Date, from thy Departure hence,
The Dearth of Merit and Benevolence.
Tho. NORGATE of Ch. Ch.
On the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
SO sets the Sunne, when strait there doth ensue
On the forsaken plants a Pensive Dew:
And so they hang their heads as we, the fall
O'th' Sun and BAYNING are Griefs Generall.
There were some comfort yet in Tears could we
But mourn our Losse in worthy lines, like Thee;
Could we, by what we write, to celebrate
Thy Name to Life, rescue Our Own from fate.
But we (alas) orecome with Lustre, doe
Only a proud and solemne weaknesse show.
And some who knew Thee better sure will raise
A Loving well-meant Libell from our praise.
To speak one Good as Noble, Rich as Free,
Were but to cloud Thy worth, and conceale Thee:
To write Thy painfull Study's, Learnings store
Were wrong, these had been vertues in the Poore.
So many numerous Paths of Praise we find,
Tread which we will we leave the Best behind:
We cannot Praise, nor Thank enough, the store
Of Guifts thou hast bequeath'd us makes us Poore.
Yet when our Ruines shall be rais'd (which we
May Hope for now, thriving so well by Thee)
Each Stone Thy Bounty lay's there shall become
A better Monument then a Costly Tombe.
R. DAY of Ch. Ch.
Illustrissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING fato immaturo functi P. M. S.
SIc dum secundus Penelope Canitur Hymenaeus,
Emensos (que) iam errores iteratae quasi Nuptiae coronant,
Redux Maritus Evanescit;
Vxor (que), Virum Saevas narrantem Vias
Dum per Oscula liberare gestit,
Quaerit quem labris premat:
Ita vel Cōiugis vice Cōiugis Vmbrā accepisse putemus,
Vel si Coniugem, ideò tantum ut bis vidua esset.
Gaudemus tamen quod Mitior Pelagi Deus
Amplexandum nobis paulisper Corpus indulserit;
Multumque Vndis debemus,
Quod non inane Sepulchrum, & solū titulū lugeamus.
Te sub undis labente
Novum stupescens Terra sensisset Diem:
Nam debitos Phaebo sinus, & facilem thorum
Delusa Thetis Occidenti praebuisset Tibi,
Pulsus (que) Titan etiam noctu sydera fugasset.
At O Natura!
Fatisve subij cis exemplaria Tua?
Morti (que) ius facis in Archetypos vultu [...]
Molimini certè tuo tam elaborato,
Hoc saltē indere debuisses, non potuisse Senesere.
Quis iam,
Quis, precor, Aromatum vice Opera disperget?
Novum (que) Aulicos luxum edocebit,
Boni Nominis Vnguentum?
Quem non unius Artis Praesidem,
Ita Philosophantem audivimus,
Quasi Vicecomitis Praerogativâ etiā literis imperaret.
Hoc Tu testeris, Roma,
Quae, accedente ipso, Bodleianā in Vaticanâ senseris,
Mobilem (que) Oxoniam obstupueris.
Sed quàm improvidus noster dolor,
Qui eodem flumine iam rogum deflet Tuum,
Quo olim discessum?
Vt non solenniori pompâ stipatus sis moriens,
Quàm itinerans olim processeras!
Parcas tamen
Cum eò dignior evadas quia non velut Defunctus lugearis,
Credimus enim Tepostrevisum Orbem Nostrum
Iam tantùm Polos Peragrare,
Et nunc etiam iterfacere;
Non tam Mortem obiens, quam Legationem.
F. PALMER ex Aed. Ch.
In obitum Illustrissimi Vice-comitis BAYNING.
ERgone tam subitâ potuit vice lenior Aura
Turbinis isse vias, & ruptâ Flaminis irâ
In rapidos crevisse Imbres, & Grandinis instar,
Praecipitasse Ictus? vel, quas modò Straverat undas,
Insanire jubet? Nostri haec Emblemata Morbi
Praeripiunt Loeto lacrymas: dum fortior Aetas
(Furtivos simulans risus, & picta futuri
Gaudia sola Mali,) Fato contermina, ocellos
Vix aptos lugere, docet; fluctus (que) serenâ
Mente rotat: tantos (placidae Fastidia vitae)
Eructat teneros gemitus, adeo (que) fatigat
Corpus, ut Ipsa salus sit tantùm Aenigma malorum.
Sic Tumidum in sudo Neptunum vidimus: uno
Saltant Corda Ioco, quo consternata recumbunt:
Sic tremulam innocuâ cingit vertigine flammam,
Dum quo Musca prius lusit, iam conditur Igne.
Quid tamen (in Metâ labor est) torquemur euntes?
Instruimus (que) [...]ovas diris Ambagibus Vrnas?
Mortuus est:— utinam sacrum fas dicere Nomen!
Siste tamen Gemitus, fas est & dicere Nomen,
Syllaba si gemitu magè flebilis impleat Aures;
Si quicquam emittas praeter suspiria, Bayning
Qui recitare potest, Luctus sacrata reponit
Iuramenta sui, Nostrae (que) est Persidus Irae.
Sic geminus, Monumenta viri, Monumenta revuisi
Nominis, Horror habet; nisi quae meliore quiescant
Vxoris tumulata sinu; nisi Praescius Infans
Iustior erumpat Tumuli vindicta Paterni.
Quid minuam, Narrando, Virum? faecunda (que) certē
Gramina nativis pinxisse coloribus? Illi
Debetur tantum vitae descriptio, cuius
Vita minus Meritis redolet, quam Funus Odore:
Cuius Fama levis (patitur dum fata sepulchrum)
Interitu brevior, Tumuloque angustior ipso est.
Iam morbo praerepta suo pia Fragmina vocis
Exaudire iuvat, sacro quae Prodiga Luxa
Muner a donârunt; Nudi ut ditescere possint:
Quae miranda magis, Plenas has Divitis ora
Degustâre Manus; hinc & Collegia crescunt.
Inter vivaces Tua vita repullulet urnas,
Turgeat at (que) nou [...] fama Angustata sepulchro:
Cum tamen obductâ iaceas caligine, reddant
Non aliam Tibi fata Fugam, quam Nubila Soli.
R. LUTE ex Aede Ch.
In obitum Illustrissimi Vice-comitis BAYNING.
ERgo Hominum Mores tantū est vidisse periclū?
Vivere dum didicit sic didicitne Mori?
Iam poterat CAROLO partemfecisse Senatûs,
Vel Iuvenis Pectus iam Synodale gerens.
Iam (que) Vias poter at monstrasse, Artesque nocendi,
Tristius & quicquid Roma recondit opus.
Sed tantum poterat: vetuisti caetera, Fatum:
Non erat haec cultro victima digna Tuo.
Insidiosa Manus nunquam sua Munera struxit:
Pars vel simplicitas Muneris ipsa fuit.
Te testor tam digna Domus, quae Nomina iactas
Cui geminum ornatum, Semet, Opes (que) dedit.
Incola sic Homines auxit, sic Tecta Patronus,
Nunc Vno plusquam Nomine noster Amor.
O Impar, sed Grata Aedes! utinam (que) decorem
Tu poteras Illi, quem dedit Ille Tibi.
IO. GIARE ex Aed. Ch.
PVllos, quisquis es, induas colores,
Orna funereâ caput Cupresso;
Ite hinc deliciae, Venus, Cupido;
Nostrae deliciae dolor, querelae.
Heu gentis periit decus Britannae,
Lumen (que), & columen novem sororum,
In flore heu periit peremptus Aevi.
Vixisti Iuvenis diu, Senectam
Virtutes faciunt, brevi Tabellâ
Depictum videas ferum Gygantem.
At mores sileo, silere praestat,
Quam praeconia frigidè referre.
Ite meae Lachrymae, tanquàm de Nube procellae,
Cum nimis ingenti pondere pressa ruit.
Proh dolor! heu periit, per luctûs edere Nomen
Vix possum, in primo Veris honore sui.
Non tamen hoc credam, iuvat us (que) favere dolori,
Sed nequeo, hoc dolor est, non doluisse satis.
Moestum Phoebe canas; lugete, haud ludite Musae,
Nam (que) est conveniens luctibus iste labor.
Huic sacram lauri tumulo deferte Tributum,
Vos aluit, quamvis vester Alumnus erat.
Addere nil cupimus, cui nil queat altius addi:
Si nil diminuam, carmina nostra placent.
Te nimis indigno dum flemus carmine, duplex
Exoritur [...]uctus, Carminis, at (que) Tui.
I. FELL ex Aed. Ch.
In Obitum Clarissimi, Ornatssimique Vicecomitis BAYNING.
HOspes Deorum, naenias si quis Tibi
Faciles (que) luctu palpebras effunderet,
Nec pauciores laudibus Lacrymas Tuis
Semper fluentes, & tamen semper novas,
Multum litabit Funeri, minimum Tibi.
Si, quos Poetae vix satis Calamis pios
Mittant liquores, hauriant suum licet
Helicona studiis; si, quot attulerint tuo
Onus feretro, Chartulae innumeras atrae
Lachrymas refundant; his amicae Coniugis
Fratrū, & nepotū at (que) omnium quot sunt Tui
Addam Lachrymulas, ut dolor siet unicus,
Vt (que) tot ocellis unicam Lacrymam, struat,
Quam Charus esses dixerit, Quantus nequit.
Si quis, tacendo quos Tibi numeres Avos,
A Te relatum stemma nobile computet
Seriem (que) laudum censeat, Merita & necis,
Pietate posthumâ colentis Numina,
Donata Templis si quis, & Musis pium
Vectigal audit, quae (que) perpetuum in Decus
Loquax Sepulchrum jactet, huic adhuc lates:
Aut si quis ultrà, praeter has dotes Tuas
Sacram (que) famam, vel parùm referat Tui,
Quam non modestè flere, dum memorat, licet.
Quantas iuventus nobilis, & aetas sagax
Vtrius (que) Terrae literas excoxerat!
Oxonia quantum debet & Conatibus
Tuis (que) meritis! Ast adhuc nimium lates:
Majora dictis Nomen ipsum praedicat;
Sed quisquis istud noveris, taceas precor,
Ne Fama, tanti dum subit Cineres viri,
Non posterorum Cultum, at Invidiam trahat.
RICARDVS GODFREY ex Aed. Ch.
In Obitum Clarissimi Uicecomitis BAYNING.
MVndi, Doctus opes, suas (que) spernens,
Uisens una hominum docens (que) mores;
Passim barbariem, viros (que) brutos
Conspectu cicurans, domans (que) terras;
Magnus Moribus, inde major Arte:
Sub quo Regna velint coire pace,
Praesentem (que) colunt, timent futurum,
Legati decus Hic tulit Viator,
Flammas Italiae Alpium pruinis,
Gallam luxuriem mari Britanno
Restinguens, redit Innocens, & Anglus.
Virtutes numerans, tuam (que) vitam
Certans per tua computare facta,
Haud credet juvenem fuisse mundus.
Nunc ecce ad Tumulum frequens Viator
Devoto pede confluit, nec unus
Dat suspiria Lachrymasque Princeps,
Cui multum sterilem exprobrat senectam,
Et serum meritum sagax juventa:
Nunc florum vice laudibus Sepulchrum
Spargens & titulis, utrinque civem
Certat scribere, vendicatque funus
Passim terra tuum: Quirinus effert
Inter Papirios, & Africanos:
Hinc Princeps juvenum, senumque Princeps,
Et non Foemineus Quirinus audis.
Hinc & Gallus eris, sed ille castus,
Et non Mente magis nitens Lacernâ:
Sic tu, dum numerus videris, exis
Multorum Invidia, Vnius Triumphus.
Hoc jactat nimium Britanna tellus,
Orbi vixerat, at Mihi recessit.
THOMAS BENSON ex Aed. Ch.
In Obitum Illustrissimi Vice-Comitis BAYNING.
MOx ergò exilium, Redux, sub ipso
Amplexu Patriae datur? scelusque
Tantum admisit Amor, quod aus [...] nusquàm
Gens est extera? Quaequè Te recepit
Non Adventitium, sed Inquilinum:
Gallia, perque vices Paterna Terra
Facta est Roma Tibi: Omnibus probatum
Virtus Te dedit, Omniumquè civem:
Certè hoc Numinis est colitàm ubiquè,
Dum cunabula nactus es Sepulchrum
Motus Aethereossecutus, in Te
Sacro circuitu reductus, exis
Exemplar Superum, sedes perennis
Vitae Emblema Necisquè. Sic in ortus
Festinare suos, retroque labi,
Quicquid Fata jubent perire, fas est.
Sic & quod maneat perenne, eodem
Iuxtà desinit incipitque cursu,
Vitâ hac nulla prior, beatiorque
Quam quae est Spharica, seque claudit ipsam.
ROEBRTVS SHARPE ex Aed. Ch.
In Obitum Clarissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING.
OBitum nunc lugeamus an Discessum nescimus,
Has etenim exequias olim & Discessus habuit,
Cum Amentium ritu opes projecimus in Mare
Gemmamque Thetidis Gazâ magis pretiosā
Suspiriis mox nostris, & Lachrymarū fluctibus reve hendā.
Ostendi voluerunt Terris Fata, donari nimiū esse iudicarunt,
Magis Orbis Spectatorē quàm Spectaculū,
Solis instar in transitu solo fruendum;
Hunc Reliquae etiam Gentes damna inter sua
Per vices numerarunt.
Atque utinam nunc velpascisceremur istis
Iniquis Legibus potirè,
Posset ut iterum discedere
Vt secundâ frueremur vel iacturâ!
Religionē & Mores non tā perlustrare visus quàm instituere:
Non extra Patriā Legē licentiam pecccandi quaesivit,
Et magna scelerum Exempla:
Istâ Pietate Hospitia quasi Templa pererrans,
Vt qui devotis passibus Itinera metiuntur
Numini dedicata, non Amicae,
Propè fuit ut ab eo exigerentur miracula;
Atque adeo haec miracula praestitit,
Vt Virtutis patiens, non Voluptatis
Palladem Iunoni conciliaret, Literis Divitias,
Innocentiam Potestati;
Et vel post mortem Lyceum Coleret.
Haud tamē illud Poetas fecisse pecuniae reos, & Heli [...] na in Tagum vertisse
Effecit, ut Damnum Tui non Iugeamus,
Quodque unum restat, non iactemus.
Sole haec tristis Gloria nos manet, habuisse
Olim Incolam, sempèr Patronum:
Brevi fulgore aliis Cometa illuxisti,
Nobis mansurum Sydus,
Orbis idem spectaculum & stupor:
Solum hìc Te fastus arguit, quod orbem
Videris & contempseris;
Perlustrato Terrarum Orbe alium modò quaeris, quasi illum moderaturus:
Velut Cretensis Iupiter in astra evadis
Nota Peregrints, Historia, sacra Tuis Fabula.
SAMVEL EVERARD. ex Aed. Ch.
In Obitum Clarissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING.
I Vvenis moritur qui vixit Nestor,
Vnius aetatis compendium
Non vidit, qui ultrae
Tertia historiam fecit.
Corpore venustus, ut cui non defuit
Dignum suis moribus Sacrarium.
Tam Nobilis, ac si nullo caruerat a Virtutibus ornamento
Tam bonus, ac si nullum habuerat a Parentibus.
Italiam vidit, vidit Galliam,
Vna non potuit capere Regio:
Italiam deseruit, deseruit Galliam,
Nulla potuit Regie mereri.
Illic cepit, quò nos nec pervenire solemus;
dubiū an cunis Infantiā debuerit, an Lyceo.
Artes nil tandem pulchri iactitant,
Nisi quod Ipse didicit.
Paucissimis vix potuit eliquari vitiis
Cadaver visus antequam moreretur,
Aliquando peccavit ne videretur Deus,
Laudandus etiam quod peccavit.
Vxorem duxit, ut & illum ornaret sexum;
Vxorem invenit, quae ornaret & nostrum.
Amaretalem satis non potuit,
Si non Amore obiisset.
Divitias numeravit, sed quas dederat;
Opum non habuit, sed Munerum Aerarium.
An dedit? en tandem sibi nec Ipsum reliquit:
Quem, cum deesset qui caperet, cepit Sepulchrū:
Gemmas recondi Nimium sic Pretium facit.
He that attempts to mourne thy noble Herse,
Must teach his griefe the Piety of Verse,
And all his teares in chast expressions paint,
That every line may Canonize a Saint:
He ought to Preach in Numbers, as if Fate
Had destin'd Him for Bishop Laureate.
Who then shall weepe thy losse, whose Acts we see fel,
Farre purer then our vestall phansies be?
W'admire those deeds which from Thee slightly
Thy Recreation fills the Chronicle:
And Poets should be set to curbe the times,
Could their Wits be so Pious as Thy Crimes.
Thou didst ingrosse all goodnesse so, that Wee
Scarce thought one Heroe dead, while we saw Thee.
We miss'd not Cato, Tully was not dumbe,
Thou could'st (like him) but speake, and overcome.
What Stratagem has Fate? thy fading breath
Summons sage Brutus to a Second Death.
Soules treasur'd up in Thee rush forth, and now
Some fall, that fell two thousand yeares agoe.
Here prune your manners, you that only are
The walking Arras of the Court, who share (face)
Your selves (like Hangins deckt with some strange
T'attend the King only to trim the place.
Whose weake Gentility does fall, and rise
As Periwigs and Sattins take their price:
Whose carriage one may track, & find which Oath
Your Worships swore in silk, and which in cloath.
If you could learne this ripenesse, it would teach
To court a Mistresse in an unbought speech;
And your owne Language might have power to move
A frozen coynesse to a free Court-Love:
And make her y [...]e such charming pleasures heare,
That her Soule know no residence but eare.
But I doe blast thy Herse, and these weake Layes
Doe only usher Some to sing Thy Praise,
As scattered beames their dawning lustre broach,
Only to tell the world the Sun's approach.
As if the Priest should butcher a cheape Lambe,
To fit the Altar for an Hecatombe.
He that will speake Thee fully, must have parts
Like to Thine Owne, and hunt Thee through all Arts:
His able yeares must bud up, till he find,
What mysteries enrich't thy well-fraught mind;
Who didst so wade through Natural things, that we
May shake off Nature now, and study Thee.
Had'st thou bred low-pitch [...]t ve [...]ues, had thy Vein
Stoop'd to the shallow ebbe of vulgar strain,
Each busie Muse had strove to find a roome,
Where crowds of Epitaphs might load thy Tomb,
But now we feare to write, we dare no [...] stay
To bring ou [...] twilight Glances to thy Day:
Such is Thy Vertues flight, thou soar'st so high,
Thy weakest Acts aske our Hyperboly;
And all th' elaborate Accents we can lend,
Can scarce deserve Thee where thou dost offend.
Hence forth we'le prize our Muse at lower rate,
And what we can't expresse, we'le imitate,
We'le Print Thee in our manners so, that then
Who finds Thee not in Records, may in Men.
They only, here, find their expressions safe,
Who Act their Verse, and Live an Epitaph.
MARTIN LLEVVELLIN. of Ch. Ch.
Vpon the Death of the Right Honourable Lord Vicecount BAYNING.
FOrgive me, His deare Monument, that I
Vsurpe the Title of an Elegy;
And like a wandring Passenger doe crave
My unknowne teares may glaze his Epitaph!
Whoever heard his Travells, but did cease
To think Rome false, or France with a disease?
So farre from an outlandish Taint, that Hee
Return'd a chaster Mind from Italie.
Learne here you wilde Apostates that deface
Your Native Soules, and mold 'em to the Place;
So that each Country gives you a new Birth,
Antaeus like reviving from the Earth:
BAYNING did scorne to change himselfe but then
When farthest off, He was an English-man:
Our Lawes still kept Him Company: for they
Were the Geography, and rule of 's way:
So that to forreigne parts He did appeare
Rather Embassadour, then Sojourner.
Why did He scape His Travells thus, O why
Did he fall downe with such Tranquillity?
Horrour becomes a Young man's Death, to lie
Bedew'd with Blood is a brave obsequie.
Surfets, Consumptions are but Female Knives,
Nor doe they snatch, but steale away our Lives.
Fates did not know thy Spirit, when they sent
So weake a dart to blast thy Monument:
Thy Genius was too mighty to endure
That extreame cowardize, to die Secure.
But since it did our great Commander please,
Thus to inflict the Death of a disease;
In earnest of our Loves, O let it be
Our wish to fall Secure, because like Thee.
For Thy sake then may Feavers be our Meate,
And 't prove a Surfet henceforth but to Eate:
None can desire to live, unlesse he be
Seduc'd perhaps t'enjoy Thy Legacie.
'Tis Thy owne freenesse bribes us now to live,
Since 't were ingratitude not to survive.
Our Buildings by Thy Piety shall stand
No Ruines now, but Trophyes of Thy Hand:
The Roomes shall be Thy Piles, we will preferre
Their beauteous Order to thy Character:
When Printed on the doores with loaded eyes
The Passenger may read HERE BAYNING LIES.
H. RAMSAY of Ch. Ch.
On the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
SInce Sadnes crowns Your hearse, & Mourners
Bestow with sighs, & tears, a Method too
Of grieving for your death, that we may see doe
A good Contrivance though in Misery:
Since among all that mourn, none Order lack,
The Wits in Rime, Your other Friends in Black.
Pardon my grief, that dares assume that Dresse,
For scatter'd in wild Fancles 'twould seem lesse:
Yet doe I not presume my verse may give
Ought, that may cause Your memory to live:
I leave that great imployment to the Pen
Of Abler fancies, more Discerning Men;
That can Distinguish vertues, and best know
Which frō Complexion, which frō Breeding flow,
Which are Innate, and which Infus'd, that can
But with one glaunce decipher a whole man.
'Tis fancy 'enough in me, if I can weepe
Your Body, not as Dead, but fall'n a sleepe.
Since no Continu'd greif, or lingring pain
No Trick o'th' State, nor sad stroak hath it slain:
It goes fresh to the grave, before the sinnes
Have season'd it, that Age, and Businesse brings:
Where let it sleep secure, hence coming fit
T'embalme and keep the Odours, not they It.
The groans, and sighes, that parting now it weares,
The Marble shall supply with frequent Teares.
H. BENET of Ch. Ch.
On the death of the Honourable Lord Vis-count BAYNING.
HEnce frō This Tomb, you that have only chose
To Mourn for Ribbands, & the sadder Cloths,
That Buy your Grief frō th' Shop; & desperat lye
For a new Cloak till the next Lord shall Dye;
You that shed only wine, and think when all
The Banquet's past, there's no more Funerall:
You that sell Teares, and only Weepe for Gaine,
I dare not say you Mourn, but fill the Traine:
Nor must we Grieve His Titles losse, and tell
The vainer World, that 'twas a Great Man Fell:
Tis not enough that we His Birth rehearse;
And only Write His Armes insteed of Verse,
Or Steale Notes from His Scutcheon; perhaps we
Might Mourn Him thus in perfect Heraldry:
But 'tis a Strain too low, nor wil't suffice
For Epitaph, that Here His Lordship Lyes:
Thus I could be content to Weep His Fame,
Where nothing else was great, besides the Name;
Whence Learning felt an Exile; where That Word
Of Vertue sounded Lower then my Lord:
He whom we sadly Mourne (hear this all You
Wrapt up in Chaines) was Rich in Learning too.
A Colledge was His Home; He did not here
Sit still a while, and only change His Ayre,
As some, who Iourney hither, and are grown
But to this Art of wearing a silk Gowne;
Who, 'mongst Their other losse of Time, doe still
Count the halfe-year thus spent against Their Will;
Who fain would crosse the Seas, & think, that They
Have Travell'd thus far only out o'th' way:
Nor did he count a Lord in a Degree
A Learned Monster of Nobility,
As if some Envious Fate strove to Maintaine
That only Ignorance should wear a Chaine.
Gold was not all His Treasury; We may
Reckon His Wealth in more then shining Clay;
Summe up His Stock of Arts and Knowledge; you
That prize th'Estate count in His Study too;
This is the Style of Honour, which we boast
In Him, whose Fame doth still Survive His Ghost.
Nor quarrell We with Fate, for we should wrong
His Vertues now, to grieve that He Dy'd Young:
One of His worth is alwaies full of Yeares;
He Dy'd too soon by nothing but our Teares,
Ripe Early, and prepar'd for Heaven, He
Had all of Age, but the Infirmity:
He was Religious and Stay'd, as One
Whom Four-score years thrust to Devotion:
One of That flowing Charity, as if still
In ev'ry Guift He did intend a Will:
How He Bequeath'd His Almes! to all so free,
What ever He Bestowd, was Legacy.
Thus He had Many Heyres; and the blest Poore
Did only Multiply His Successour.
But I'le not summe His Vertues; H'embrac't more
Then all Philosophy did Talk before;
They only did Dispute His Life, and might,
Had They known Him, been better Skild to Write.
W. TOWERS of Ch. Ch.
Vpon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.
VVErt Thou an ancient Corse, of a gray head,
So spent, as to be thought run out, not dead;
Had'st Thou endur'd long gowtes, or longer rage
Of Aches, and at last dyed of long age;
At such a funerall our Teares were lost,
Where the grave makes not, but receives a Ghost.
Thou, when not ripe enough to live, didst fall,
Even when thy Lady might Thee Lady call;
And like an early spring didst show to th' eye,
Signes of a fruitfull Autumne, and then dye.
Yet though Thou dy'dst a Blossome, we were those
Who could foresee Thee blown, and judge Thee Rose.
Thy after life was wrapt up in this bud,
As in a sprout a faire flower's understood.
And as when men file rocks for Iewels, th'Ore
Shows sparks, which would be stones two Ages more:
So we might say, had this young Diamond grown,
That which now twinkled, then had lightning thrown:
And as rich Exudations sweat from th' Tree,
Are first soft gumms, not toucht, would Amber be:
Or as in th'Indyes men finde wealthy Mould,
Which the next generation diggs up gold.
So Thou lack'st but Concoction, seaven years more
Had made those vertues true Mine, which died Ore.
Nay thou wert Bullion now, and we had seen,
Hadst Thou liv'd longer, Masse had Medalls been.
Thy forwardnesse lackt only stampe, and rate;
Thou wert true silver, but uncoyn'd by th'State.
Which did perceive thy title was as good
To honours, by thy Hopefulnesse, as blood.
And had'st Thou staid but to be call'd to th'Board,
The Worthy Man had taken place oth' Lord.
Then had we seen from Letters 'mongst us sowne
Thy Prince had Embassyes and Counsells mowne.
When that, which Thou Philosophy took'st in,
Had come forth great Example, and Life bin.
Thy vertues were not lesse, because yet greene,
They might more season'd, but not more have been:
Broader they might have bin, & shown more sweld,
Yet had the Leafe not more then th'Ingot held.
As from a clue Workmen large hangings call,
Yet all the silke in th' Arras, was ith' Ball.
In short lives, great parts hasten, and come quick,
And where they want roome to be vast, are thick.
Even thy raw promises were perfect, lackt
Time but to make them aged, not exact.
Vntraveld Thou wert Learned, yet the Book
In Thee fresh learning from thy Travells took.
Thou cam'st home sober frō light Nations, France
Taught Thee to sit in Councell, not to dance.
Italian Policy Thou brought'st away,
Yet wert not made more able to betray:
Their Plots had been made Service, and that skill
Had been taught to Preserve, which us'd to Kill.
Thy Merit, not thy Bowle, had made Thee Great;
No Office had fal'n to Thee by thy Meat.
Thou didst returne so innocent, we could call
Nothing Italian but thy Funerall:
That was so sudden, no successours pill
Did Pope with more hast, then thy surfet kill.
Prophets translated were so ravish't, bate
The sense oth'pang, thy death was change, not fate.
Had'st Thou bequeath'd us nought, thy name had still
Bin Legacy, t'have bin oth' house was Will:
And we in thy deare losse think w'are bereft
Of more, then if Thou had'st us whole heyres left.
Now since, like Wolsey, th'art expir'd, and gone,
We only can pay Reverence to thy Stone;
Which equall to His will this glory winne,
Thou help'st to Finish what He did Beginne.
IASPER MAYNE of Ch. Ch.
PENELOPE, Multùm Deflendi Domini, VICECOMITIS BAYNING, Relictae Fidelissimae
Haec sacro-
VIvida quae Castos Tibi Flamma accendit Ocellos,
Accendit illa Conjugis Pectus Tui:
Et quos Ipsa geris radiantes or be Genarum,
Hos Ille Flores Moribus gessit suis:
Qui (que) Tibi Cander totos illuminat Artus,
Diem per Animum Lucidi sparsit Viri.
Sic Artus excudit Amor, sic pingit Ocellos,
Sic spectatintus, & simul scribit Genas:
Sic Te Te exhausit Coniux, Te Teimbibit Vnam,
Partem (que) quivis Actus emisit Tui.
Archetypa Amissam plorabis maesta Tabellam,
Excripta tanquam posset & Imago Mori?
Quantus erat Coniux, certè Tuus integer Ille;
Vt Quanta Imago, est Corporis tota est sui.
In Te dicatur tantùm hinc Redijsse Maritus;
Vt Vmbra nocte Corpus, unde exît, petit.
Si Vultus, si Verba ejus, si Basia quaeraes;
Te Cerne, Te Affare, & Tibi signes Labra.
In Te splendet adhuc, & adhuc in Te sonat Ille,
Amat (que) vel adhuc, Ipsa si Teipsam Ames.
Cuncta tamen maestum, dices, habet ista Sepulchrum:
Annon Sepulchrum Pectus est istud Tuum?
Sic, quod Tudefles, in Te spectamus. Amoris
Solamen hoc est grande; dum Quaerit, Frui.
GVIL. CARTVVRIGHT ex Aed. Ch.
Illustrissimo Domino Vicecomiti BAYNING
QVuantus (que) restat Posteris, Hic est Ille
Alterius Orbis Fama, sed Stupor Nostri:
Vindex Potentum, Purpuram Scholis donans:
Opum (que) vindex, Se (que) nec Opibus tradens:
Censum Domare gnarus, & Frui Partis
Impertiendo: Gentium videns Ritus,
Uitiis Sequester: Pervigil sui Custos:
Peregrè profectus, & tamen Domi semper,
Inter (que) Mores Exteros Suis vivens:
Revehens Amorem, quem extulit, Foris Conjux:
Non Circinalis iunctior Pedi Pes est:
Dominus, & Omnes allevans, Gravis Nulli:
Satur viarum Raptus, & satur Dotum,
Aetate justâ vegetus, at magis Mente:
Non plura Merito, at Gloriae dari possent.
Cunctis Dolorem Mortuus facit, Viv [...]
Fecit nec Vni. Levior incubes, Tellus:
Non Ipse Quenquam, Tu (que) nec Premas Ipsu [...].
Sic Parentat GUIL. STOTEVILE ex Aed. Ch.
To the Right Vertuous, and my much Honoured the Lady PENELOPE BAYNING.
Most Honour'd Madam,
TO All, that hath been said, I Eccho am,
Though with an hoarser Voice return the same:
But His was Clean, and Faire as his Intent,
And His Performances His Complement;
Who had more Vertue then deriv'd frō th'wombe,
And more Perfections then are writ on's Tombe;
Honour, such as the King could not bestow,
Vnlesse his Great Example made him so;
Who brought frō Rome, as did his Prince frō Spain,
Religion, and His very selfe againe;
Here lies That Lord All This: who had been more,
Had time but lent concoction to his Ore.
Be witnesse ô my Griefe then (for I may
Now challenge something in Him being Clay)
What Thoughts, what Spirits, what Intēts, what Seeds
What Acts, what Coūsels, what Designes, what Deeds
Are blasted in His fall! But least I may
Encrease your Night by telling what great Day
Would hence have risen, let me only beare
Sad witnesse, that All, which you have read here,
Is modest, and His own: and though we find
His 'State was Vast, 'twas Narrow'r then His Mind:
Look then into His Will, not Testament,
And judge not what He Did, but what He Meant.
RICH: CHAWORTH of Ch. Ch.
FINIS