A FUNERAL ELEGIE, Upon the Death of GEORGE SONDS, ESQ &c. Who was killed by his Brother, Mr. FREEMAN SONDS, August the 7th. Anno Dom. 1655.
Whereunto is annexed a PRAYER, Compiled by his sorrowfull Father Sir GEORGE SONDS, and used in his Family during the Lafe of the said FREEMAN.
By William Annand Junior, of Throwligh.
REach me a Handcerchiff; Another yet,
And yet another, for the last is wett;
Nay now a Glass, to bottell up my teares,
For present pressing griefs, and future fears.
Could sighs, could groans, could sobbs, or ought revoak,
That sudden, fatal, fearfull, deadly stroak?
The Muses should be summon'd in by force,
And spend their All, upon his wounded Coarse,
Could measur'd lines, griefs infinit display?
The sacred Nine, with Him who rules the Day,
And all who in Immortall Thrones reside;
In spight of greatness, should a charge abide,
To consecrate, and to adorn his Hearse,
Revive his life, and club unto a Verse.
Or then let Sable darkness, canop'd in night,
Eeclipse them all for ever. Here's a fight
That ripens sorrow, breaks op' Griefs magazine,
Horrors great store-house—, compass'd in his Shrine,
Of life, of sense, all are dispossest,
And by one Dagger, loe each heart is peirc'd.
Thy death, thy death, dear soul, might wonder move,
How the Old Serpent, thus should kill the Dove.
Thy habits so refulgently did shine,
That we knew [...]ought, but what was thought divine.
In thy expyring, it was made appear
In bloody Wounds, the
He was slab'd with a Three edged Dagger, so that the wounds were Triangular.
Trinitie was clear.
The gates through which thy fertil soul did mount
To bless'd aboads, came to the full account
Of Twelve, or four times three, And three
"Hath ever in it some great My steric.
Nor was it for thy good, dear heart,
That Heaven thus suffer'd man to act his part.
But as Gods hand mayd Nature, doth not eye,
Nor this, nor that, but all in part doth spye:
So here God acts, in manner so so ample,
That All may have thee; Alwayes for example
Of this lifes frailty, most stupid here may know,
"There's no abiding City, here below.
Behold the reaking blood, heart sign'd with murther staines,
Wisdoms great Citadel defac'd, empty veines,
Of one so young, so good, so lov'd of all,
After the closure of a Festivall.
So gentle, modest, rich, discreet and wise,
In dawning of his youth to close his eyes!
None more in Grace, in Speech, in featur,
Destroy'd, 'cause none in Grace, in Speech, was greater.
The best of Sonnes, Heires, Friends, of Masters,
Thus bath'd in his own blood; O sad disasters!
Good God, what can, what shall, mans frailty thinke,
When thy great goodnese, at this Act did winke?
But thou art just, perhaps thou thought'st it sitt,
And Lord unto thy Judgement I submit.
Rest happy Soul above,
with God in Love;
Where malice, hate, is out of date.
Expecting still the end
That Pious souls attend.
‘Vivet Post funera virtue.’
A Prayer made by Sir GEORGE SONDS, for his Son FREEMAN SONDS; used in his own Family so long as be was living.
LORD wee beseech thee, look down in Mercy on that most miserable and unhappy creature of thine (Freeman Sonds) Lord soften his hard and stubborne heart. LORD give him a trve sight of this his most hainous and bloody sinne. Lord give him grace to cry unto thee by true and unfeigned Repentance, that so thou may'st have mercy on his poor soul. Thou art the Fountaine of mercy, and all flows from thee. His Father, upon his earnest desire, though he hath killed (oh fowly killed) his dear Sonne, and ruined him in all his hopes, hath Pardoned him. Oh do thou then, O father of Mercy, in that said houre of his death, receive him in thy Armes of Mercy, that his sad Father may yet have this comfort, That though thou hast made him childless, and left him not one Sonne on Earth alive; yet which is much better, they live with thee in Heaven, in aeternal Blisse. Dear Father grant us our request and that for thy beloved Sonne JESƲS his sake, our LORD and onely Saviour. Amen.