AN ELEGIE Sacred to the Immortall Memory of the most Worthy, and most Lamented, JOHN PYM, Esq.
Who having done most remarkable Service to the State, was on Friday being the 8. of Decemb. 1643. translated from the House of COMMONS, to the Vpper House of Glory, and Parliament of Angels in Heaven.
The Memory of this never to be forgotten Patriot deserveth truely to be observed by every Man, who stands well affected to the True Religion, the Lawes, and Liberties both of Parliament and Kingdome: His Body (both the Houses, and the Assembly of the Divines being present) was carried with solemn Honour and Magnificence by Sixe of the House of Commons: The Reverend Divine, Mr. Stephen Marshall did Preach the Funerall, who did take his Text out of the Seventh of Micah, the first and second Verses. The words were, The Good Man is perished out of the Earth, and there is none upright among Men, &c.
WHat Sacred Light is this? What glorious Guest
Is pleas'd to lodge in my unworthy Brest,
And with a hidden touch my Soul inspires,
Rapt't in amazements and transporting fires;
'Tis THOV (Great shade) THOV, whosoere Thou bee
That leav'st the VVorld in Darknesse, THOV art Hee;
In me 'twere vile Ingratitude to rue
Thy losse, whose lustures warm me thus, yet who
(VVhen all dissolves) can with a carelesse eye,
(Vntouch'd at Fate) stand unlamenting by?
Let us call home our Griefes then, all which show
Those the most worthy where most high they flow,
VVe must dispatch them unto Heav'n, to tell
This Murder done, for since he did excell
So pure, so just in all things, VVho can quit
The hand of Death, that now must answere it:
VVhen Death doth life to innocence denie,
Death sinnes himself, and Death himself must die.
Be kind unto thy selfe (dull Fate) and stand,
And breath awhile, let not thy willfull hand
Pursue an erring rage: for each new blow
Would interrupt; and not increase our woe.
Thou canst doe nothing that may render us
More fond of Griefe, or thee more tyrannous,
Since roome we want to vent our VVooes: our Eyes
Bedew the Earth, whiles Clouds of thronging sighs
Oppresse the ayre; as if the world were all
Too close, and lesser then his Funerall.
What man is yet so dull, so much to Fame
And worth a stranger, as to aske what Name
So great a losse doth beare: let him that weares
An arted Griefe, and complements with teares,
(Fortunes and Heralds Pageant) who for deeds
On ayres and titles of swoll'n Greatnesse feeds;
Admire such pompe, whiles I his soule, which stood
So faire; that had some Angells bin as good,
So many Spirits punish'd for their pride,
(Back'd on the Northern clouds) should never ride
Downe Taurus Mountaine; when with rage ore'gone,
They lead the Vaward of the Tempest on.
But how can He be parallel'd, whose birth
Did claime such high preheminence of worth
And happinesse to come; no planets jarres
Annoyd the healthfull Influences, his Starres
Sang to his destinies, his precious thred
With richest Art they spun, and promised
It should more lasting prove. the GRACES flock'd
About him smiling, and his Cradle rock'd,
And giving each a kisse, did each conclude
ROMES Lawes quite lost, and super stitions Rood.
Sure He was here a little Heaven, which then
(Touch'd by the hand of Death) he witness'd, when
(Like a divine Intelligence) at strise
With dull corruption, he express'd what life
His mind enjoy'd, which still his Deeds more young
And perfect rendred, and his faith more strong.
Whiles thus we saw him growing great and high,
Who would have thought He had got leave to dye.
Or who is He that him alive did know,
That would not think but he must still be so?
Let those deluded Sophisters who take,
Delight in wrangling, and doe laughter make.
The Argument of Reason, now agree
To Truth corrected, and make Griefe to be
Their best Demonstrance, which they most doe show
Who most in teares and lamentations flow.
VVhat Tongue can voyce his Merits who was knowne
To love our lives far better then his owne.
And though the Honours of his worth him sent,
A close Committee to the Parliament.
The man was publick Good, and still his zeale
Observ'd the King, and lov'd the Common-weale.
Nor did the Fate or Anger of the Crowne,
Traverse his hopes, or beat his Counsells downe.
But moving still (in what he had to doe)
He was our Patriot, and our Martyr too,
But that more fully we may here declare
Our plaints, we should lay by all teares which are
Too weak for such a losse, we now should shake
VVith a just sigh the Center, and awake
The Spirits of Grief, that so our Accents may
Make our love knowne, where ere his purer ray,
VVhere ere his Starre doth shine, if now he is
Spreading his light where rugged Par [...]hasis
Shines at the Northerne Pole, or if he please,
Rather to grace the Southern Hyades:
Thou where the beauties of the Morn their cleere
Reflections bend on Ganges streames, or where
VVhen ere he in the Ocean dives, they run
From Calpe Hill, who mourn the fainting Sun,
Or wheresoere thou dost thy beames dispense,
It is no sinne to begge their Influence;
VVhiles thus on us thou shalt thy beames imploy,
VVe more shall crave them; and we shall enjoy
And mourne thee taken from us, and a flight
Shall dayly practice, till we reach that height
VVhich thou hast gain'd; O why should Heaven ordaine,
That where they there doe joy, we here should plaine.
VVhy should it urge to Good, yet from our view
Steale the Example, and rejoyce in't too,
Grief is of kin to Heaven, and doth improve
The glorious Consorts and blest Quires above,
And unto us of greater power doth seem,
Since their joyes move not us, our Griefes help them;
Heav'n is the Center of our soules, the Grave
Is of our bodies, this short life we have
Doth of a middle Nature seem, yet sent
In holy actions to be chiefly spent
A true assurance that these Dusts shall rise
(Awak'd from death) above the lofty skyes.
This his whole life so much assur'd, so much
Made it his busines, that when Death did touch
His willing Body, and the Quire propense
O [...] Heaven attended, to translate him hence
The sacred words he spake, did leave such high
And rapt Impressions in the standers by,
That they did seem to have themselves forgot,
As if the Vertue of their sounds had wrought
Them more then mortall, and now dying, He
Had cloath'd them all with Immortality.
Sad House of Peers and Commons, whose Desart
VVas here the chosen joy which crown'd his heart,
VVhiles now each word you speak his Elegies
VVhiles from the soule of Love, your precious Eyes
Raine downe religious teares; He makes it known
By these memorialls, you best raise your own:
Lodg'd in your Brests, He still doth live, and you
Are both his Mourners, and his Ma [...]ble too;
From you he seemeth to take halfe your Breath,
And you from him to borrow halfe his Death,
FINIS.
Printed for Lawrence Chapman, 1643.