AN ELEGIE
In Memorie, and at the Interring of the Body of the most famous and truely Noble Knight, Sir HENRIE MERVYN.
Paterne of all true Valour; Worth, and Arts, who departed this life the 30. of May, and lyes Interred at Westminster, Anno Do: 1646.
With wondring raptures, darting at the ayre
Much griefe and anguish, sadnesse and dispaire,
With mournings, [...]usings, madnesse, and a mind
Cast downe so low, disconsolate, combin'd,
With cruell thoughts, to teare the Stars, and strive
To plucke the Planets; who by power deprive
Those admir'd Spirits, so inspir'd with worth.
And rob those rare Excellencies of earth;
What fatall planet; placed in the Skye
Durst thus tryumph? What cruell destinie
Durst dare to meddle, or molest thy Spirit,
Which did all Vertues to the full inherit?
The rarest Modell of admired Parts,
Pure quintesence, of exquisite deserts,
So Singular, no Second could admit,
The very essence of all acute wit.
The Emphasis of ev'ry praise we read,
And Source from whence all knowledge did proceed,
The life of learning and a light to all
That liv'd, or had their being on this Ball.
Nature is nothing, if it hath not Art;
But it in thee, perfection did impart
In such abundance, that I doe believe
Art, here, by nature, was superlative,
Thy thoughts were such: they soar'd on sacred wing [...]
Ʋnlimited, to Sublunary things,
Were all subleame, or at the least too high,
for usuall Spirits, Mens Capacity;
Throughout all Nations, Notable for Fame,
Whose worth, all after ages shall procleame,
Who scorn'd the honors of this present age,
Nor found it fit, thy vertues to, ingage
With such as strove, in State to be extol'd,
Or wrapt by favour, in a new fram'd Mould,
Let all the Muses, mourne in sable Coats,
Heav'ns Quiristers, sing Melancholyk notes;
Let all the Arts, both Morall, and Divine,
All Curious Poets, add one mournfull line
To shew their love, our losse, and let them pen
The highest praise, appropriate to men,
And yeeld them all; as attributes most due,
To doe him honour, and againe renue
Their Verse once more; and write upon his Chest.
The quickest Wit, the rarest mind, the best.
Dame Natur's darling, singular in skill,
Of all the arts, and sciences, no quill
Can Comprehend, Contrive, or Calculate,
His true de-merits; nor can Elevate.
His Worth; nor yet Apelles Coloured art,
Nor Zeuxes pencill, if alive, impart
His prudence, and his pregn [...]nt Eloquence,
His practice, rare performance, Eminence,
Nor yet his outwards, objects of our Eye,
None could at all, draw to the life; but lye
And let them be, but as they are the ayme,
To figure forth, things signity'd by them;
Nor hath he left, behind, one so expert,
Upon the Stage; equall to play his part,
Yet all these could not, add one houres increase
Vnto his time, you see all flesh is graffe.
No usuall quill could draw so rare a shape,
The best Experience, could not well escape,
But it must erre, nor none can draw his mind
No more then they, Can fathom up wind.
Wherefore in silence, I must cease, and wonder,
So thou may'st stay, swift passenger, and ponder:
What Peece of Earth, lyes here Intemb'd, and then
Goe tell that Mervin, was the praise of Men.
SIR HENRIE MERVIN; Anagram. My hit's e'er in he'ven, Anagram. Here in my Urne:
My hit's ever in he'ven, then doe not mourne.
There rests my soule; my earth; Here in my Ʋrne. Anagram.
Here in my Ʋrne, in secret where J lye,
Confin'd by fate, or humane destinie.
Fame passing hence; strooke in a Maze, stood dombe,
And writ these words, vpon my painted Tomb
With sighes, and teares, and Sacrifized Groanes,
And left them all, as witnesses at once
For to be view'd who having tribute pay'd,
Straight vanisht quite; these were the words were said,
Epitaph.
Mervyn the Modell morall and divine,
Of all that Natur's knowledge could combine,
Lyes here, but yet for all of this Conceive
His boundlesse worth, Could not come to the Grave
But lives; and still, so long as time doth last,
His fame (shall far, exceed the Worthyest.
Who in a word, proves truly such a Theame
That you may read Minerva in his Name.
To the Island of England, and the Vniversall Ocean.
O English Island, hence forbeare to boast:
You boundlesse Oceans, which surround its Coast,
Disclose your secrets: neither swell with pride,
Since Mervyn now, the Marinors best guide,
Is gone; for if, thy stormy Waves arise,
No Art, nor Skill, can Christendome devise
To compasse safely; he, was onely hee,
Who could tryumph, and in thy deepe did see
Those hidden dangers, which devour'd a world,
For want of knowledge, and were headlong hurld,
Beyond their bounds; but O! What Trophees can
Be then Created: for so rare a Man?
No; none at all; but such as may seeme Odd,
And must be made: by Neptun who's a God.
And that is this; the sky's shall change their kind
Into a Curtaine; and constrain the Wind
To stay; and henceforth never more shall blow,
But be a substance, and no ayrie show
Shall thence proceed; but shall as Emblem's flye
Gaiz'd on, and wondred at, with mortals eye:
As signes of honour; and shall so remaine,
Till Mervyn be, rais'd from the dust againe.
HENRIE MERVYN. Anag. Renue my hire.
HENRIE MERVYN. Anag. Merry in he'ven.
Dystichon Renue my hire; and make me one of them
That's Merry in he'ven, 'tis all whereat I ayme.
Eccrostick.
Here, learnings Compend, Miracolous in Arts
Estrang'd doth lye; (Endow'd with divyne Parts)
No more to more, Removed from our Spheare,
Remaines above, Ʋnstaind, in spotlesse Ayre,
Iust and ingenuous Yet he must Submit,
Even unto death, Nothing can Conquer it
But his perfection, who made him perfit,
Where Mervyn liv's, with Angels, in Delight.
London, Printed by Jane Coe, 1646.