Phyala Lachrymarum: Or A Few Friendly Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge who in the short journey of his life, died betweene the five and sixe and twentieth yeare of his youth, 1633. Together with sundry choyce Meditations of Mortalitie [by William Lathum] |
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Animæ Prosopopeia.
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 | Phyala Lachrymarum: Or A Few Friendly Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge |  |
Animæ Prosopopeia.
Morta la pecora non cressae piu la lana.
Yee gentle frends, who mourning here, attend
My livelesse corps, unto this Earthie bed,
There leaving it to sleepe untill the end,
When all shall live againe, who now are dead,
Weepe not for mee, sith I can neither see,
Nor heare your teares that here for mee are shed:
Ne all your prayers a whit can profit mee.
The sheepe once dead, the wooll ne're growes againe,
But as shee dies it lyes, all after-helpes are vaine.
Agree therefore while yee are in the way
With death the adversary of mankinde:
For when he comes, no pray'r can make him stay,
But hee takes all sorts as he doth them find.
If good, 'tis not in him to make them bad;
If bad, no time to mend by him assign'd:
What faith and hope wee at our parting had
Is onely ours; but all done after death
Nor hurts, nor helps, but passeth with the breath.
My livelesse corps, unto this Earthie bed,
There leaving it to sleepe untill the end,
When all shall live againe, who now are dead,
Weepe not for mee, sith I can neither see,
Nor heare your teares that here for mee are shed:
Ne all your prayers a whit can profit mee.
The sheepe once dead, the wooll ne're growes againe,
But as shee dies it lyes, all after-helpes are vaine.
Agree therefore while yee are in the way
With death the adversary of mankinde:
For when he comes, no pray'r can make him stay,
But hee takes all sorts as he doth them find.
If good, 'tis not in him to make them bad;
If bad, no time to mend by him assign'd:
What faith and hope wee at our parting had
Is onely ours; but all done after death
Nor hurts, nor helps, but passeth with the breath.
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For whilst we live, though at last gaspe wee been,
Our owne or others pray'rs mote doon us good:
Betweene the stirrup and the ground, betweene
The bridge, and headlong downfall to the flood,
Mercie can cause the soule catch hold of grace:
But soone as once the life forsakes the blood,
So fast it posteth to its proper place
Of weale, or woe, where it must ever stay,
No pray'r it overtakes, or profit may.
Our owne or others pray'rs mote doon us good:
Betweene the stirrup and the ground, betweene
The bridge, and headlong downfall to the flood,
Mercie can cause the soule catch hold of grace:
But soone as once the life forsakes the blood,
So fast it posteth to its proper place
Of weale, or woe, where it must ever stay,
No pray'r it overtakes, or profit may.
The ardent suite of that great man of meat
Was him deny'd; a seeming-small request;
One moyst coole drop to quench his scalding heat:
Yet, sith before his pray'r he was possest
Of his just doome, his due-deserved meed,
His tardie suit forth of the Court was cast:
For as the foale once from the body freed,
No more may be recall'd, no more can shee
By any humane helpe relieved bee.
Was him deny'd; a seeming-small request;
One moyst coole drop to quench his scalding heat:
Yet, sith before his pray'r he was possest
Of his just doome, his due-deserved meed,
His tardie suit forth of the Court was cast:
For as the foale once from the body freed,
No more may be recall'd, no more can shee
By any humane helpe relieved bee.
In vaine therefore doon silly soules relie
On pray'rs of frends at their departure hence:
Sith with our last breath, Heaven instantly
Is wonne or lost, no comming is from thence:
Ne is redemption from the place of Hell.
And Purgatory is a meere non-sense,
Where goodmens soules, till bought from thence, must dwell:
Onely his pray'rs, whose blood for us was shed,
Living, and dying stands our soules in stead.
On pray'rs of frends at their departure hence:
Sith with our last breath, Heaven instantly
Is wonne or lost, no comming is from thence:
Ne is redemption from the place of Hell.
And Purgatory is a meere non-sense,
Where goodmens soules, till bought from thence, must dwell:
Onely his pray'rs, whose blood for us was shed,
Living, and dying stands our soules in stead.
| Phyala Lachrymarum: Or A Few Friendly Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge | |