Ex otio Negotium Or, Martiall his epigrams Translated. With Sundry Poems and Fancies, By R. Fletcher |
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An Elegie Upon my dear little friend M. I: F. Who dyed the
same morning he was born. Decem. 10. 1654.
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 | Ex otio Negotium |  |
An Elegie Upon my dear little friend M. I: F. Who dyed the same morning he was born. Decem. 10. 1654.
Come all yee widdowed Muses, & put on
Your veils, and mourn in a full Helicon.
Press every doleful string to bear a part
In the sad harmonie of a broken heart.
Bring all your sacred springs as sweet supplies
To feed the swelling ocean of mine eyes.
Your veils, and mourn in a full Helicon.
Press every doleful string to bear a part
In the sad harmonie of a broken heart.
Bring all your sacred springs as sweet supplies
To feed the swelling ocean of mine eyes.
Be dumb yee Sons of mirth, let not a joy
Pry through the smalest crannie of the day:
But let an awful silence seize the soul
Of universal motion, whiles wee towl
Love's passing Bell, and ring a loud to all
Little Adonis and his mighty fall.
Pry through the smalest crannie of the day:
But let an awful silence seize the soul
Of universal motion, whiles wee towl
Love's passing Bell, and ring a loud to all
Little Adonis and his mighty fall.
Malignant Heaven! can there be envy there
Where never gall nor sequestration were?
Is't possible that in so pure a shrine
So consecrate, so holy, so divine
As thy bless'd mansions, there can dwel a grain
Or attome of black malice or disdain?
That for to boast thy riches to poor men
Could'st drop a pearl and snatch it up agen?
First scrue us to an Extasie of blisse
Then dash us by an Antipe'ristasis?
Punnish a moment's ravishing happiness
With such a furious glut of sharp distress?
Where never gall nor sequestration were?
Is't possible that in so pure a shrine
So consecrate, so holy, so divine
As thy bless'd mansions, there can dwel a grain
Or attome of black malice or disdain?
That for to boast thy riches to poor men
Could'st drop a pearl and snatch it up agen?
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Then dash us by an Antipe'ristasis?
Punnish a moment's ravishing happiness
With such a furious glut of sharp distress?
Could light & darkness be so twin'd together
In such close webs of bitter chang of weather,
Just parted by a single subtile thred
No sooner to be judg'd a live but dead?
Could wit and fate no less a torment finde?
Would th'hadst not bin so cruel, or so kinde!
In such close webs of bitter chang of weather,
Just parted by a single subtile thred
No sooner to be judg'd a live but dead?
Could wit and fate no less a torment finde?
Would th'hadst not bin so cruel, or so kinde!
Bless'd Babe! why could not thy friends many tears
Invite thine innocent stay for a few years?
Or at the least why didst thou them bereave
Of the short comfort of a longer leave?
How can that drown the anguish of thy birth
For joy a man was born upon the earth?
When th'Midwife only could arrive to this
To reach thee to thy first and latest kiss?
How loaded with ingratitude didst thou part
From thy twice travelling Mother in one smart?
First pain'd for thy remiss and slow delay,
Now thrown for thy abortive hast away?
Invite thine innocent stay for a few years?
Or at the least why didst thou them bereave
Of the short comfort of a longer leave?
How can that drown the anguish of thy birth
For joy a man was born upon the earth?
When th'Midwife only could arrive to this
To reach thee to thy first and latest kiss?
How loaded with ingratitude didst thou part
From thy twice travelling Mother in one smart?
First pain'd for thy remiss and slow delay,
Now thrown for thy abortive hast away?
But yet I wrangle not with heavens decree,
Th'hast only posted ore that miserie,
Through which we beat the hoof sad Seventy Years
To the last Act of life, in hopes and fears,
Midst a perverse world, and a shipwrack'd-age
Of Truth and Worth, & draw late off the Stage.
To lay more weight or pressure upon thee
Twere envy to thy suddain victorie.
Thou only wak'dst into the world, and then
Shut'st up in holy discontent agen.
Thy chast unspoted soul just lighted on
The floor and perch of our low Horison,
But quickly finding the mistake, that here
Was not her Center, nor her Hemisphære,
She made a point, and darted back most nice
Like lightening to her element in a trice.
Th'hast only posted ore that miserie,
Through which we beat the hoof sad Seventy Years
To the last Act of life, in hopes and fears,
Midst a perverse world, and a shipwrack'd-age
Of Truth and Worth, & draw late off the Stage.
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Twere envy to thy suddain victorie.
Thou only wak'dst into the world, and then
Shut'st up in holy discontent agen.
Thy chast unspoted soul just lighted on
The floor and perch of our low Horison,
But quickly finding the mistake, that here
Was not her Center, nor her Hemisphære,
She made a point, and darted back most nice
Like lightening to her element in a trice.
The Thracian Dranst which with joy interr
Their Dead, and sport about their Sepulchre,
But mourn still at their birth, to think upon
Those choaking cares of earth are coming on,
May here preach rules of piety to my grief,
In bad times doubting what's best death or life
Crown'd Saint indeed thou might'st have staid.
A mournfull Student in our historie,
Have read a world of sad looks in each page to bee
And passage of a sore distracted age,
And then discussd the causes how and why,
Which to repeat renews th'extremity;
So have entail'd thy guiltless tears to ours
Now swel'd to flouds by long continued showers.
Their Dead, and sport about their Sepulchre,
But mourn still at their birth, to think upon
Those choaking cares of earth are coming on,
May here preach rules of piety to my grief,
In bad times doubting what's best death or life
Crown'd Saint indeed thou might'st have staid.
A mournfull Student in our historie,
Have read a world of sad looks in each page to bee
And passage of a sore distracted age,
And then discussd the causes how and why,
Which to repeat renews th'extremity;
So have entail'd thy guiltless tears to ours
Now swel'd to flouds by long continued showers.
But thou hast wrought that haven in a breath,
For which we sweat & tug our selves to death.
Thou met'st no tempest of assault to stay
Thy fleeting bark in full sail all the way.
Wee're clogd with thousand Remoraes, men of war
That cross the rode, through which with many a scar
And foil we militant Christians doe cōmence,
And at the last take heaven by violence.
For which we sweat & tug our selves to death.
Thou met'st no tempest of assault to stay
Thy fleeting bark in full sail all the way.
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That cross the rode, through which with many a scar
And foil we militant Christians doe cōmence,
And at the last take heaven by violence.
Such was thy suddain how-dee & farewell,
Such thy return the Angels scarce could tell
Thy miss, But that thy feast was drawing on
Of th'Son of God's high Genethliacon,
Where all the holy Hosts appear to sing
Solemn Te Deum's to the glorious King.
Hence flowes thy sweet excuse of hast: Then since
Our loss was thy enjoyment of thy Prince,
The Annual attendance on his Day
To fill the heavens with Haleluiah.
Yet grant us so much of the court, to bee
Envious a while at thy felicitie,
That thou so young a favourite shouldst pertake
Those smiles for which we so much cringing make.
And reach that height of honour in a glance,
For which we toil through Law & Ordinance.
Such thy return the Angels scarce could tell
Thy miss, But that thy feast was drawing on
Of th'Son of God's high Genethliacon,
Where all the holy Hosts appear to sing
Solemn Te Deum's to the glorious King.
Hence flowes thy sweet excuse of hast: Then since
Our loss was thy enjoyment of thy Prince,
The Annual attendance on his Day
To fill the heavens with Haleluiah.
Yet grant us so much of the court, to bee
Envious a while at thy felicitie,
That thou so young a favourite shouldst pertake
Those smiles for which we so much cringing make.
And reach that height of honour in a glance,
For which we toil through Law & Ordinance.
I chide thee then no longer Happy Soul,
Farewel, farewel! since man cannot controule
The hand of Providence. May thine ashes lye
Soft, till I meet thee in eternity!
Where we shal part no more, nor death devide
My griefs and their sweet object, but a tide
Of endlesse joy shall satisfaction make
For this poor stream of brine shed for thy sake.
Farewel, farewel! since man cannot controule
The hand of Providence. May thine ashes lye
Soft, till I meet thee in eternity!
Where we shal part no more, nor death devide
My griefs and their sweet object, but a tide
Of endlesse joy shall satisfaction make
For this poor stream of brine shed for thy sake.
| Ex otio Negotium | |