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Small poems of Divers sorts

Written by Sir Aston Cokain

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3. On the death of Henry Lord Hastings, Son to the right Honourable Ferdinand Earl of Huntingdon, & c.
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3. On the death of Henry Lord Hastings, Son to the right Honourable Ferdinand Earl of Huntingdon, & c.

Know all to whom these few sad lines shall come,
This melancholy Epicedium,
The young Lord Hastings death occasion'd it,
Amidst a storm of Lamentations writ;
Tempests of sighes and grones, and flowing eyes
Whose yielding balls dissolve to Deluges:
And mournful Numbers that with dreadful sound
Waite his bemoned body to the ground,
Are all, and the last duties we can pay
The Noble Spirit that is fled away.

70

Tis gone, alas! tis gone, though it did leave
A body rich in all Nature could give;
Superiour in beauty to the youth
That won the Spartan Queen to forfeit truth,
Break wedlocks strictest bonds, and be his wife;
Environed with tumults all her Life.
His years were in the balmie Spring of Age
Adorn'd with blossomes ripe for marriage,
And but mature; His sweet conditions known
To be so good they could be none but's own.
Our English Nation was enamour'd more
On his full worth, then Rome was heretofore
Of great Vespasian's Jew-subduing Heire,
The love and the Delight of mankind here.
After a large survey of Histories,
Our Criticks (curious in honour, wise
In paralleling generous Souls) will finde
This youthful Lord did bear as brave a minde.
His few but well spent years had master'd all
The liberal Arts: And his sweet tongue could fall
Into the ancient Dialects, dispence
Sacred Judeas amplest eloquence;
The Latine Idiome elegantly true;
And Greek as rich as Athens ever knew:
Italy, France, and Spain, did all confess
Him perfect in their modern Languages.
At his Nativity, what angry Star
Malignant influences flung so far?
What Caput Algolls, and what dire Aspects,
Occasioned so tragical effects?

71

As soon as death this fatal blow had given,
I fancy mighty Clarence sigh'd in Heaven;
And till this glorious Soul arrived there,
Recover'd not from his Amaze and fear.
Had this befal'n in ancient credulous times,
He had been deifi'd by Poets rimes;
That Age enamour'd of his Graces, soon
Majestick Fanes (in adoration)
Would have rays'd to his memory, and there
On golden Altars (year succeeding year)
Burnt holy incense, and Sabæan Gums,
That Curles of vapour from those Hecatombs,
Sould reach his Soul in Heaven: but we must pay
No such Oblations in our purer way:
A nobler Service we him owe then that,
His fair example ever t'emulate.
With the Advantage of our double years
Lets imitate him, and (through all Affairs,
And all Encounters of our Lives) intend
To live like him, and make as good an end.
To aim at brave things is an evident signe
In Spirits, that to honour they incline;
And though they do come short in the Contest,
Tis full of glory to have done one's best.
You mournful Parents whom the Fates compel
To bear the Loss of this great miracle,
This wonder of our Times, amidst a sigh
(Surrounded with your thick'st Calamity)
Reflect on joy, think what an happiness
(Though humane Nature oft conceits it less)

72

It was to have a Son of so much worth,
He was too good to grace the wretched earth.
As silver Trent through our North Countries glides,
Adorn'd with Swans, & crown'd with flowry sides,
And rushing into mightier Humbers Waves,
Augments the Regal Æstuarium's Braves:
So he, after a life of eighteen years
Well mannaged Example to our Peeres,
In's early youth encountring sullen Fate,
(Orecome) became a Trophey to his State.
Didst thou sleep Hymen? or art lately grown
T'affect the Subterranean Region?
Enamour'd on bleard Libentina's eyes,
Hoarse-howling Dirges, and the baleful Cries
Of Inauspicious voices, and (above
Thy Star-like torch) with horrid tombs in love?
Thou art; or surely hadst oppos'd this high
Affront of death against thy Deity:
Nor wrong'd an excellent Virgin who had given
Her heart to him, who hath his Soul to Heaven;
Whose Beauties thou hast clouded, and whose eyes
Drowned in tears at these sad Exequies.
The fam'd Heroes of the golden Age,
Those Demigods whose vertues did asswage
And calm the furies of the wildest mindes
That were grown salvage even against their kinds,
Might from their Constellations have look'd down
And by this young Lord seen themselves out-gon.
Farewel (Admired Spirit) that art free
From this strict Prison of Mortalitie.

73

Ashby, proud of the honour to enshrine
The beauteous Body (whence the Soul Divine
Did lately part) be careful of thy trust,
That no profane hand wrong that hallow'd Dust.
The Costly Marble needes no friend t'engrave
Upon it any doleful Epitaph;
No good Man's tongue that Office will decline,
Whil'st years succeeding reach the end of time.