Astraea's Teares :: :: University of Virginia Library

Astraea's Teares

An Elegie Vpon the death of that Reverend, Learned and Honest Judge, Sir Richard Hutton Knight; Lately one of his Majesties Iustices in his Highnesse Court of Common Plees at Westminster [by Richard Brathwait]

Brathwait, Richard (1588?-1673)

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To my worthily-accomplished and most endeared Cosin, SIR Richard Hutton Knight.

To my truly-esteemed and highly-respected Cosin,

Astræa's Teares.

TO THE PIOUS MEMORY of Sir Richard Hutton Knight;

TO THE LIVING MEMORIE of that Reverend, learned and honest Judge, Sir Richard Hutton KNIGHT:

Astræa's Anthem.

[subsection]

Astræa's Shrine.

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TO THE LIVING MEMORIE of that Reverend, learned and honest Judge, Sir Richard Hutton KNIGHT:

And late one of his Majesties Justices for the Court of Common Plees at Westminster.

An Elegie.

Ar't gone just Judge? yet e're thou go'st from hence

This was composed the very same morning he dyed.

Receive thy Godsonnes teares in recompence
Of many Blessings thou bestow'd of him;
“To silence goodnesse were an envious sin.

To tell men what thou wer't; what thou hast done,
Were but to give a light unto the Sun.

Were a prompt legist lawlesse to his foe, Hee'd say, “Aquinas never taught him so.—Discessit ab orbe satelles Pauperis; hea clemāt inopes!—

While'st thou liv'd here, who did not love to heare
With what an equall hand, impartiall eare
Thou measur'd Justice; regulating Lawes,

“Skales not to weigh the Person but the Cause?
This caused Poor-mens prayers perfume the way,

“There goes the Honest Judge! thus would they say.
Yet did not th' Style of goodnesse make thee proud,
Nor feed vaine beates in thy well temper'd blood:
For Thou, while'st thou didst flourish in this Ile,
Wer't ta'ne with

Those men all goodnesse in their brests compile, Love goodnesse for herselfe not for her Style. Musæ.

love of goodnesse, not of Style.

Nor did thy vertuous parts take here their Stand,
Thy pious heart reach'd forth a bounteous band,
Both which express'd thy charitable nature,
In sowing of thy bread upon the water;

Sowing I well may say, for seene I have
Thy hand more prompt to give, then th' poor to crave,
So free thy Almes was, that as I live
Thy

Non tua tuba sonat, nec insanbor aura coronat, Dextera quod tribuit, lœva referre nequit.

Left hand knew not what thy Right did give.

And now a

Vespera bona, Phoebi corona. ib.

glorious Even h'as crown'd thy day,
In paying Nature what we all must pay,
And at this time, when thou a palme of peace
Didst heare these Warlike Rumours to increase:
When All by th' first of March were marching home,
Thou to thy Mannor-house of Clay art gone.

But hence to thy interment! where I see
The very day fits this Solemnitie
ASHWEDNESDAY! Ashes to ashes turne,
Like precious Treasures closed in an Urne:

Though in their Ceremony different
From that knowne Preparation unto Lent,
So antiently solemniz'd: for in stead
Of Pœnitentiall ashes on the head,
Thy precious Soule so richly beautifide,
Expects thy ashes to be glorifide.

But lo! the place where thou interred art,
Presents new-pensive Objects to my hart:

Sainct Dunstons. Vid. Panarete: Anni. vers. 5.

For neare this Holy ground of thine possest,
A grimmer Hagge then Death did me arrest
Till thy just-judging Eye did rightly scan
My cause, and free'd me from th' Leviathan:
For ne're was man surpriz'd with more deceite,
Nor with more Grace retreved from a Grate.

No more; no more; true teares have drencht my sight,
The Evening crownes the Day:—Just Judge, good night.

------ Terris Astræa reclusit
Astris conspicuam lucem magis, Orbe priorem.