The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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| VII. | VII. Epitaphs. |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
337
VII. Epitaphs.
AN EPITAPH ON MR. JOHN SMYTH, CHAPLAYNE TO THE RIGHT HOBLE THE EARLE OF PEMBROOKE.
Know thou, that treadst on learned Smyth invrn'd,Man is an Houre-glasse that is neuer turn'd;
He is gone through; & we that stay behinde,
Are in the vpper Glasse, yet vnrefynde.
When we are fit, with him soe truely iust,
We shall fall downe, and sleepe with him in dust.
ON MRS. ANNE PRIDEAUX, DAUGHTER OF MR. DOCTOR PRIDEAUX, REGIUS PROFESSOR.
SHE DYDE AT THE AGE OF 6 YEARES.
Nature in this small Volume was aboutTo perfect what in woman was left out;
Yet fearefull least a Piece soe well begun
Might want Preseruatiues, when she had done;
Ere she could finish what she vndertooke,
Threw dust vpon yt, & shut vp the Booke.
338
AN EPITAPH ON MR. WM. HOPTON.
Reader, stay, & read a Truth:Heere lyes Hopton, Goodnes, Youth.
Drop a teare, & let it be
True as thou would'st wish for thee;
Shed one more, thou best of soules;
Those two teares shall be new Poles:
By the first wee'le sayle & find
Those lost Jewells of his mynde;
By the Latter we will swymme
Back againe, & sleep with him.
AN EPITAPH ON SR. JOHN PROWDE.
(LIEUTENANT COLLONELL TO SR. CHARLES MORGAN), SLAYNE AT THE SIEDGE OF GROLL, & BURYED AT ZUTPHEN, 1627.
After a March of twenty yeares, & more,I got me downe on Yssells warlike shore;
There now I lye intrench'd, where none can seize me,
Vntill an Hoste of Angells come to raise me:
Warre was my Mistresse, & I courted her,
As Semele was by the Thunderer;
The mutuall Tokens 'twixt vs two allow'd,
Were Bullets wrapt in fire, sent in a Clowd;
One I receiued, which made me passe so farre,
That Honor layde me in the Bed of Warre.
IN OBITUM M. S. xo MAIJ, 1614.
May! Be thou neuer grac'd with birds that sing,Nor Flora's pride!
In thee all flowers & Roses spring.
Mine onely dide.
339
ON MR. VAUX, THE PHYSITIAN.
Stay! this Graue deserues a Teare;
'Tis not a Coarse, but life lyes here:
May be thine owne, at least some part,
And thou the Walking Marble art.
'Tis not a Coarse, but life lyes here:
May be thine owne, at least some part,
And thou the Walking Marble art.
'Tis Vaux! whom Art & Nature gaue
A powre to plucke men from the Graue;
When others druggs made Ghostes of men,
His gaue them back their flesh agen;
'Tis he lyes heere, & thou & I
May wonder he found time to dye;
So busyed was he, & so rife,
Distributing both health & life.
A powre to plucke men from the Graue;
When others druggs made Ghostes of men,
His gaue them back their flesh agen;
'Tis he lyes heere, & thou & I
May wonder he found time to dye;
So busyed was he, & so rife,
Distributing both health & life.
Honor his Marble with your Teares,
You, to whom he hath added yeares;
You, whose lifes light he was about
Soe carefull, that his owne went out.
Be you his liuing Monument! or we
Will rather thinke you in the Graue then he.
You, to whom he hath added yeares;
You, whose lifes light he was about
Soe carefull, that his owne went out.
Be you his liuing Monument! or we
Will rather thinke you in the Graue then he.
ON ONE DROWNED IN THE SNOWE.
Within a fleece of Silent waters drown'd,
Before I met with death a graue I found;
That which exilde my life from her sweet home,
For griefe streight froze it selfe into a Tombe.
One onely element my fate thought meet
To be my Death, Graue, Tombe, & Winding Sheet;
Phœbus himselfe my Epitaph had writ;
But blotting many, ere he thought one fit,
He wrote vntill my Tombe & Graue were gone,
And 'twas an Epitaph, that I had none;
For euery man that past along the waye
Without a Sculpture read, that there I laye.
Before I met with death a graue I found;
That which exilde my life from her sweet home,
For griefe streight froze it selfe into a Tombe.
One onely element my fate thought meet
To be my Death, Graue, Tombe, & Winding Sheet;
Phœbus himselfe my Epitaph had writ;
But blotting many, ere he thought one fit,
He wrote vntill my Tombe & Graue were gone,
And 'twas an Epitaph, that I had none;
340
Without a Sculpture read, that there I laye.
Here now, the second time, entomb'd I lie,
And thus much haue the best of Destinye:
Corruption (from which onely one was free)
Deuour'd my grave, but did not feed on me.
My first Graue tooke me from the race of men;
My last shall giue me back to life agen.
And thus much haue the best of Destinye:
Corruption (from which onely one was free)
Deuour'd my grave, but did not feed on me.
My first Graue tooke me from the race of men;
My last shall giue me back to life agen.
ON MR. JOHN DEANE, OF NEW COLLEDGE.
Let no man walke neere this Tombe,
That hath left his Griefe at home.
Heere so much of Goodnesse lyes,
We should not weepe teares, but eyes,
And grope homeward from this stone
Blinde for contemplation
How to liue & dye as he.
Deane, to thy deare memorye
With this I would offer more,
Could I be secur'd before
They should not be frown'd vpon
At thy Resurrection.
That hath left his Griefe at home.
Heere so much of Goodnesse lyes,
We should not weepe teares, but eyes,
And grope homeward from this stone
Blinde for contemplation
How to liue & dye as he.
Deane, to thy deare memorye
With this I would offer more,
Could I be secur'd before
They should not be frown'd vpon
At thy Resurrection.
Yet accept upon thy hearse
My Teares, far better then my Verse.
They may turne to eyes, & keepe
Thy bed vntouch'd, whilst thou dost sleepe.
My Teares, far better then my Verse.
They may turne to eyes, & keepe
Thy bed vntouch'd, whilst thou dost sleepe.
AN EPITAPH.
Faire Canace this little Tombe doth hyde,Whoe onely seuen Decembers told and dyde.
O Crueltie! O synne! yet no man heere
Must for so short a life let fall a Teare;
341
First seas'd her mouth, & spoil'd her sweet aspect:
A horrid Ill her kisses bitt away,
And gaue her almost liples to the Clay.
Is Destinye so swift a flight did will her,
It might haue found some other way to kill her;
But Death first strooke her dumb, in hast to haue her,
Lest her sweete tongue should force the Fates to save her.
ON MR. FRANCIS LEE OF THE TEMPLE, GENT.
Nature haueing seen the Fates
Give some births vntimely dates,
And cut of those threds (before
Halfe their web was twisted ore)
Which she chiefly had intended
With iust story should be friended,
Vnderhand shee had begun,
From those distaffes half-way-spun,
To haue made a piece to tarry,
As our Edward should, or Harry.
Give some births vntimely dates,
And cut of those threds (before
Halfe their web was twisted ore)
Which she chiefly had intended
With iust story should be friended,
Vnderhand shee had begun,
From those distaffes half-way-spun,
To haue made a piece to tarry,
As our Edward should, or Harry.
But the fatall Sisters spyeing
What a fair worke she was plying,
Curstly cut it from the Loome,
And hid it vnderneath this Tombe.
What a fair worke she was plying,
Curstly cut it from the Loome,
And hid it vnderneath this Tombe.
MY OWNE EPITAPH.
Loaden with earth, as earth by such as I,
In hopes of life, in Deaths cold arme I lye;
Laid vp there, whence I came, as shipps nere spilt
Are in the dock vndone to be new built.
Short was my course, & had it longer bin,
I had return'd but burthen'd more with Sin.
Tread on me he that list; but learne withall,
As we make but one crosse, so thou must fall,
To be made one to some deare friend of thine,
That shall surueigh thy graue, as thou dost myne.
In hopes of life, in Deaths cold arme I lye;
Laid vp there, whence I came, as shipps nere spilt
Are in the dock vndone to be new built.
342
I had return'd but burthen'd more with Sin.
Tread on me he that list; but learne withall,
As we make but one crosse, so thou must fall,
To be made one to some deare friend of thine,
That shall surueigh thy graue, as thou dost myne.
Teares aske I none, for those in death are vayne,
The true repentant showres which I did rayne
From my sad soule, in time to come will bring,
To this dead roote an euerlasting spring.
Till then my soule with her Creator keepes,
To waken in fit time what herein sleepes.
The true repentant showres which I did rayne
From my sad soule, in time to come will bring,
To this dead roote an euerlasting spring.
Till then my soule with her Creator keepes,
To waken in fit time what herein sleepes.
Wm. Browne. 1614.
ON HIS WIFE, AN EPITAPH.
Thou needst no Tomb (my Wife) for thou hast one,To which all Marble is but Pumix Stone.
Thou art engrau'd so deeply in my heart,
It shall out-last the strongest hand of Art.
Death shall not blott the thence, although I must
In all my other parts dissolue to dust;
For thy Deare Name, thy happy Memorie,
May so embalme it for Eternity,
That when I rise, the name of my deare Wife
Shall there be seen, as in the booke of life.
ON THE COUNTESSE DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE
Vnderneath this sable HerseLyes the subiect of all verse:
Sydneyes sister, Pembroke's Mother:
Death, ere thou hast slaine another,
Faire, & Learn'd, & good as she,
Tyme shall throw a dart at thee.”
343
ON THE R. H. SUSAN, COUNTESSE OF MONTGOMERIE.
Though we trust the earth with thee,We will not with thy memorie;
Mines of Brasse or Marble shall
Speake nought of thy funerall;
They are veryer dust then we,
And do begg a Historye:
In thy Name there is a Tombe,
If the world can giue it Roome;
For a Vere, & Herberts wyfe
Outspeakes Tombes, out-liues all lyfe.
AN EPITAPH ON MR. THOMAS AYLEWORTH.
Heere wither'd lyes a flowre, which blowne,Was cropt assone as it was knowne;
The loss was greate, & the offence,
Since one vnworthie took it hence.
W. Browne.
AN EPITAPH ON MRS. EL: Y.
Vnderneath this stone there lyes
More of Beauty then are eyes;
Or to read that she is gone,
Or alyue to gaze vpon.
More of Beauty then are eyes;
Or to read that she is gone,
Or alyue to gaze vpon.
She in so much fairenes clad,
To each Grace a Vertue had;
All her Goodnes cannot be
Cut in Marble. Memorie
Would be vseles, ere we tell
In a Stone her worth. Farewell.
To each Grace a Vertue had;
All her Goodnes cannot be
Cut in Marble. Memorie
Would be vseles, ere we tell
In a Stone her worth. Farewell.
344
ON MR TURNER OF ST. MARY-HALL.
I Rose, and coming downe to dyne,I Turner met, a learn'd diuyne;
'Twas the first tyme that I was blest
With sight of him, & had possest
His company not three houres space,
But Oxford call'd him from that place.
Our friendship was begun (for Arts,
Or loue of them, cann marry hearts).
But see whereon we trust: eight dayes
From thence, a friend of mine thus sayes:
Turner is dead; (amaz'd) thought I,
Could so much health so quickly dye?
And haue I lost my hopes to be
Endear'd to so much industry?
O man! behold thy strength, and knowe
Like our first sight and parting, soe
Are all our liues, which I must say,
Was but a dinner, and away.
ON GOODMAN HURST OF THE GEORGE AT HORSHAM,
DYEING SUDDAINELY WHILE YE E. OF NOTTINGHAM LAYE THERE, 26 AUGUST, 1637.
See what we are: for though we often saye,Wee are like guests that ride vpon the waye,
Trauell and lodge, & when the Morne comes on,
Call for a reck'ning, paye, & so are gone—
Wee err; and haue lesse time to be possest,
For see! the Hoste is gone before the guest.
345
[Heere lyes kind Tom, thrust out of dore]
Heere lyes kind Tom, thrust out of dore,Nor hye nor low, nor rich nor poore;
He left the world with heauy cheere,
And neuer knew what he made heere.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |