University of Virginia Library

An Epitaph vpon the death of Henry Sydhnam, and Giles Bampfield Gentlemen.

As rife as to my thought repaires
that drearie doleful day,
And most vnluckie houre (alas)
that hent my friend: away:
So oft my brest is like to burst,
and ribs to rend in twaine:
My liuer and my lungs giue vp,
my hart doth melt amaine.
And to decipher inward griefs
that crush my carcasse so:
The sluces of mine eyes so slip,
and let their humor go.
Out flies the floud of brackish teares,
whole seas of sorow swell:
In such abundance from my braine,
as wo it is to tell.
Why do I then conceale their names?
what means my sluggish pen,
To hide the haps and lucklesse lot
of these two manly men.
Sith silence breeds a smothering smart,
where sundry times we see:
That by disclosing of our mindes
great cares digested bee.
Wherfore my mournfull Muse begin, &c.
So Fortune would, the cankred Kernes,
who seldom ciuil are,
Detesting golden peace, tooke armes,
and fell to frantike war.
Up rose the rude and retchlesse rogues
with dreadfull darts in hand:
And sought to noy the noble state
of this our happy land.
Whose bedlam rage to ouerrule,
and fury to confound:
The L. of Essex chosen was,
a noble much renownd.
Away he went awaited on
of many a courtly knight:
Whose swelling harts had fully vowed
to daunt their foes in fight.
Among the rest (I rue to tell)
my Sydnham tooke the seas:
Gyles Bampfield eke aboord he leapt,
his princes wil to please.
Whose martial minds and burning brests
were bent to beare the broile:
Of bloodie wars, and die the death,
or giue the foe the foyle.
And treble blessed had they been,
if fortune so had willed:
That they with hawtie sword in hand
had died in open field.
For fame with garland of renowne
vndoubted decks his hed:
That in defence of Prince and Realme,
his life and bloud doth shed.
But out (alas) these gallant imps
before they came to land:
To shew their force and forward harts,
by dint of deadly hand.
Before they fought amid the field,
or lookt the foe in face:
With sodain storme in Irish streame
were drownd, a wofull case.
Up rose with rage a tempest huge,
that troubled so the surge,
As shipmen shrunke, and Pylot knew
not how to scape the scourge.
And yet no dread of doubtfull death,
no force of fretting fome:
Nor wrath of weltring waues could stay,
those martiall mates at home.
Not angry Aeols churlish chaffe,
that scoules amid the skies:
Nor sullen Neptunes surging suds
mought daunt their manly eyes.
Unworthy they (O gods) to feed
the hungry fish in flood:
Or die so base a death as that,
if you had thought it good.
But what you will, of force befals,
your heauenly power is such,
That where and how, and whom you lift,
your godheds daily tuch.
And reason good, that sithence all
by you was wrought and done:
No earthly wight should haue the wit
your wreakefull scourge to shonne.
Well, Sydhnam, Bampfield, and the rest,
sith wailing doth no good:
Nor that my teares can pay the price
or ransome of your blood.
Sith no deuise of man can make
that you should liue againe:
Let these my plaints in verse suffise
your soules, accept my paine.
If ought my writing be of power
to make your vertues known:
According to your due deserts
which you in life haue shown.
Assure your selues, my mournfull Muse
shall do the best it can:
To cause your names and noble minds,
to liue in mouth of man.
And so adue, my faithfull friends,
lamenting lets my quill:
I loued you liuing, and in death,
for euer so I will.
Accept my writing in good worth,
no fitter means I find
To do you good, now being dead,
nor ease my mourning mind.
No better life than you haue led
vnto my selfe I wish:
But happier death, if I might chuse,
than so to feed the fish.
The gods allow my lims a tombe
and graue wherein to lye:
That men may say, thrise happy he,
that happened so to die.
For kindly death is counted good,
and blessed they be thought:
That of their friends vnto the pit,
vpon the beere are brought.
But for my selfe, I reckon those
more blest a thousand fold,
That in the quarel of their prince,
their liues and blood haue sold.
As you mine ancient mates did meane,
for which the mightie Ioue:
In heauen shal place your souls, although
your bones on rocks do roue.