The Muses Sacrifice :: :: University of Virginia Library

A Virgin, Wife, and Widow, three that One
Held rarely perfect in like Vnion,
Incites my Muse; nay, more, doth her cōstrain
To empt my Pen of Praise, of Wit my Braine
In her deserued honor: she whose all
Was nought but good; yet so, as we may call
That good but nought (and iustly) if the same
Giue not her goodnesse glory more than fame!

A Maide, in whom Virginitie gaue place
(Though most exact) to Modestie and Grace.
A Wife (who like old Iosephs blessed Bride)
Though wedded, but vnbedded till she dide,
Yet from her came, on her by Grace begot,
Faith, Feare and Dutie, in a True-loue knot,
Till his decease, to whom these three she bare:
And after, for him, nurst them still with care.

She liu'd a Widow; but t'was hard to know
Whether she liu'd or dide when she was so:
Sith when she lost her Pheare, she lost her Breath;
For, Turtle-like, she mourn'd and droupt to death.
But while t'was losing she such Patience wanne
(By his Death mortifide) as she beganne
(Before her end) her Heau'n on Earth thereby,
In hope to liue with Him when Life should die.
So, in her Patience, she her Soule possest
Her God; in whom her Soule, with his, did rest;
Yet rested so, that still (vnseene) she mou'd
to both deuoutly, whom so much she lou'd!

Poets can shape of things that grace forsakes
Farre rarer things than grace or nature makes.

[111]

But let all Poets all their Arte vnite
To fable praise, the morall is her right.

Nature profusely had on her bestow'd
(Borrowing of grace) more grace then e'er she ow'd!
And grace (as enuying Natures Gifts, so rare)
Vnlockt the Heau'ns where all her Treasures are,
And showr'd them downe so on this deerest Maide,
As she for worth, an Angell should haue waide.

Wit for her worth can ne'er hiperbolize;
Much lesse a Poet in it Poetize;
Sith what or Wit or Poetry can praise
(With their best Arte) was found in her: then raise
Her vp my Muse, ere she be rais'd, at last;
And her enthrone in glory high as fast:
That when the Virgin, whom all Virgins blesse.,
Shall, for her graces, see her gloriousnesse
In Heau'n and Earth, she may (as worthy her)
Enbozome her, or fixe her in a Starre,
Whose Name and Fame while mortall Virgins liue,
To them, with hers, may Light and Vertue giue!

For this, her Soule still labour'd to be gone,
T'returne her Errand of Creation:
As fiery Matter working in a Cloud
Breakes through, for want of Matter it to shrowde:
So Soules, with stirring much, are said to fire
The best Complexions; and (so) home retire.
But, Sicknesse (ah too sweet-lipt) suckt her Bloud,
That she had none to fire in likelihood:
And so her vitall-flame, vnnourished;
Her Soule through coldnesse, left her body dead.

112

A short life made her Virgin, Widow, Wife,
But, well she liu'd, which is the Well of life.
This old World was vnworthy such a Iemme,
Therefore she shines in new Ierusalem!

I best can witnesse how her time she spent,
Who taught her hand to shew her hearts entent:
Then may I best renowne (for knowne desert)
The Pupill of my Hand that had my Heart.
Thou hadst my Heart (deare Pupill) sith in thee
Was all that might intirely master me.
And did my Pow'r but equall halfe my Will,
Laura should be thy Foile: for, I (by skill)
Would set thee so aboue her, that thy light
(With poynant Beames) should thrust through Earth and Night:
For, when Formositie and Vertue striue
In one sole Subiect for Prerogatiue,
That Subiects praise must raigne (all Tearmes aboue)
In height of Glory, Memory, and Loue!

The Grand-sire of thy Flesh in Earth's renown'd;
And thy spirits Grand-sire King of Heau'n is crown'd:
Thou liuing, then, as comming from such Sires,
Our Songs must answere the Celestiall Quires,
That chant the praise of Vertue in their King,
In whom thou art, then we on earth must sing
Thy praise in his, sith his all praise containes:
So thine in his, eternall glory gaines!

To thee then sing I, as I sing of Thee,
Who art sole Base of this high Harmony:
For, knowing Tombes haue ends as well as wasts,
And that strong Rime their ruine farre out-lasts,

[112]

My Muse shall labour on this ground of Fame,
To raise a Pile of Rime, whereon thy Name
Shall euer shine, through Wits Celestiall Flashes,
Vntill another Phœnix of the Ashes
Produced be; that when it eft shall burne
In those eternall flames, it eft may turne
To pristine plight; and by such alteration,
Liue Phœnix-like (still bright) in admiration!
We waile their want whose Liues our wants supplide,
Not weighing how they liu'd, but when they dide:
For, the best liuers here, doe liuing dye;
But after death they liue immortally.

Children and Fooles are angry still with those
That, to distill; disleaue the fairest Rose;
Not pond'ring how the sweetnesse in the Iuyce
Is so increast, and longer lasts for vse:
So, we that see this Rose (whose hue and breath
Celestiall were) diuided so by Death,
Though it for heau'nly purposes be done,
Yet still our thoughts but on the spoile doe runne.
But ô be't farre from vs, to thinke thee spoil'd
In liuing blest, and dying so vnsoil'd:
No: we thy Memory will celebrate;
Whose weale we waile not, but reioyce thereat.

If in this Paper Monument there be
One Ornament of Arte that's worthy thee,
Or any Worke of Wit that may retaine
Thy Memory; my Labour for my Paine
Is too great Meede; sith by the same I show
Times future, what will better them to know.

113

So, shall I in thy Praise include mine owne;
And making thee so knowne still, still be knowne:
For, if this Shrine chance to be visited
By any, that regard the worthy dead,
It may be they will thinke me worthy Loue,
That on this Pile did all my cunning proue.

Th'Egyptians with their Pirameds did striue
(Against the Heau'ns) to keepe such, dead, aliue:
And Artemisia with a matchlesse Tombe
Makes her Mausolus liue vntill the doome:
Though It be now demolished and gone;
Yet is he knowne by It, as It was knowne.
And Wit, but with meere Words, hath often rais'd
A Monument of Praise, farre longer prais'd.
Then may this Worke, which but weake words erect,
(Vpon so sure a Ground) worke like effect.

The Name of Egerton she doth renowne;
And

Dutton.

that by which she last of all was known:
Nay, had she had, by Fortune, all the Names
That Wit for Natures vilest Creatures frames,
Sh'had so much Grace consorting still her Bloud
As to haue made them all as great as good!

The Dayes of old did lay their Macchabes
Vnder Worlds-wonders, huge Piramides!
Semiramis, in her bright Polymite:
And Cyrus, in his Obelisk as bright.
In his Columna they Augustus shut:
And in his Mole-magno, Hadrian put.
Alaricus, the Gothe that ruinde Rome,
In his rich Rubico they did entombe.

[113]

Those, dead, yet liu'd by these: and these againe,
Liue yet by those, though nought of them remaine!

But, were I able, I my Saint would shrine
Within the mouthes of Angels most diuine;
Sith they out-last all Worlds, that Time doth end,
And haue (of creatures) best mouthes to commend!
But liue (sweet Saint) in mine immortall Rime
(Made by thy vertue such) past Tombes and Time:
For, if eternall Vertue cannot dye,
Then thou must liue, till She doth ruin'd lye.

Farewell, deare Maide (whose body (like a soule)
Had pow'r t'inflame the Loue it did controule)
Farewell while we, by thy deare losse fare ill;
That is; while griefes doe grow the Heart to fill:
For she that held all Hearts (by her deserts)
To her entire, her Death must breake all Hearts.

Ye Ladyes (that (aliue) doe inly loue
So much o'er-weening that doth mortall proue)
Looke not ascue, nor turne the Head aside
(As if you could no Praise but yours abide)
At these iust Praises (Relickes of the Dead)
But learne by them to be so honoured.
“Enuy doth leaue the Enui'd at the Graue;
That Fort from Enuy should the Vertuous saue:
Then (ô) exalt these Lauds, vnlesse you will
Be rather pittied, then enuide still.

Poets (I grant) haue libertie to giue
More height to Grace, then the Superlatiue:
So hath a Painter licence too, to paint
A Saint-like face, till it the Saint out saint.

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But Truth (which now mine Art to shaddow striues)
Makes licence larger by the grace she giues.

But yet,
To say thou wast the Forme, (that is the soule)
Of all this All; I should thee misenroule
In Booke of Life; which (on the Earth) they keepe
That of Arts fountaines haue carowsed deepe.
Nay, so I should displease and wrong thee both:
For, vniust praise thou canst not chose but lothe,
That lothed'st it here; then there, more (past compare)
For, hee's the Soule of All by whom they are.
But I may say, (and none the same gainsayes)
Thou art the soule of this thy World of Praise!
Whose soule did animate thy small-world too
To be the soule of all that here I doe.

Oft haue I seene thee, (nay I see thee yet,
Whose face and manners I shall ne'er forget)
When as thine eares had heard, or eyes had seene
Ought that to Vertue had offensiue beene,
Thy face and brest with that faire blush o'erflow
Which Modestie (not Bashfulnesse) doth owe.

In these bold Times it's held a Tricke too fresh
Of vnbred Indians, so to paint the flesh
For any cause: but, this is but th'effect
Of Impudence, the Times soules chiefe affect.

No Parts (if laudable) at Court requir'd:
But they attir'd thee in thy state retir'd,
Yet thou so modestly didst act them still
As that the light'st seem'd graue against their will!

[114]

What shall I say? in thee was nought so small
That was not greatly prais'd and lou'd of All!
This shewes thy Mother true vnto thy Sire,
Whose worths, in loue, set all the World on fire!
Thou, his true Daughter, likewise dost the same,
While thou goest through Obliuion by the flame!

The Soule a two-fold action hath; that is,
Originall, and Instrumentall; this
By Nature doth the like produce; but that
(Meere Intellectual) doth not generate.
Though Nature yet, could not so high aspire,
Thou, in thy spirit, wast like thine honor'd Sire
By speciall grace of Heau'n; for, in your Birth
Such Planets met, as deckt and ioyde the Earth.
But ô! too soone the earth quite lost that Ioy;
And in that losse found infinite Annoy.
Such is the staylesse state of Things below,
That doe but vanish while they seeme to grow!

Beneath the Moone, all is but like the Moone,
Constant in nothing but in changing soone:
And so will be while they remaine beneath;
Resting from changing onely but in Death:
As when the Whirle-windes (in their wheeling play)
Pursue their Turnes, till, in their Center, they
Returne into themselues: so, Nature goes
On in her Course (which first from forme arose.)
Vntill this World of forme be dispossest,
And Nature in the Chaos, takes her rest.

That Time runs round, by this dark Riddle's bright;
A Father hath twelue sonnes halfe blacke, halfe white,

115

And eu'ry sonne hath thirty, which still liue;
And when their sires decease, they them reuiue:
So sire and sons still die, but die in vaine;
For, still the thirty them reuiue againe,
And yet these thirty eu'ry Month doe die;
Yet eu'ry Month they liue immortally!
Thus, by a Yeare (which euermore doth raise
Twelue months (like sons) and each month thirty dayes)
Time turnes o'er All, and All doth ouer-turne,
Till in the later day himselfe shall burne;
And then Eternitie shall take his Roome,
In which is nothing past, nor yet to come;
Wherein the subiect of my Song still is
A glorious Angell in the height of Blisse!

Atheist, stand farre from this her sacred shrine:
For, thou art foe to all that is diuine:
Thou dost beleeue where ere her Corpes consumes,
There perisheth her soule, which ne'er assumes
The same againe: but (ô her flesh shall rise
(As doth her fame) aboue both death and skies.
And why shoudlest thou the Resurrection doubt,
When Clouds of Proofes so compasse it about?

Some write that Swallowes drown'd are in the Deepe,
In Winter; and, in Summer, rise from sleepe,
The Fly in Winter, dyes; in Summer, liues;
And, being drown'd, warme Ashes her reuiues.
The Vrchin of the Sea, in pieces rent,
Re-water'd, ioynes, and liues incontenent!
Each Graine that rots before the same doth spring
Is a true figure of this reall thing.

[115]

Each Plant, which in the Winter (seeming) dyes,
And springs in Summer, shewes men, dead, shall rise.

Say a man famisht, into Aire were past,
Yet Aire shall yeeld what it receiues at last
As well as Earth, and Seas shall yeeld their dead;
Though on them (vanisht) Wormes or Fish haue fed.
At first, they gaue, what they did not receiue;
Then, what they take, shall they not rather giue?
He that, but with a Word, made Man of nought,
Can he not raise him, dead, now he is ought?
If no: his Arme wants wonted pow'r, and length;
Or else wants knowledge to imploy his strength.
But in th' Almighty none of these appeare,
That knew our smallest Portions ere they were.

If Nothing were the point from whence did rise
Creation, it may be the Point likewise
Of Resurrection; but it Something is
That shall be rais'd: the easier then is this.
Say Men eate Men, through some hard exigent,
And them conuerted haue to nutriment,
Yet shall their Excrement (how ere vnmeete)
At last yeeld vp their Relickes pure as sweet!
For, at that Day each man shall put on fresh
Flesh of his owne, and not anothers flesh.
And though he fed of others, that shall be
Restor'd the owner, be it he or she.

And Beasts of prey, that oft on Men doe feed,
Doe die; and of them Flies or Wormes doe breed.
Those Flies and Wormes are often food for Fish,
And they againe come often to our dish;

116

All this may be: and so a Man may goe
Through Beasts, Fish, Fowle, and Vermine too and fro,
And neuer rest, though he be dead, till he
From that base Progresse lastly raised be.
Yet he that well knew All ere ought was made,
Knowes where what ere created is, doth vade;
And, can, but with a thought re-gather it;
And make it in the proper figure knit!
For, if t'were worthy Gods Creation erst,
To make Man subiect to a fall at first;
It's farre more worthy for his powrefull hand
To raise him, dead, eternally to stand:
For, Death is but a sleepe: and as a Man
Can wake Men, sleeping: so, th'Almightie can,
Raise vp the dead so much more easily
As matchlesse Pow'r doth passe Infirmitie.

If Heau'n be iust, and there be Prouidence;
Then we shall rise when we are falne from hence:
For, if the good, in this Life, finde but Woes,
And no Ioy in the next, most curst are those.
Nay, most bruit Beasts more happie are than they
Who here doe most of all Watch, fast and pray.

The Rod of Moses turned to a Snake,
Shewes God of one thing, can another make.
And shall he not (so, faile vs in our trust)
Restore man to himselfe, when he is dust?
O Heaueus fore-fend, we should once so conceiue;
For, God can neither alter nor deceiue!
Our Bodies are his seede; Church-yards and Graues
Are all his Seed-plots, where his Seede he saues

[116]

By sowing to corrupt, to rise againe
Most incorrupt; and so, by losse, to gaine.

In the Cadauer, some haue thought some Bone
Retaines the Seede of Resurrection;
Which kept from rotting by th'Almighties force,
Should raise, at last, the Worme-consumed Corse!
Some say, that in the Teeth that Seede doth lie,
Sith Earth, Aire, Fire them hardly putrifie.
But we beleeue this Seed (and doe not doubt)
Is not within the Body, but without:
For, when the Trumpe shall sound, the dead shal peep
Out of their graues, as newly wakt from sleepe.
By that great Pow'r that, there, asleepe them laid:
Then in that Pow'r that Seede is solely staid.
But, some doe say, our Bodies cannot rise
From Earth to Heau'n, for that aboue the Skies
No nasty Body can remaine; because
Such to the Center Nature euer drawes.
Fond men! they know not, then our Flesh shall be
Not chang'd in Substance, but in Qualitie.
Our Bodies shall be Heau'nly; so they shall
Agree with any place Celestiall.
Our blessed Sauiours Body, once like ours,
(Saue that it could not sinne) those heau'nly Tow'rs;
Doe now enwall: then, in that Heau'n of blisse,
Why, by his Pow'r, may ours not stay with his?

That Water hangs in th'Aire who doth not know?
And by the Load-stone heauy Iron doth so.
If Nature can doe this; what can perswade
Gods Pow'r is lesse then Natures, which he made?

117

No, no, his Pow'r, that doth all pow'r comprise,
Can flesh refine, t'inhabite (so) the Skies!

By which high Pow'r and his diuinest Grace
There rests my Saint, as in her proper place.
Her Soule there rests; and in those heauenly Bowres
Her Body shall, when it shall rise with ours.
Which while (too short a while) it soiourn'd here,
It did celestiall to all Eyes appeare.
Then, may a little mending make it fit
For Heau'n, that was so heau'nly out of it!
Thou wast (rare Maide) aliue,s' Angelicall,
That, dead, thy dust is Metaphisicall.

If some shall muse why I contemplate Thee
Among his Praises that most praisefull be,
Let it suffice them, t'was of purpose done,
To praise thee, Starre, for light had of this Sunne,
Within the Volume that includes his praise
(That nought includes) so his in thine to raise:
As when we laud the light the Sunne doth giue
We praise the Giuer in the Gift; and striue
(When most we praise the Taker) to renowne
The Giuers praise, for gracing so his owne:
So, and none otherwise, I praise the Grace
Appearing in the Soule, Limbes, Eyes, and Face
Of Natures Maister-piece this goodly Maide;
Of whom all good, can neuer ill be said.

If so much heau'nly Grace, and Gifts of Nature
(As Vertue, Beautie, rarest Forme and Stature)
Should not be grac'd by them they good; then I
May say, the better'd are the worse thereby:

[117]

For, still th'ungratefull for a Benefit,
(Though bound) are free from Honestie and Wit.

And though the vertuous, for their Vertues sake,
Looke not for praise; but striue it to forsake,
(To keepe them humble) yet each vertuous Wit
Should honour Vertue for selfe-benefit.
And sith Posteritie doth light receiue
To runne to Honor by the Lines we leaue
From Vertue drawne; we should be drawing still
The Lines that (drawing) lead vp Honors Hill.

The Highest Pow'r and Grace, by oath, hath vow'd
To honour them (among the multitude
Of Men and Angels) that are good; then she
That was so good, of both must honour'd be!

Celestiall Maide, if from the heau'nly Spheare,
What Mortals doe, thou canst or see, or heare,
Be not displeas'd that my vntutor'd Penne
Should teach thy praise, to teach all Maides and Men
The way to Honor: nor, that in its Mouth
(That oft doth fable) it should take this Truth.

I was thy Teacher, though (vnworthy) I
Might (old) learne of thee (young) to liue and die.
Yet sith it is th'Oblation of my Zeale,
Which I doe offer for the Common-weale
In thy deare Memory; thou wilt (I hope)
Acquite me from Presumption; sith my scope
Was but thy glory, and the Peoples good,
Which in great light, goe right in likelihood.

I must confesse a Priest of Phebus, late,
Vpon like Text so well did meditate,

118

That with a sinlesse Enuy I doe runne
In his Soules Progresse, till it all be DONNE.
But, he hath got the start in setting forth
Before me, in the Trauell of that WORTH:
And me out-gone in Knowledge eu'ry way
Of the Soules Progresse to her finall stay.
But his sweet Saint did vsher mine therein;
(Most blest in that) so, he must needs beginne;
And read vpon the rude Anatomy
Of this dead World; that, now, doth putrifie.

Yet greater Will, to this great Enterprise
(Which in great Matters solely doth suffice)
He cannot bring than I: nor, can (much lesse)
Renowne more Worth than is in WORTHINES!
Such were they both: for, such a worthy PAIRE
(Of louely vertuous Maides, as good as faire)
Selfe-Worthinesse can scarse produce, sith they
Liu'd like Celestiall Spirits, immur'd in Clay!
And if all-powerfull Loue can All performe,
That in it hath rare Matter, or like Forme,
Then should my Lines haue both so'accomplished,
As from the Graue to Heauen should draw the Dead:
Or, with her Taper pointed-beaming Name,
Naile her to Heau'n, and in Heau'n clench the same!

Hold Muse, no more: (thou hast too large a scope,
To proue thy Pinnions: for, the Heau'nly Coape
Infolds no more) and take thy leaue anon
Of Her thou ne'er shalt leaue to muse vpon.
Thou maist be tir'd; but ne'er canst flye about
The Inside of her praise, much lesse the out.

[118]

Then stouping here, with reuerence, griefe and loue,
Bid her adue; and, with that bidding, moue
Thy selfe to teares; but, if thou canst not so,
Shew thy selfe willing by the dryest woe:

For, neuer had I greater cause of griefe;
Sith while she liu'd, I ioy'd, in painefull life:
But now, am left all solitary-sad
To waile her death, whose life made Sorrow glad!
O! had it pleas'd the Heau'ns, by their Decree,
T'haue made my Pupill learn'd t'haue dide of mee,
(And mine example) I had beene at rest,
And she liue blessed long, to dye as blest.
I, like a wither'd Pine, no fruit produce;
Of whom there is no Care, no hope, no vse.
I burden but the Earth, and keepe a place
Of one (perhaps) that should haue greater grace:
Opprest with Cares that quite crush out the Sappe
That feeds my Life; now throwne off Natures Lappe.
I solely sit, and tell the saddest houres,
That euer yet impeached vitall powres.
Obscur'd by Fate, yet made a Marke by fame;
Whereat fooles, often, shoote their Bolts, in game.
Yet, liue as buried (that I learn'd of thee
Deare Pupill) while the World goes ouer mee.
Praying for patience still to vnder-ly
The heauie waight of this Worlds iniurie.

Oft haue I beene enbozomed by Lords;
But all the warmth I found there, was but Words.
And though I scarse did moue, yet scarse they would
There let me lie, though there I lay acold;

119

But, as I had some biting Vermine bin,
Out must I, mou'd I but for warmth therein.
Or els so lie, as I were better out;
Sith there I lay as dead, yet liu'd in doubt:
In doubt I should haue nothing but a place
In th'outward Roome but of their Idle Grace.
In doubt black mouths should blot me in their Bookes
That make few Schollers; and in doubt my Hookes
Would hold no longer to hang on (ô Griefe!)
This hanging's worse then hanging of a Theefe!
An Halter soone abridgeth bale and breath;
But hanging on mens sleeues, is double death.
To hang in hope of that which doubt doth stay
Is worse then hanging till the later-DAY.
Doubt stayes that meede that merit hopes for, oft,
Lest Meede should but make Merit looke aloft;
Or, quite leaue working, sith it hath no neede;
Therefore the great doe still with-hold this Meede:
For, to themselues they say; If we should fill
The well-deseruing-empty (working still)
They would but rest: than, well wee'l them intreat
Yet keepe them hungry still to worke for meat.

Fate, but to State this priuiledge affords;
And but the meane, without meanes, worke for words.
Yet worke they must, sith Aire the great doe giue:
For, if they haue their hate they cannot liue.
Their Loue doth little boote; but ô their breath
Blowes downe, in hate, a poore Relict to death.

These miseries I ranne through, and did trye
These deare Conclusions but in miserie;

[119]

Hoping for that which but my hopes deceiu'd;
And me of hope and life, almost, bereau'd.
Till I (to stand) from these was faine to fall
To serue two Lords that serue me, now, withall:
The one immortall, th'other mortall is;
Who serue my turne for what my life doth misse:
Which, for it's still amisse, still misseth that
Which makes men gracious, and (so) fortunate:
But he, who knowes all, knowes (perhaps) it's best
For me to liue with little, in vnrest:
For, neuer since I first could moue, had I
A better life than those that (liuing) dye.
I neuer yet possest one day of ioy
That was not lin'd or hem'd with some annoy.
The Kingly Preacher in his weale found woe;
But I in thwarts, for those alone I know.

These made me old in youth: for, Sol had runne
Scarse thirty yeeres before my dayes were done;
And to his course ere fiue more added were,
Blacke Daies (like Nights) in gray had dide my Haire.
Yet neuer Crosse on me so sad did sit
As this deare losse; whereof this benefit
To me acrewes, that (now) each pressing woe
Stands farre without this, and this keepes them so.

I say I greatly grieue; yet seeme to faine:
For, great griefes neuer greatly could complaine:
That is, when Sorrowes floud the Banckes doth fill,
It noiselesse runnes, and smoothly glideth still:
But if the Current once the Brimmes get o'er,
Twill roughly runne; or, stopt, will rage and rore.

120

But, ô, that tyrant Time will silence me
Before my griefes are vtter'd as they be:

Farewell then, my griefes Cause, who wast th'effect
Of all the ioy my life did well elect:
Farewell, in Him, on whom who fares is well;
And, while I liue, Ile be the leading-Bell
That shall thy lowdest Peales of prayses ring
Which in the Clouds shall ne'er leaue ecchoing!
Or, be the Trumpet of thy Fame to fill
Th'Ætheriall Lofts with Straines more lofty still!
That when Times wings his Funerall flame consumes
Thy Fame shall soare with faire vnsinged Plumes!