The Shorter Poems of Ralph Knevet :: :: University of Virginia Library

Upon the Death of those two Honourable Gentlemen, Sir JOHN BURROWES, late Lieutenant of the English Infantrie in the Ile of Ree, and Sir WILLIAM HEYDON, Lieutenant of the Ordinance.

The thousand Torch-bearers of Jove,
Which mightily to his Bed him light,
Where Juno entertaines his love,
With merie glee and sweete delight;

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Were scatter'd all about the skie,
That seemed of a Saphires die.

All Creatures were at silent rest;
Except those wights, whose musing hearts,
Some extreme passion did infest,
And they were playing then their parts.
The Thiefe was plodding on his way,
But softly; least the Dogges should bay.

True lovers (whom the day divorc'd
From sweete discourse) now met and kist:
The Witches on their wands were horst,
And Luna on their Hearbs downe pist:
Nor had the Cocke yet stretched his throte
With his all cheering early note.

But t'was the time, when Morpheus dull
From his two Portals, sendeth out
His dreames, that fill mens fancies full
With fond conceite, and fearefull doubt,
Then I upon my Pillow laid,
With drearie thoughts was much dismaid.

A strange appearance my mind strooke;
Methought I was in Forrest wide,
And neere unto a Chrystall brooke,
Upon whose greene bankes I descry'd
A goodly Lady much distrest,
(As by her wofull plight I ghest)

A mantle greene shee seem'd to weare;
Which by a curious hand was wrought:
Townes, Rivers, Mountaines were seene there,
And what is in a Lan[d]schap sought:

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And all the workmanship most fine,
A wavie border did confine.

Upon her dolefull browes was set
A stately Crowne, that did appeare
Like to that towred Coronet,
Which Cybele was wont to weare.
The Roses from her cheekes were fled,
Her tresses were disheveled.

With teares her eyes beblubberd were,
Lamenting sate shee on the grasse:
And I 'gan to approach her neere,
To find the cause of her sad passe;
A drearie spectacle then strooke
My throbbing heart, that for feare shooke.

For by her side there lay two wights,
Whose cheekes were mark'd with deaths pale brand,
Who seem'd t'have beene right goodly Knights,
Though now they lay low on the Strand,
As if they by untimely fate,
Had beene brought to that wretched 'state.

For one was gor'd with grisly wound,
From whence the bloud afresh flow'd out,
Which cruddling on the gelid ground.
Did cover all the grasse about,
The Lady for him sore did weepe,
And with her teares his wound did steepe.

The other Knight all wanne and pale,
With water seem'd all to be smear'd:
The drifling drops full thicke did fall,
From his bright lockes, and manly beard,

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As if that Neptune had him slaine,
And cast upon the shore againe.

Disdaine was fix'd upon his brow,
As if he yeelding up his breath,
Had scornd that fate which made him bow:
But t'was his lucke to drinke his death.
While I beheld this sight forlorne,
The Lady 'gan afresh to mourne.

And with Pearle-dropping eyes up-reard
Unto the glittring skie; thus spake:
Yee awfull Gods that oft have heard
The vowes, and pray'rs which I did make,
Upon whose Altars I have left,
The spoyles that from my foes were reft.

What great offence of mine hath mov'd
Your hearts to such impatient ire,
To kill those Knights, whom I best lov'd,
Whose service I did most desire.
Oh fading hopes, oh false delights,
Oh joy more swift then Summers nights.

(Burrowes) thy valour was a flowre,
Whom lightning dire at length did strike.
Though it had borne off many a showre.
(Heydon) thy worth was Aprill-like,
Which had it a faire May beheld,
Such flowers had shew'd, as neere did field.

Or like a sturdie Ship of Warre,
(Brave Burrowes) was thy manly might,
Which vessell had beene famous farre,
For faire successe in furious fight,

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Whose sides at last a Canon gor'd,
And then the deepes her bulke devour'd.

And to a Ship in all her ruffe,
New set afloate was Heydon like;
Whose [------] the Tritons tooke in snuffe,
And under water did her strike.
Thus doe the greatest goods flit fast;
Some soone, some late; but all at last.

Yee Sisters that in darknesse lie,
Removed farre from mortall eyne,
Where yee that fatall distaffe plie,
From whence is drawne Mans vitall twine:
What various fates have yee assign'd,
To these my Knights, so like in mind.

Sweete honours thirst my Burrowes call'd
To forraine lands, to seeke for fame;
Where he with courage unappall'd,
Great toyles, and dangers over-came.
There vanquish'd he base fortunes might
Griefe, Sicknesse, Age and all despite.

Himselfe in Ostend he engag'd,
Where Death with Funerals was weary'd.
Though Pestilence, and Pellets rag'd,
Yet he nor wounds nor sicknesse feared.
The noble heart more constant growes.
When great perill it selfe shewes.

In Frankendale he did oppose
The conquering troupes, of Tilly stout
Whom he repulst with bloudy blowes,
And longer might have kept them out,

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If it had beene his Soveraignes will
That he the Towne should have kept still.

His latter Scenes he playd so well,
So sweet was his Catastrophe:
That Fame shall never cease to tell
His worth unto posteritie,
Who shall his name among these read,
That for their Countries cause are dead.

At length he fell: so fals at last
The Oke that many stormes hath stood:
From paine to Paradise he past.
And wonne his blisse with losse of blood.
Then let his bones soft lodging have;
And let sweete flowres spring on his grave.

But my deare Heydon I lament,
As doth the tender mother mourne
For her yong sonne, untimely shent,
That was to some great Fortune borne:
The cruell Fates conspir'd his death,
When first he drew an Infants breath.

Oh, Froward Fate that giv'st good parts,
Yet dost envie men should them shew.
So chance to many, goods imparts,
But grace to use them, unto few.
(Aye me) that Death the greatest ill,
Should greatest vertues alway kill.

Grimme Mars, and Mercurie did sit
As Lords, at thy Nativitie.
Mars gave the valour, Hermes wit;
But both an wofull destinie.

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They at thy worth repin'd my Knight
And did cut short thy life for spite.

Even as moyst Zephyre powers downe fast
His showres on the new sprouted rose,
That it her blossomes soone doth cast,
And all her fragrant odour loose:
So Heydon in his prime was strooke:
Betimes his vigour him forsooke.

Accursed ever be that Ile
That beares the Holy Bishops name,
Which did me of my Knights beguile:
Let warre and spoyle, nere leave the same
Nor ever let the forraine yoke
Be from her servile shoulders broke.

Let gastly Ghosts frequent her plaines,
Let night hags there be heard to rore:
Let Syrens dire with drearie streames,
Make Saylors shunne that balefull shore.
Let thunder stricke their Vines amaine,
By thunder was my Burrowes slaine.

And let those deepes, that guiltie are
Of Heydons bloud, be turn'd to shelves,
That them t'approach no ships may dare,
For feare to cast away themselves.
O let ten thousand ills betide
Those places, where my worthies di'd.

(This said) a grievous sigh shee drew,
As if her heart-strings would have split;
And on the earth her-selfe shee threw;
That for to see her piteous fit,

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The Dryads wept, the Satyrs lowr'd,
And water Nymphes their teares forth powr'd.

The Trees did sigh, the Hils did grone
The bubling Brooke did sobbe a maine,
And Echo made a pitious mone,
That I could not from teares refraine
The Birds with her in consort joynd,
And sought in vaine to ease her mind.

The Nighting-gale, on wither'd brakes,
These drearie threnodes forth did powre:
Wealth, beautie, strength (quoth shee) Time takes;
And Death approacheth every howre.
But Vertue endlesse life imparts.
Then live for ever (noble hearts.)

The Swanne mov'd with her plaints drew neere,
And thus began to sing his last:
No setled state of things is here;
Our lives, our joyes are but a blast.
But Sunnes that set faire, so shall rise:
Oh happie Death; and so he dies.

The Turtle true with heavie cheere,
Sob'd forth her mournefull Elegies
O Death (said shee) that slu'st my deare,
Now boast not of thy Victories:
Thy paines are joyes, thy darts are cures
Thy wounds are life, that alway dures.

I had but heard her dittie out,
When that the Cocke whose Sants bell cleere
Should call mens hearts to thoughts devout.
Made me from sleepe my eyes to reare,

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Upon my dreame I mused then;
And when day came, it downe did pen.

FINIS.