Phyala Lachrymarum: Or A Few Friendly Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge who in the short journey of his life, died betweene the five and sixe and twentieth yeare of his youth, 1633. Together with sundry choyce Meditations of Mortalitie [by William Lathum] |
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 | MEDITATIONES QUÆDAM DE AMICITIA, DE VITÆFRAGILITATE, DE MORTE, ET DE ANIMA. |
 | Phyala Lachrymarum: Or A Few Friendly Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge |  |
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MEDITATIONES QUÆDAM DE AMICITIA, DE VITÆFRAGILITATE, DE MORTE, ET DE ANIMA.
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Ricordarsi il Ben Doppia la Noia.
A gentle frend (by way of comfort) saidUnto a father that did sadly waile
His sons deer losse: Ah Sir; be once apaid,
Sith all your mourning nothing can prevaile.
Why that's the thing, because I nought availe;
That I (quoth hee) so sore his death lament;
Oh that my memorie of him could faile:
But, like Lots wife, our eyes still backe are bent
Upon those joyes, which erst wee held most leefe;
The thought of which doth double present greefe.
Perdre un Amico fidele è sopra o'gni dolore.
Of all the cares, and humane miserie,Which from the Cradle to the Beere attend,
Is none of all can touch a man more nigh,
Than the hard losse of true approved frend;
To whom thy fortune doth not thee commend:
But rich or poore, thy winter, and thy spring,
Hee all alike doth tender to the end.
Each bird, while summer lasts, will sweetly sing;
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When frost, and storms dams th'others glozing throats.
Ben ama chi non oblia.
No Gyants hand, no instrument of Art,No Anchor in the sea tenacious beene
As Love and Hate, once rooted in the heart:
The strange effects of both are daily seene;
Right strong they either are, yet beeing greene,
But when they once waxe old, no power, or force
Sufficient is to interpose betweene;
He never hated who can feele remorse:
And in that heart love is but shallow set,
Which time or place can make a friend forget.
Un huomo d' ogni hora.
Homo omnium horarum.
Oh where's the man that is so truly train'd,
And hath to purpose so his howers spent,
That (if all companie were him restrain'd)
True solace by himselfe he can invent,
And with his friend (to whatsoere intent)
Can him adapt, whether in learn'd discourse,
Facetious wit, and sportive merriment,
Of Hawkes, of Hounds, or long Dogs for the Course?
Be the Theme light, or of grave consequent
Hee for all turnes hath money in his purse:
This thus conpleat-accomplisht every way,
The man of all houres is, and for all day.
And hath to purpose so his howers spent,
That (if all companie were him restrain'd)
True solace by himselfe he can invent,
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Can him adapt, whether in learn'd discourse,
Facetious wit, and sportive merriment,
Of Hawkes, of Hounds, or long Dogs for the Course?
Be the Theme light, or of grave consequent
Hee for all turnes hath money in his purse:
This thus conpleat-accomplisht every way,
The man of all houres is, and for all day.
I had a friend (I have I late could say)
Ah but the primest flowres soonest fade,
Who fitted was and furnisht every way
In depths and shallows both to swimme and wade:
Not like mechanicks, in one onely trade,
But sooth he multum could in singulis,
And aliquid in omnibus have said;
No subject on the sudden came amisse,
But he to all, with profit and delight
An able Artist could himselfe acquite:
Thine be this Embleme (by thy just desert)
For thou (thrice worthy Weld) this man of all howr's wert.
Ah but the primest flowres soonest fade,
Who fitted was and furnisht every way
In depths and shallows both to swimme and wade:
Not like mechanicks, in one onely trade,
But sooth he multum could in singulis,
And aliquid in omnibus have said;
No subject on the sudden came amisse,
But he to all, with profit and delight
An able Artist could himselfe acquite:
Thine be this Embleme (by thy just desert)
For thou (thrice worthy Weld) this man of all howr's wert.
Felice chi puo.
Blest mote hee ever bee, who ever canCompose the joyes, and sorrows of his mind,
Chuse truth from errour, flow'r from the bran;
Willing obey Gods sacred Lawes in kinde;
Decline the vice, to which hee's most inclin'd;
Richly contented bee, what ere God send;
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Finde a fit wife, and faithfull bosome friend:
Who some, nay one, but all these things who can,
Is sure a threefold-blessed, tenfold-happy man.
Il medico al anima e Dio, & al Corpo un Buon Compagno.
VVoe to the man alone (saith the wise man)
If chance him fall, who him releeven can?
But where two beene, if one in need doe stand,
The other still is readie helpe at hand:
The Great Creator so intended it,
When hee for man fram'd a companion fit,
In Paradice: so helpe in company,
And comfort doth in friendly helpe relie.
The soule and body als' he tack'd together,
To be companions either unto either:
Yea God himselfe, who is but one alone,
And to that onehood will admit of none,
Yet joyes to have the Blessed Unitie
Accompan'd with the sacred Trinitie.
If chance him fall, who him releeven can?
But where two beene, if one in need doe stand,
The other still is readie helpe at hand:
The Great Creator so intended it,
When hee for man fram'd a companion fit,
In Paradice: so helpe in company,
And comfort doth in friendly helpe relie.
The soule and body als' he tack'd together,
To be companions either unto either:
Yea God himselfe, who is but one alone,
And to that onehood will admit of none,
Yet joyes to have the Blessed Unitie
Accompan'd with the sacred Trinitie.
Who therefore doon admire lonelinesse
Do rob themselves of wondrous happinesse,
And wilfully to many mischiefes run,
Which men in company do fairly shun.
When did th'ill spirit choose our Lord to tempt,
But when from company hee was exempt?
And ever since hee doth himselfe intrude
To vacuitie, and lonely solitude.
Als' privacie begets melancholie,
Which mother is and nurse of lunacie.
Do rob themselves of wondrous happinesse,
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Which men in company do fairly shun.
When did th'ill spirit choose our Lord to tempt,
But when from company hee was exempt?
And ever since hee doth himselfe intrude
To vacuitie, and lonely solitude.
Als' privacie begets melancholie,
Which mother is and nurse of lunacie.
But in all states, in povertie, in wealth,
In peace, in warre, in sicknesse, and in health,
In age, in youth, bondage and libertie,
Sweet is the comfort of companionrie:
For, as the soule in all extremities
Onely to God her lonely selfe applyes,
Whose sweet Communion if it can but gaine,
It takes her off from thinking on her paine:
And with his presence, and kind conference
Hee workes such indolence upon her sense,
That ere shee wist, the time and paine at one
With passing pleasure's slipt away and gone.
Such to the body is a hearty frend,
The griefe thereof and maladies to mend:
Whose very presence, though hee speake no word,
Is physicke of it selfe, and doth afford
(Like Jonas Gourd) coole shadow from the heat
Of strong distempers, which the bodie beat.
In peace, in warre, in sicknesse, and in health,
In age, in youth, bondage and libertie,
Sweet is the comfort of companionrie:
For, as the soule in all extremities
Onely to God her lonely selfe applyes,
Whose sweet Communion if it can but gaine,
It takes her off from thinking on her paine:
And with his presence, and kind conference
Hee workes such indolence upon her sense,
That ere shee wist, the time and paine at one
With passing pleasure's slipt away and gone.
Such to the body is a hearty frend,
The griefe thereof and maladies to mend:
Whose very presence, though hee speake no word,
Is physicke of it selfe, and doth afford
(Like Jonas Gourd) coole shadow from the heat
Of strong distempers, which the bodie beat.
Blest is that soule, that sicknesse, and that man
Who still have God for their Physician:
And happy manifold I him areed,
Who such companion hath, such frend at need.
Who (free from scurvie trickes) is right and straight,
With whom a man may dare deliberate,
And freely to his bosome can impart
The neerest secrets of his very heart:
As knowing in his breast he may them save
Safe as the dead mans ashes in his grave.
Who still have God for their Physician:
And happy manifold I him areed,
Who such companion hath, such frend at need.
Who (free from scurvie trickes) is right and straight,
With whom a man may dare deliberate,
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The neerest secrets of his very heart:
As knowing in his breast he may them save
Safe as the dead mans ashes in his grave.
Hee in discourse can yeeld unto his friend
'Gainst his owne knowledge (rather than contend)
Hee mannerly can jest, ne captious is,
Ne yet exceptious, apt to take amisse,
Or peevishly in evill manner wrest
What's meerly spoken merrily in jest;
No babler, ne no criticke in a house,
Unmanly-humerous, nor mutinous.
'Gainst his owne knowledge (rather than contend)
Hee mannerly can jest, ne captious is,
Ne yet exceptious, apt to take amisse,
Or peevishly in evill manner wrest
What's meerly spoken merrily in jest;
No babler, ne no criticke in a house,
Unmanly-humerous, nor mutinous.
To him all one the kennill and the wall;
Nathlesse, (all be hee affable to all)
To all hee'll not be fellow, but doth ken
To difference himselfe from other men,
Lest whilst humilitie he doe professe,
He fall into the taxe of fillinesse.
Nathlesse, (all be hee affable to all)
To all hee'll not be fellow, but doth ken
To difference himselfe from other men,
Lest whilst humilitie he doe professe,
He fall into the taxe of fillinesse.
Hee knowes his good to all, and how to bowe,
And to his greaters due respect allow;
Ne doth it hold disparage, or disgrace
His friends (even meanest) favours to imbrace
With thankfulnesse; which is a vertue full
Of strong Attraction, and doth pull,
And draw (like loadstone) every heart and mind
With grace and bountie to us be inclin'd.
And to his greaters due respect allow;
Ne doth it hold disparage, or disgrace
His friends (even meanest) favours to imbrace
With thankfulnesse; which is a vertue full
Of strong Attraction, and doth pull,
And draw (like loadstone) every heart and mind
With grace and bountie to us be inclin'd.
All his owne actuall kindnesse he forgets,
But passive favours puts amongst the dets,
Which by recognizance hee at a day
Upon great penaltie is bound to pay:
So faire condition'd every way, and good,
That by his outside well is understood,
How ever hee beene of worldly fortune sped,
That hee is doubtlesse Gentle borne, and bred.
But passive favours puts amongst the dets,
Which by recognizance hee at a day
Upon great penaltie is bound to pay:
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That by his outside well is understood,
How ever hee beene of worldly fortune sped,
That hee is doubtlesse Gentle borne, and bred.
Lo here a friend, well worth his weight in gold,
Though in this durty age his gold prove drosse,
And this rare Jewell, every one do hold
(Not set in gold) contemptible as mosse.
Though in this durty age his gold prove drosse,
And this rare Jewell, every one do hold
(Not set in gold) contemptible as mosse.
What can him want now, who for each disease
Such Physicke, and Physicians hath as these?
Who have a salve for every sort of sore,
And Cordialls for all griefes and paines in store?
In health who soule and body then will save,
Let still in store these two Physicians have.
Such Physicke, and Physicians hath as these?
Who have a salve for every sort of sore,
And Cordialls for all griefes and paines in store?
In health who soule and body then will save,
Let still in store these two Physicians have.
Come il simulacro del Re di Babilone.
Fraile flesh (how ever goodly thou appeareIn outward shew, and glorious as the Sun:)
How can a little sicknesse change thy cheer?
And thy lives thred, how ever purely spun,
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How seem'st thou like that image over all,
Whereof y'dreamt that King of Babylon,
Whose bulke was Gold and costly Minerall,
But Oh poore prop, the pillers and the basse
Were crumbly clay which did sustain this mighty masse.
Non temete, la morte solamente e cattiva a cativa Gente.
O death, the hatefull issue of mans sinne,Who since thy birth, dost greedily devour
Thy Parents children! Oh what canst thou winne
In browzing a soft twigge before his houre?
What hast thou thereby doon, but given him pow'r
(As Justices their passe-ports wont to grant)
To passe hence freely to that sacred bow'r,
(The bow'r of blisse,) where blessed Angels haunt?
Henceforth I feare thee lesse, who dost but send
Poore Pilgrims sooner to their wearie journeyes end.
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L' Huomo e Ampulla fatta del Acqua, & del Aria disfatta.
VVhat thing is man that God should him respect?
Or what is life, that man so tenderly
Should hugge it so, or deerly it affect?
Loe here an embleme of mortalitie,
Whom nor greene yeares could warrant from to die,
Nor innocence (the good mans daily feast)
No priviledge, ne no immunitie
That flesh can challenge why to be releast,
Could ere redeeme, such is the law of all,
Onely like fruit some sooner and some later fall.
Or what is life, that man so tenderly
Should hugge it so, or deerly it affect?
Loe here an embleme of mortalitie,
Whom nor greene yeares could warrant from to die,
Nor innocence (the good mans daily feast)
No priviledge, ne no immunitie
That flesh can challenge why to be releast,
Could ere redeeme, such is the law of all,
Onely like fruit some sooner and some later fall.
I saw this blossome blasted in the spring,
I saw this flower wither'd in the budde,
And to my hearts eternall sorrowing:
This lamp new lighted, beeing all too good
Longer to burne in it owne oylely blood,
I drowned saw, and quite extinguished:
Such is condition of all fleshlyhood.
Just like a buble that's ingendred
Of ayre and blistred water, which eftsoone
Breakes, and with each small puffe of winde's againe undone.
I saw this flower wither'd in the budde,
And to my hearts eternall sorrowing:
This lamp new lighted, beeing all too good
Longer to burne in it owne oylely blood,
I drowned saw, and quite extinguished:
Such is condition of all fleshlyhood.
Just like a buble that's ingendred
Of ayre and blistred water, which eftsoone
Breakes, and with each small puffe of winde's againe undone.
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Monocchio, non e misero nel presenza del cieco.
VVhen I consult the sacred Histories,And other Stories of inferior sort,
And finde therein, what under mysteries,
And plainly what they of mans life report,
Oft in the prime, oft suddenly cut short,
And every day sad samples thereof see,
Mee seemes they secretly do mee exhort
To fit my selfe, the very next to be,
And meekly more my misery to beare,
Compar'd with others (greater in degree)
As hee, whose one eye perled is, and bleare,
Seemes blest to him, who can at all not see.
So they, who others greater griefe and mone,
Can call to minde, gaine strength to beare their owne.
Animali d' ogni sorte se trovarno nel Rete della morte.
How many a subtile snare and guilefull ginHath man devis'd, and daily doth devise,
To take all sorts of feather'd fowles therein?
Some birds nathlesse, so warie been and wise
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But there's a fowler layes his deadly gins
Man to intrap, as man doth birds surprize,
Spreading his nets when his life first begins:
And though all things his fatall nets perceive,
Yet never bird this fowler could deceive.
All sorts to him beene all indifferent,
Ringtailes, Buzzards, Puttocks, Ravens, Crowes, Pyes,
Th' imperiall Eagle, and the Falcon Gent,
Pigions, Parakitoes, Peacocks, and Popingies,
And Nightingales which pipe and minstrelize
By night, to all that (fearfull) shunne the day;
Yea, and the Phœnix (if yet mortall eyes
Such Phœnix ever saw as Stories say)
In that foule-crab-fac'd-fowlers horrid hands.
Must gasp their last-fetcht-breath; see where he stands.
O'gni dolore nuntio di morte.
Sore sicke him chanc'd a jolly Courtier fall,
Though not to death (as he him surely thought)
But death (unthought of) doth upon him call,
And readie was away him to have caught;
Whereat amaz'd, this Courtier him besought
Not all so suddenly him to surprize,
But respit him some time, that so he mought
Prepare himselfe to die before he dies:
And three dayes warning prayes him send before
He from this light his life did meane to reave,
To which death soone agrees, so takes his leave.
Many yeares after, as this Courtier sate
(For ought he felt) in perfect strength and health,
Seriously thinking how to antidate
Anothers life, and seize on all his wealth,
Death suddenly comes skipping in by stealth
Crying away.
Though not to death (as he him surely thought)
But death (unthought of) doth upon him call,
And readie was away him to have caught;
Whereat amaz'd, this Courtier him besought
Not all so suddenly him to surprize,
But respit him some time, that so he mought
Prepare himselfe to die before he dies:
And three dayes warning prayes him send before
He from this light his life did meane to reave,
To which death soone agrees, so takes his leave.
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(For ought he felt) in perfect strength and health,
Seriously thinking how to antidate
Anothers life, and seize on all his wealth,
Death suddenly comes skipping in by stealth
Crying away.
The Gallant him upbraids of promise breach:
Not I (quoth death) but thou false to thy selfe:
Five fits o'th stone, foure agues, two fevers, each
Gray-haire, the paine and losse of teeth; all these,
With many a wrinkle, since I from thee went,
My warnings, and fore-runners. I thee sent.
Not I (quoth death) but thou false to thy selfe:
Five fits o'th stone, foure agues, two fevers, each
Gray-haire, the paine and losse of teeth; all these,
With many a wrinkle, since I from thee went,
My warnings, and fore-runners. I thee sent.
Dopo il Givoco, cosi va nel sacco il Re, come il Pedone.
If in my weake conceit (for selfe disport)
The world I sample to a Tennis-court,
Where fate and fortune daily meet to play,
I doe conceive, I doe not much misse-say.
The world I sample to a Tennis-court,
Where fate and fortune daily meet to play,
I doe conceive, I doe not much misse-say.
All manner chance, are Rackets, wherewithall
They bandie men like balls, from wall to wall:
Some over Lyne, to honour and great place;
Some under Lyne, to infame and disgrace;
Some with a cutting stroke, they nimby send
Into the hazzard placed at the end;
Resembling well the rest which all they have,
Whom death hath seiz'd, and placed in their grave:
Some o're the wall they bandie quite away,
Who never more are seene to come in play:
Which intimates, that even the very best
Are soone forgot of all, if once deceast.
They bandie men like balls, from wall to wall:
Some over Lyne, to honour and great place;
Some under Lyne, to infame and disgrace;
Some with a cutting stroke, they nimby send
Into the hazzard placed at the end;
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Whom death hath seiz'd, and placed in their grave:
Some o're the wall they bandie quite away,
Who never more are seene to come in play:
Which intimates, that even the very best
Are soone forgot of all, if once deceast.
So, (whether silke-quilt ball it bee, or whether
Made of course cloth, or of most homely lether;)
They all alike are banded to and fro,
And all at last to selfe same end do goe,
Where is no difference, or strife for place:
No odds betweene a Trype-wife and your Grace:
The penny-counter's every whit as good,
As that, which in the place of thousands stood.
When once the Audit's full cast up, and made
The learned Arts well as the manuall Trade:
The Prisoner and the Judge upon the Bench:
The pampred Lady, and the Kitchin-wench:
The noble Lord, or Counsailor of State,
The botchy-Lazer, begging at the gate,
Like Shrubs, and Cedars-mingled ashes, lye
Without distinction, when they once do dye.
Ah for unpartiall death, and th'homely grave
Looke equall on the free man, and the slave.
Made of course cloth, or of most homely lether;)
They all alike are banded to and fro,
And all at last to selfe same end do goe,
Where is no difference, or strife for place:
No odds betweene a Trype-wife and your Grace:
The penny-counter's every whit as good,
As that, which in the place of thousands stood.
When once the Audit's full cast up, and made
The learned Arts well as the manuall Trade:
The Prisoner and the Judge upon the Bench:
The pampred Lady, and the Kitchin-wench:
The noble Lord, or Counsailor of State,
The botchy-Lazer, begging at the gate,
Like Shrubs, and Cedars-mingled ashes, lye
Without distinction, when they once do dye.
Ah for unpartiall death, and th'homely grave
Looke equall on the free man, and the slave.
So most unpartiall umpires are these twain;
A King with them's but as a common Swain.
No upper hand, 'twixt dust of poore and rich;
No Marshall there to sentence which is which:
And once resolv'd to powder, none can ken,
The dust of Kings from dust of other men:
But as at Chesse, when once the game is doon,
The side which lost, and that as well which woon.
The victor King, and conquer'd pawne together
Jumbled, are tumbled to th' same bagge of lether,
Without regard, whether the pawne or King
Therein lye uppermost or underling.
A King with them's but as a common Swain.
No upper hand, 'twixt dust of poore and rich;
No Marshall there to sentence which is which:
And once resolv'd to powder, none can ken,
The dust of Kings from dust of other men:
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The side which lost, and that as well which woon.
The victor King, and conquer'd pawne together
Jumbled, are tumbled to th' same bagge of lether,
Without regard, whether the pawne or King
Therein lye uppermost or underling.
Nathlesse all sorts, each sexe of purpose winke:
And of this destinie doon seldome thinke:
Living (alacke) as life should never faile,
And deeme of death but as an old wives tale.
And of this destinie doon seldome thinke:
Living (alacke) as life should never faile,
And deeme of death but as an old wives tale.
Post mortem nescio cujus.
VVhy do the mightie beare themselves so high,
And vant their parentage and long discent?
Why do the rich so swell with surquedry
Of their huge wealth, which is but to them lent,
But till their lives uncertaine terme be spent?
Though where's the odds, or what's the difference
Between the wealthy and the indigent,
When both unto the grave once part from hence?
Within a while their dust so mingled is,
That none can safely say, this dust was his, or his:
And vant their parentage and long discent?
Why do the rich so swell with surquedry
Of their huge wealth, which is but to them lent,
But till their lives uncertaine terme be spent?
Though where's the odds, or what's the difference
Between the wealthy and the indigent,
When both unto the grave once part from hence?
Within a while their dust so mingled is,
That none can safely say, this dust was his, or his:
So have I seene the boistrous-body'd oake,
That above all, her wide-spred armes enhanc't,
I saw it lopt with many a sturdie stroke,
From side to side I saw it thorow lanc't,
I saw it fall and headlong disadvanc't:
The silly shrub that there beside was growne,
I likewise saw quite rooted up and rancht:
I saw them both into the fire throwne;
I saw them wasted, and in ashes lye,
But whethers ashes were by no meanes could discry:
That above all, her wide-spred armes enhanc't,
I saw it lopt with many a sturdie stroke,
From side to side I saw it thorow lanc't,
I saw it fall and headlong disadvanc't:
The silly shrub that there beside was growne,
I likewise saw quite rooted up and rancht:
I saw them both into the fire throwne;
I saw them wasted, and in ashes lye,
But whethers ashes were by no meanes could discry:
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Il sonno e una morte vivente.
VVhen I doe weigh how little differing
Life is from death, how little or nought at all
Death is from sleepe, when neere so small a thing
Can make them all be transubstantiall,
Oh what amazement on my minde doth fall!
And I do wonder how I sleepe or wake,
Sith unto death, in nature they so neere partake.
Life is from death, how little or nought at all
Death is from sleepe, when neere so small a thing
Can make them all be transubstantiall,
Oh what amazement on my minde doth fall!
And I do wonder how I sleepe or wake,
Sith unto death, in nature they so neere partake.
And in the morning after quiet sleepe,
When I consider to how weake a guard
My pretious life I did commit to keepe,
Being for death a thing not very hard
To seize his brothers right, sith if compar'd,
Sleep's but a breathing death, death breathlesse sleep,
I feeele a tingling chilnesse over all my bones to creepe.
When I consider to how weake a guard
My pretious life I did commit to keepe,
Being for death a thing not very hard
To seize his brothers right, sith if compar'd,
Sleep's but a breathing death, death breathlesse sleep,
I feeele a tingling chilnesse over all my bones to creepe.
Prosopopeia Corporis Animæ valedicturi: Adios a rivederci.
My lovely frend, that long hast been content
To dwell with mee in my poore Tenement,
Whose bulke and all the stuffe, both warp and woofe,
Is all of clay, the floor and the roofe:
Though yet thou ne're foundst fault; ne didst upbraid
This homely hermitage, so meanly made;
O mine owne darling, my deere daintie one,
And wilt thou now indeed from mee be gone?
Ah, for thou seest all running to decay
The thatchie covering's now nigh falne away:
The windows, which give light to every roome,
Broken, and dimme, and mistie beene become.
The Mill-house, and selfe Miller's out of frame,
My Kitchin smoakes, my Larder is too blame,
And from the Studds each where the Lome doth shrink,
And the breeme cold blowes in at every chinke.
The brases and supporters of my house
Tremble, and waxen wondrous ruinous.
To dwell with mee in my poore Tenement,
Whose bulke and all the stuffe, both warp and woofe,
Is all of clay, the floor and the roofe:
Though yet thou ne're foundst fault; ne didst upbraid
This homely hermitage, so meanly made;
O mine owne darling, my deere daintie one,
And wilt thou now indeed from mee be gone?
40
The thatchie covering's now nigh falne away:
The windows, which give light to every roome,
Broken, and dimme, and mistie beene become.
The Mill-house, and selfe Miller's out of frame,
My Kitchin smoakes, my Larder is too blame,
And from the Studds each where the Lome doth shrink,
And the breeme cold blowes in at every chinke.
The brases and supporters of my house
Tremble, and waxen wondrous ruinous.
So that all bee it grieve mee to the heart,
To thinke that thou and I (old frends) must part;
Yet, sith my Cabban's all out of repaire,
(Darling) farewell, goe sojourne now else where,
In some cleane place, untill that premier Main
That built mee first, rebuild mee up againe,
All of the selfe same stuffe, but with such art,
So polisht, and imbellisht every part,
That it shall ne're be out of Kilture more:
Then shalt thou come againe, as heretofore,
And dwell with mee for ever and for aye:
(So God us both to blesse untill that happie day.)
To thinke that thou and I (old frends) must part;
Yet, sith my Cabban's all out of repaire,
(Darling) farewell, goe sojourne now else where,
In some cleane place, untill that premier Main
That built mee first, rebuild mee up againe,
All of the selfe same stuffe, but with such art,
So polisht, and imbellisht every part,
That it shall ne're be out of Kilture more:
Then shalt thou come againe, as heretofore,
And dwell with mee for ever and for aye:
(So God us both to blesse untill that happie day.)
Dal Cielo al Cielo.
Sundry opinions amongst learned menHave raised beene about the meanes and way,
And 'bout the certaine time, and season when
That soule of man, which never can decay,
41
Whether't beginning with the body take,
Or long before: if so, where it doth stay:
Which strife the soule it selfe thus plaine doth make.
From Heaven I, not from mans seed proceed,
For with the bodie if it rise it dies.
Animæ Prosopopeia.
Morta la pecora non cressae piu la lana.
Yee gentle frends, who mourning here, attend
My livelesse corps, unto this Earthie bed,
There leaving it to sleepe untill the end,
When all shall live againe, who now are dead,
Weepe not for mee, sith I can neither see,
Nor heare your teares that here for mee are shed:
Ne all your prayers a whit can profit mee.
The sheepe once dead, the wooll ne're growes againe,
But as shee dies it lyes, all after-helpes are vaine.
Agree therefore while yee are in the way
With death the adversary of mankinde:
For when he comes, no pray'r can make him stay,
But hee takes all sorts as he doth them find.
If good, 'tis not in him to make them bad;
If bad, no time to mend by him assign'd:
What faith and hope wee at our parting had
Is onely ours; but all done after death
Nor hurts, nor helps, but passeth with the breath.
My livelesse corps, unto this Earthie bed,
There leaving it to sleepe untill the end,
When all shall live againe, who now are dead,
Weepe not for mee, sith I can neither see,
Nor heare your teares that here for mee are shed:
Ne all your prayers a whit can profit mee.
The sheepe once dead, the wooll ne're growes againe,
But as shee dies it lyes, all after-helpes are vaine.
Agree therefore while yee are in the way
With death the adversary of mankinde:
For when he comes, no pray'r can make him stay,
But hee takes all sorts as he doth them find.
If good, 'tis not in him to make them bad;
If bad, no time to mend by him assign'd:
What faith and hope wee at our parting had
Is onely ours; but all done after death
Nor hurts, nor helps, but passeth with the breath.
42
For whilst we live, though at last gaspe wee been,
Our owne or others pray'rs mote doon us good:
Betweene the stirrup and the ground, betweene
The bridge, and headlong downfall to the flood,
Mercie can cause the soule catch hold of grace:
But soone as once the life forsakes the blood,
So fast it posteth to its proper place
Of weale, or woe, where it must ever stay,
No pray'r it overtakes, or profit may.
Our owne or others pray'rs mote doon us good:
Betweene the stirrup and the ground, betweene
The bridge, and headlong downfall to the flood,
Mercie can cause the soule catch hold of grace:
But soone as once the life forsakes the blood,
So fast it posteth to its proper place
Of weale, or woe, where it must ever stay,
No pray'r it overtakes, or profit may.
The ardent suite of that great man of meat
Was him deny'd; a seeming-small request;
One moyst coole drop to quench his scalding heat:
Yet, sith before his pray'r he was possest
Of his just doome, his due-deserved meed,
His tardie suit forth of the Court was cast:
For as the foale once from the body freed,
No more may be recall'd, no more can shee
By any humane helpe relieved bee.
Was him deny'd; a seeming-small request;
One moyst coole drop to quench his scalding heat:
Yet, sith before his pray'r he was possest
Of his just doome, his due-deserved meed,
His tardie suit forth of the Court was cast:
For as the foale once from the body freed,
No more may be recall'd, no more can shee
By any humane helpe relieved bee.
In vaine therefore doon silly soules relie
On pray'rs of frends at their departure hence:
Sith with our last breath, Heaven instantly
Is wonne or lost, no comming is from thence:
Ne is redemption from the place of Hell.
And Purgatory is a meere non-sense,
Where goodmens soules, till bought from thence, must dwell:
Onely his pray'rs, whose blood for us was shed,
Living, and dying stands our soules in stead.
On pray'rs of frends at their departure hence:
Sith with our last breath, Heaven instantly
Is wonne or lost, no comming is from thence:
Ne is redemption from the place of Hell.
And Purgatory is a meere non-sense,
Where goodmens soules, till bought from thence, must dwell:
Onely his pray'rs, whose blood for us was shed,
Living, and dying stands our soules in stead.
Divortium Animæ.
Hast ever knowne two faithfull bosome frends,
Affected like in all their aimes, and ends,
After long absence, hast observ'd their meeting,
Their over-joy, and manner of their greeting:
Silent, long-looking in each others faces,
Whilst each his frend within his armes embraces,
Like April-showr's, and Sun-shine mixt together,
Each weeping, and each laughing over either,
Till mutuall passions having run their course,
Both by degrees, fall freely to discourse?
Affected like in all their aimes, and ends,
43
Their over-joy, and manner of their greeting:
Silent, long-looking in each others faces,
Whilst each his frend within his armes embraces,
Like April-showr's, and Sun-shine mixt together,
Each weeping, and each laughing over either,
Till mutuall passions having run their course,
Both by degrees, fall freely to discourse?
Ah, but say now, hast ever seene these twaine
Upon occasion forc'd to part again?
Hast seene two lovers, new made man and wife,
Inforc'd to part? how bitter is their strife?
What sighs? what teares? what namelesse Creve-tæur?
What greefe unutterable doon they endure?
What lowd Alewes? what heavinesse of heart?
What lamentations when they come to part?
What anguish? and with what a deale of paine
Take these their leave, as ne're to meete againe?
Upon occasion forc'd to part again?
Hast seene two lovers, new made man and wife,
Inforc'd to part? how bitter is their strife?
What sighs? what teares? what namelesse Creve-tæur?
What greefe unutterable doon they endure?
What lowd Alewes? what heavinesse of heart?
What lamentations when they come to part?
What anguish? and with what a deale of paine
Take these their leave, as ne're to meete againe?
Hast seene a man from his deere home exil'd?
Hast heard a mother parting from her child?
What weeping, wailing, and what heavinesse?
What contristation, even to excesse?
And how unable reason is to sway
Th'unbeveld passion, or it make obey?
Hast heard a mother parting from her child?
What weeping, wailing, and what heavinesse?
What contristation, even to excesse?
And how unable reason is to sway
Th'unbeveld passion, or it make obey?
Or hast thou ere observ'd that passionate,
And dolefull quest, that heart affecting-blate
Of lambes, lamenting their deere dammes restraint?
Or mark'd the mournfull noise and pitteous plaint,
Doubled, and oft redoubled by the dammes,
At present parting from their little lambes?
And dolefull quest, that heart affecting-blate
Of lambes, lamenting their deere dammes restraint?
Or mark'd the mournfull noise and pitteous plaint,
Doubled, and oft redoubled by the dammes,
At present parting from their little lambes?
44
Hast ere beene present at some Cities sacke,
And seene the havocke, and the wofull wrack,
When to the surly souldier once betraid,
The modest matron, and the untoucht maid,
So most unmannerly, spite of their heart,
With their deere honours are compell'd to part?
What reluctation, and what sturdie strife?
What meanes, what shifts, the jewell of their life
To save from spoyle, and losse? what vows, what pray'r?
What humble 'haviour? and what speaking faire?
What deep distraction? and what heavie cheere?
How loth to yeeld (alacke) yet ne're the neere.
And seene the havocke, and the wofull wrack,
When to the surly souldier once betraid,
The modest matron, and the untoucht maid,
So most unmannerly, spite of their heart,
With their deere honours are compell'd to part?
What reluctation, and what sturdie strife?
What meanes, what shifts, the jewell of their life
To save from spoyle, and losse? what vows, what pray'r?
What humble 'haviour? and what speaking faire?
What deep distraction? and what heavie cheere?
How loth to yeeld (alacke) yet ne're the neere.
Like loth, and with as much, or more adoe,
Bodie and soule each other do forgoe.
Ah when the soule comes warning once to give,
That shee no longer in her house will live:
Ne, not so much as sojourne any more,
Where shee hath dwelt so many yeares before,
At this sad news; like fruit with windie blast,
Downe in a transe the weakly bodie 's cast:
Inly, the very bowels yearne with griefe,
The stomacke nauseats at wont reliefe,
The straightned lungs breath hardly, short and thicke,
The head's distempred, and the heart is sicke,
And every roome and corner of the house
Fill'd with darke steems and vapours nubilous.
Bodie and soule each other do forgoe.
Ah when the soule comes warning once to give,
That shee no longer in her house will live:
Ne, not so much as sojourne any more,
Where shee hath dwelt so many yeares before,
At this sad news; like fruit with windie blast,
Downe in a transe the weakly bodie 's cast:
Inly, the very bowels yearne with griefe,
The stomacke nauseats at wont reliefe,
The straightned lungs breath hardly, short and thicke,
The head's distempred, and the heart is sicke,
And every roome and corner of the house
Fill'd with darke steems and vapours nubilous.
In this disconsolate and sickly state,
The soule the body doth commiserate;
And through meere sympathy is ill at ease;
Therefore all griefe on both sides to appease,
And now resolv'd no longer while to stay,
Shee forth of doores slips suddenly away.
The soule the body doth commiserate;
And through meere sympathy is ill at ease;
Therefore all griefe on both sides to appease,
And now resolv'd no longer while to stay,
Shee forth of doores slips suddenly away.
45
Eftsoons all's husht, and the whole house at rest,
Onely the eyes which but they beene supprest
Wide open stand, and their lids upward raise,
Still after her, that was their life and light, to gaze.
Onely the eyes which but they beene supprest
Wide open stand, and their lids upward raise,
Still after her, that was their life and light, to gaze.
O valente huomo chi puo esser misero.
Full easie is for men in miserie
Weary of life, t'importune death to die,
Who dare not looke misfortune in the face,
Nor griefe, nor paine, nor sicknesse, nor disgrace,
But cowardly with horror, and dismay
Out of themselves, oft times do runne away.
Like Grashoppers, that skip, and sing, and dance
While Summer lasts; but as flyes, in a transe,
When Winter comes, with stormes accompan'ed
In every hole, and corner them doe hide,
Quite out of love with life, for such to call
For death, no fortitude it is at all.
Weary of life, t'importune death to die,
Who dare not looke misfortune in the face,
Nor griefe, nor paine, nor sicknesse, nor disgrace,
But cowardly with horror, and dismay
Out of themselves, oft times do runne away.
Like Grashoppers, that skip, and sing, and dance
While Summer lasts; but as flyes, in a transe,
When Winter comes, with stormes accompan'ed
In every hole, and corner them doe hide,
Quite out of love with life, for such to call
For death, no fortitude it is at all.
But he whose countenance at all assayes,
Is ever one, in Sun or cloudie dayes:
Whose minde can bend, as buxom as a twigge
To all estates, bee't high, low, small, or bigge,
If fortune say he must doe thus, or thus,
With her the matter he doth ne're discusse.
Who with same freenesse, that he wins can lose,
Who with small noise can beare all fortunes blowes:
And any part that fortune shall her please
To put him to, can personate with ease;
This is a man, one of a thousand men,
A right-bred chicken of the milke-white hen.
Right truly wise and valiant is this man,
Who selfe submit to all manner weather can;
Who 'gainst it comes, for fortune doth provide,
Not mov'd with Ebbe, nor flowing of her tyde.
So great the strength of his true temperd minde
To welcome faire and foule in selfe same kinde.
Is ever one, in Sun or cloudie dayes:
Whose minde can bend, as buxom as a twigge
To all estates, bee't high, low, small, or bigge,
If fortune say he must doe thus, or thus,
With her the matter he doth ne're discusse.
Who with same freenesse, that he wins can lose,
Who with small noise can beare all fortunes blowes:
46
To put him to, can personate with ease;
This is a man, one of a thousand men,
A right-bred chicken of the milke-white hen.
Right truly wise and valiant is this man,
Who selfe submit to all manner weather can;
Who 'gainst it comes, for fortune doth provide,
Not mov'd with Ebbe, nor flowing of her tyde.
So great the strength of his true temperd minde
To welcome faire and foule in selfe same kinde.
Come good? why well, and good: come bad? why well:
So 'gainst all paines, his patience is his spell:
Hee eekes, nor aggravates his weale, or woe;
Ne takes long farewells of them when they goe,
And in his open doore still readie stands,
When ere they come, to take them by the hands:
So evenly he knowes to beare himselfe;
Hee rich in povertie, and poore in wealth;
Either or neither can contented bee:
Oh blessed man, how free in bonds is hee?
Who though his bread too sow'r of leaven taste,
Can eate and it digest as finest paste:
And water drinke, yea vineger for need.
This is the truely valiant man indeed.
So 'gainst all paines, his patience is his spell:
Hee eekes, nor aggravates his weale, or woe;
Ne takes long farewells of them when they goe,
And in his open doore still readie stands,
When ere they come, to take them by the hands:
So evenly he knowes to beare himselfe;
Hee rich in povertie, and poore in wealth;
Either or neither can contented bee:
Oh blessed man, how free in bonds is hee?
Who though his bread too sow'r of leaven taste,
Can eate and it digest as finest paste:
And water drinke, yea vineger for need.
This is the truely valiant man indeed.
47
L' Envoy.
Mongst all things possible, and yet so hard,Almost next doore t'impossibilitie;
That man or woman is, who having far'd
All their life long, and liv'd deliciously:
Not crost nor vext with contrarietie
Of chance or fortune, which most men dismay
When death them calls, can answer patiently.
Wherefore my soule, doe thou still humbly pray,
“Nature of nature, good God, grant, when I
“Must leave to live, pow'r willingly to die.
Naturæ natura, Deus bone, cum mihi posse
Vivere sustuleris, da mihi velle mori.
Vivere sustuleris, da mihi velle mori.
FINIS.
| Phyala Lachrymarum: Or A Few Friendly Teares, shed over the dead Body of Mr Nathaniel Weld Mr of Arts of Emanuel Colledge in Cambridge | |