The Period of Mourning Disposed into sixe Visions. In Memorie of the late Prince. Together with Nuptiall Hymnes, in Honour of this Happy Marriage betweene the Great Princes, Frederick Count Palatine of the Rhene, and The Most Excellent, and Aboundant President of all Virtve and Goodnes Elizabeth onely Daughter to our Soueraigne, his Maiestie. Also the manner of the Solemnization of the Marriage at White-Hall, on the 14 of February; being Sunday, and St. Valentines day. By Henry Peacham |
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A EPICEDIVM of the Author. |
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 | The Period of Mourning |  |
A EPICEDIVM of the Author.
Stay Royall Body ere thou go'stTo sleepe in Mothers armes, the dust:
And let our Teares distilling fast,
Embalmne thy Louely Limmes the last,
Whom Heauen so deere while here did hold,
It tooke both Modell and the mold
From Nature, least there might remaine,
A hope to haue his like againe:
Henrie too to forward Rose,
Henrie terror to his foes,
Henrie Friendes and Fathers stay,
Henrie Sunne-rise of our Day,
Henrie Loadstar of the Arts,
Henrie Loadstone of all harts.
But now our bud hath bid the frost,
And Britaine, warlike Arthur lost:
Friendes and fathers want their stay,
And ouer-clouded is our day,
This starre is fallen from our sight,
And lost with all our compasse quite.
Oh losse of losses, griefe of griefe,
Beyond compassion or reliefe!
From Babell, Ægypt ward or not?
His Iourney scarsly yet begunne,
Or was this deede by Heauen done?
The cause were Earths all Horrid crimes,
Hatch'd in these faithlesse fruitlesse times:
'Tis sinne hath drawne the deluge downe
Of all these teares, wherein we drowne,
Wherein not onely we are drent,
But all the Christian continent;
Yea vtmost climes and coastes vnknowne,
Whereto his winged Fleete is flowne,
Whose Pilot while the Maister sleepes,
Is sounding of the Northerne deepes,
Encountring Icie Mountaines, Coasts,
Rak'd vp in Snowes, or bound with frosts:
Who saue the Deitie diuine,
Could say the depth of his designe?
As when a Comet doth amaze,
The world with it's prodigious blaze,
While in some pitchie night, from North,
Sword brandisht flames it shooteth forth,
All ghessing what it might portend,
Or where th'effect would fall it'h end,
So when this youth in Armor shone,
He was with terror look'd vpon,
Which way mought turne his sword or launce,
To Turke, to Spaine, to Roome, or Fraunce:
But this a Meteor was, no Starre
Imperfect mixt as glories are;
And Commodus beare Hermes rod:
Marcellus call in thunder downe,
From Heauen, an artificiall crowne,
Clearchus in his charge beare fire,
Augustus clepe the Sunne his Sire,
Domitian his owne Mother scorne,
To say of Pallas he was borne,
Yet all are Adams earthy weake,
Adord like Idols till they breake;
Become the scorne of Time and Fate,
And obiects of the meanest Hate.
By Bodkins greatest Cæsar's dead,
A Shepherdesse take Cyrus head,
A Weasils bite kils Aristide,
And Lice did punish Herods pride:
Blinde Times ascribing these to be
Th'effects of Fate or Destinie
Ineuitable; mocking vs
With th' Ato'mes of Democritus.
The Soule of this which VVorld we call,
Or Influence Cœlestiall,
'Tis no Ægyptian Iron Line,
But prouidence of Power Diuine;
VVhose high Idæas are beeings,
And all Essentiall formes of things,
Disposing of all here below,
Whose ends himselfe doth onely know:
Who made a cord of seuerall sinne,
To whip vs out, or hold vs in.
May to late Henry be applyed;
That he for his owne good is gone,
But for our full affliction:
For whose deare losse, oh let the Towers
Of each heauen-daring crime of ours
Be cast to ground, as Carthage were,
When she her Princes death did heare:
And to expresse her sorrow more,
Her wals with blacke quite couer'd o'er.
Or with th'Ægyptians let vs mourne
Tenne times seauen dayes about his Vrne:
Or strow his Herse with bud and bloome,
As Thetis her Achilles Tombe:
Or crowne his Ashes left to vs,
As they did of Demetrius:
Or hang, with Athens, Laurell by,
In signall of his Victory,
Triumphing ouer Sinne and Death,
Wherewith wee struggle still beneath;
That happy thus, why (fooles) doe wee
With vainest vowes sollicite thee?
Teares after teares to Heauen send,
That should vpon our selues descend?
But rather let thee quiet rest,
Where thou perpetually art blest:
Then farewell Henry heauenly Iemme,
Adorning new Hierusalem;
Farewell thy Britaines broken Shield;
Farewell the Honor of the Field;
Farewell Eliza's dearest Brother;
Farewell the Church and Learnings prop;
Farewell the arme that held me vp;
Farewell the golden dayes of mirth;
Farewell the best-best Prince of earth;
Farewell. Perforce I cease to mourne,
For teares mine Inke to water turne.
| The Period of Mourning | |