Tears on the Death of Evander Occasioned by the Lamentable Losse of the truelie Noble and Generous, Sir Iohn Svynton Knight, Collonel of an Regiment of 2000 Nedderlanders, going for Venize, who was cast away by storme on the coast of England upon Goodwin Sands the 13 of Octob. 1630 [by George Lauder] |
 |
 | Tears on the Death of Evander |  |
TEARS ON THE DEATH OF EVANDER
Occasioned by the Lamentable losse of the truelie Noble and Generous, SIR. IOHN SVYNTON KNIGHT, Collonel of an Regiment of 2000 Nedderlanders, going for Venize, who was cast away by storme on the coast of England upon Goodwin sands the 13 of Octob. 1630.
The
Sunne in Thetys armes was gone to bed,
And Nightes black curtaines ore this All were spred,
Through which heavens glimpseing lightes began t'appeare,
And weakly sparkle in our Hemyspheere;
When Lysis, vhose free soule farre from the snaires
Of Time; and worldly base entangling Cares,
In quiet sleep did prove the wished joye,
Of sueet repose which neuer dreames annoye,
Whilst lull'd into a silence calme and deepe,
Deaths Sister did his senses senselesse Keepe:
Till rouzd with sudden sound amaz'd v'th feare,
A voyce (he knewe full well) did peirce his eare,
And calld him forth that darke and gloomie shade,
To see a Ghost stand pale before his bed;
A Ghost much like a Seagod, who did beare
The Brave Evander's face his eyes and hayre,
Yet as if drench'd into the fatal flood
A woe full sight there droppeing droopeing stood,
And haveing wak'd both Lysis eare and eye,
Frist stareing smil'd to see him panteing lie,
At last these wordes did utter, which a groane
Did sadly usher, and hee thus went on.
And Nightes black curtaines ore this All were spred,
Through which heavens glimpseing lightes began t'appeare,
And weakly sparkle in our Hemyspheere;
When Lysis, vhose free soule farre from the snaires
Of Time; and worldly base entangling Cares,
In quiet sleep did prove the wished joye,
Of sueet repose which neuer dreames annoye,
Whilst lull'd into a silence calme and deepe,
Deaths Sister did his senses senselesse Keepe:
Till rouzd with sudden sound amaz'd v'th feare,
A voyce (he knewe full well) did peirce his eare,
And calld him forth that darke and gloomie shade,
To see a Ghost stand pale before his bed;
A Ghost much like a Seagod, who did beare
The Brave Evander's face his eyes and hayre,
Yet as if drench'd into the fatal flood
A woe full sight there droppeing droopeing stood,
And haveing wak'd both Lysis eare and eye,
Frist stareing smil'd to see him panteing lie,
At last these wordes did utter, which a groane
Did sadly usher, and hee thus went on.
Lysis, whose love and faith I liveing found,
Where mortalls move, and Phœbus guilds te ground;
Behold mee heere thy late Evanders ghost,
A shaddowe of that substance thou hast lost.
Who now whilst Night with starres doth seed the skies,
Entreats thee open thy sleep shutten eyes:
It is no Demon on his browe that beares
Mischaunce and horror, and such Maddeing feares,
Bot a good soule whom death hath late sett free,
In love and freyndship that appeares to thee.
Where mortalls move, and Phœbus guilds te ground;
Behold mee heere thy late Evanders ghost,
A shaddowe of that substance thou hast lost.
Who now whilst Night with starres doth seed the skies,
Entreats thee open thy sleep shutten eyes:
It is no Demon on his browe that beares
Mischaunce and horror, and such Maddeing feares,
Bot a good soule whom death hath late sett free,
In love and freyndship that appeares to thee.
If ever mortall anguish greeffe and feare
Seas'd any soule which could not find a teare,
Bot senselesse made with too much sense of woe,
Poore Lysis in that plight such payne did knowe,
For not one sighe of breath came from his brest,
And chilleing cold his members did invest,
Tuo passions in his soule did keep a strife,
Feare of him dead and love of him on life,
Bot love at last prevaill'd and call'd agayne
His sense and speech in these sad wordes to playn.
Seas'd any soule which could not find a teare,
Bot senselesse made with too much sense of woe,
Poore Lysis in that plight such payne did knowe,
For not one sighe of breath came from his brest,
And chilleing cold his members did invest,
Tuo passions in his soule did keep a strife,
Feare of him dead and love of him on life,
Bot love at last prevaill'd and call'd agayne
His sense and speech in these sad wordes to playn.
Deare Ghost (sayd he) the object of my thought,
And hath thy love from blest Elysium brought.
Thee backe agayne; enforceing heavens decree;
Whith ah! too soone hath rob'd the world of Thee?
O loyall freyndship! o hard povers of fate!
O changing fortune! o wretch'd humane state!
O flattring hopes! o bodyes bot of glasse!
O lasteing greffes! o Ioyes which poasting passe!
And hath thy love from blest Elysium brought.
Thee backe agayne; enforceing heavens decree;
Whith ah! too soone hath rob'd the world of Thee?
O loyall freyndship! o hard povers of fate!
O changing fortune! o wretch'd humane state!
O flattring hopes! o bodyes bot of glasse!
O lasteing greffes! o Ioyes which poasting passe!
Evander, once my hope thy cuntryes ioye,
The world's regret, and now thy freynds annoye,
And art thou gone ay Me! had Death the pover
To bound thy Time; or haste thy fatall hover?
Ere thou hadst yett half honnors race outrunne
Which was so brauelie but by Thee begunne?
Thy sommer seem'd in riseing heatte to shine,
Still lengthning, bot not yett com'd neare that line.
At which thy loungest day should make a stand,
Which now hath found her loungest Night at hand.
The Laurells which thy suord should have lopp'd doune,
To bind thy temples for thy merites croune,
Thougb they there toppes both fayre and high did stretch
And seem'd to be beyond the common reach
Of valors hand were yett too lowe for thee,
Not fitt a garland for thy lockes to be.
Bot now the Cypresse hath usurp'd that right
Too Soone alace! thyne Obsequies to light.
Thy youth which full of courage led thee on
In search of brave Occasions, did it Wonne
A reputation and a noble Name,
In forrein warres, to prove o dyeing fame!
That with thy life thy Name should buried lie
And last bot like a lightning loungst the skie?
No no, heavens Thee for greatter things ordain'd,
And thou shouldst have a higher spheare attayn'd
Thy bright Aurora augur'd greatter heatte
And lounger day before thy Sunne should sett,
Which in his middayes glorie now gone doune
Like Phaetons fall hath brought thy Night at Noone,
If enuyous fates had not ecclypst thy light
Brave soule, hou had'st thou shin'd in Europe's sight?
The actions of thy first and tender yeares
Astonish'd Holland yett for strange admeires,
When Iulliers sawe thy forduard youth advance,
Where leaders failld and feard the hurt of Chance,
Bohemia's battles sawe thee bath'd in blood,
Outface all feare where death and horror stood,
So deare Eliza's Croune was unto Thee
That thou didst seeke a Sacrifice to be
To her good fortune, and wouldst glad appease,
Heavens frouneing browe if it thy blood could please,
To settle on thy slaughtred bones a Throne
For her and hers for aye to sitt upon.
The Russian warres, and fierce Polonian fightes
Sawe Thee a stranger work such wondrous feattes,
As made thy Name adoar'd, thy person lou'd,
Thy sword redoubted, and thy deeds approu'd,
The wilde Hungariam did amazed veiue
The terror-stricken misbeleeuing crue,
Flie from thy sight, wholle squadrons all at once,
Whilst thou didst offer up the dyeing groanes
Of such as durst thy kindled wrath abide:
Vnto thy glorie, as they fainteing dy'd.
Beseeged Stade where Cæsars Eagles spred
There conquering winges, and poverfull armies led
All captive that the Romane pover withstood,
Within her starved walles where want of food,
And invard famine did more bandes orethrowe
Then outvard force of an assaulting foe,
Can give records of thy undaunted mynde
Who scornd within her fortes to be confind;
Bot bravelie sallied out where dangers most
And braveing Enemyes did ruine boast,
Yea when all hope was lost of more defence
Knowes with what courage and what confidence,
Thou forc'dst the Enemy a treattie yeeld
And graunt thee passage free through open feeld.
These were bot presages of greatter deeds,
Though none more glorions in Times Annalls reads;
For had thy late intentions come to end,
What fortune did thy forduard armes attend?
That Cittie, Neptunes love, had woundring seene
Thy sword enstale her all the Oceans Queene,
To weare a Diademe as proud as Spayne
Enrich'd with Iewells of the land and Mayne;
Bot ah! fates would it nott, who what is brave
As jealous of our good from us still reave.
Bot lett them doe there worst since thou art gone
In whom, true Honor and fayre vertue shone:
Raise whom they list, and whom they list suppresse
Change mirth in mourninge, Weell in wretchednesse.
The world's regret, and now thy freynds annoye,
And art thou gone ay Me! had Death the pover
To bound thy Time; or haste thy fatall hover?
Ere thou hadst yett half honnors race outrunne
Which was so brauelie but by Thee begunne?
Thy sommer seem'd in riseing heatte to shine,
Still lengthning, bot not yett com'd neare that line.
At which thy loungest day should make a stand,
Which now hath found her loungest Night at hand.
The Laurells which thy suord should have lopp'd doune,
To bind thy temples for thy merites croune,
Thougb they there toppes both fayre and high did stretch
And seem'd to be beyond the common reach
Not fitt a garland for thy lockes to be.
Bot now the Cypresse hath usurp'd that right
Too Soone alace! thyne Obsequies to light.
Thy youth which full of courage led thee on
In search of brave Occasions, did it Wonne
A reputation and a noble Name,
In forrein warres, to prove o dyeing fame!
That with thy life thy Name should buried lie
And last bot like a lightning loungst the skie?
No no, heavens Thee for greatter things ordain'd,
And thou shouldst have a higher spheare attayn'd
Thy bright Aurora augur'd greatter heatte
And lounger day before thy Sunne should sett,
Which in his middayes glorie now gone doune
Like Phaetons fall hath brought thy Night at Noone,
If enuyous fates had not ecclypst thy light
Brave soule, hou had'st thou shin'd in Europe's sight?
The actions of thy first and tender yeares
Astonish'd Holland yett for strange admeires,
When Iulliers sawe thy forduard youth advance,
Where leaders failld and feard the hurt of Chance,
Bohemia's battles sawe thee bath'd in blood,
Outface all feare where death and horror stood,
So deare Eliza's Croune was unto Thee
That thou didst seeke a Sacrifice to be
To her good fortune, and wouldst glad appease,
Heavens frouneing browe if it thy blood could please,
To settle on thy slaughtred bones a Throne
For her and hers for aye to sitt upon.
The Russian warres, and fierce Polonian fightes
Sawe Thee a stranger work such wondrous feattes,
Thy sword redoubted, and thy deeds approu'd,
The wilde Hungariam did amazed veiue
The terror-stricken misbeleeuing crue,
Flie from thy sight, wholle squadrons all at once,
Whilst thou didst offer up the dyeing groanes
Of such as durst thy kindled wrath abide:
Vnto thy glorie, as they fainteing dy'd.
Beseeged Stade where Cæsars Eagles spred
There conquering winges, and poverfull armies led
All captive that the Romane pover withstood,
Within her starved walles where want of food,
And invard famine did more bandes orethrowe
Then outvard force of an assaulting foe,
Can give records of thy undaunted mynde
Who scornd within her fortes to be confind;
Bot bravelie sallied out where dangers most
And braveing Enemyes did ruine boast,
Yea when all hope was lost of more defence
Knowes with what courage and what confidence,
Thou forc'dst the Enemy a treattie yeeld
And graunt thee passage free through open feeld.
These were bot presages of greatter deeds,
Though none more glorions in Times Annalls reads;
For had thy late intentions come to end,
What fortune did thy forduard armes attend?
That Cittie, Neptunes love, had woundring seene
Thy sword enstale her all the Oceans Queene,
To weare a Diademe as proud as Spayne
Enrich'd with Iewells of the land and Mayne;
Bot ah! fates would it nott, who what is brave
As jealous of our good from us still reave.
In whom, true Honor and fayre vertue shone:
Raise whom they list, and whom they list suppresse
Change mirth in mourninge, Weell in wretchednesse.
Ah! had they yett ordained Thee to die
In Mars his feeld; where in the worlds fayre eye
Thou might have left a marke of thy great worth,
For aftertymes to sett thy glorie forth,
Why was it not, O Greeffe! with suord in hand;
In presence of tuo Armyes in command?
Where dy'd in blood and sueatte, rage in thyne eyes,
Sterne furie in thy lookes 'mongst fainteing Cries
Of bleeding wightes, dismembred unto Death
Who with a deep fetchd sighe, sighe out there breathe
That Thou didst end, and in a lawefull warre
Thy dayes with glorie which no Time could marre?
Yett what doe I (Deare Ghost) thus wishe in vaine!
Thou hast enough, since heavens did so ordaine,
With that his eyes now bigg with teares, sett ope
There Christ all conduits and gave Greeffe free scope.
The Ghost who sawe his sorrove in his eyes,
With pittie mou'd did nott his love dispise,
Bot mildelie thus his passion did restrayne,
And gentlie call'd him to himselfe againe.
In Mars his feeld; where in the worlds fayre eye
Thou might have left a marke of thy great worth,
For aftertymes to sett thy glorie forth,
Why was it not, O Greeffe! with suord in hand;
In presence of tuo Armyes in command?
Where dy'd in blood and sueatte, rage in thyne eyes,
Sterne furie in thy lookes 'mongst fainteing Cries
Of bleeding wightes, dismembred unto Death
Who with a deep fetchd sighe, sighe out there breathe
That Thou didst end, and in a lawefull warre
Thy dayes with glorie which no Time could marre?
Yett what doe I (Deare Ghost) thus wishe in vaine!
Thou hast enough, since heavens did so ordaine,
With that his eyes now bigg with teares, sett ope
There Christ all conduits and gave Greeffe free scope.
The Ghost who sawe his sorrove in his eyes,
With pittie mou'd did nott his love dispise,
Bot mildelie thus his passion did restrayne,
And gentlie call'd him to himselfe againe.
Lysis, my liveing freynd, and lover dead
Forbeare those playntes and teares in vaine to shed,
Since heavens Who lent mee life a limite sett
Vnto my dayes: and I have reached that
My death is too much honored, in the groanes
Of those my freynds, with whom I lived once,
And that which now afflictes my greeved Ghost
Is, that they waille too much what they have lost,
My Time was spent, and lifes short spanne was come
To that last point where heavens would call mee home,
My dayes a webb of wandring errors; wrought
With weel and woe, mee through the world have brought,
Bot stil with Hono'r which my loadstarre was,
In all my weyes and actions, still my glasse,
For Honors love no danger I eshew'd,
No force I fear'd, though greatter pover pursu'd,
Bot still in chace of it, I bold did roame
Throughout the corners of all Christiandome,
What charge I bore when chosen to command,
And with what care perform'd by this right hand,
Lett those for whom I fought be witnes all
Whò Mee almost vnknowne to charge did call,
Bott that's all past, and now my soule doth rest
In peace, and finds the quiet of the Blest,
I now from heavens highe roundes behold this Round,
On which you live, lowe lowe, scarce to be found
Bot of cleere eyes; so small a thing it is,
Compair'd unto the Vniverse of blesse;
There you like Antes doe suarme, and still at Iarres
For lesse then litle still wage deadly warres,
And glorie to be great, on Earth so small,
As if there were no other world at all;
Poore foolles! one day will let you see what oddes
There is betuix Mans Empyrie and Gods,
Bot thou my Lysis; by thy love and faith
Heark I conjure thee, what Evander sayth,
And let the world heare it againe from Thee,
When Time shall give thee opportunitie,
Though heavens in suelling waves my grave assignd,
And made my obsequies the blustring wind;
The Tritons and the Nersyds of the mayne,
To grace my funerall pompe with goodlie trayne,
And Neptunes selfe cheeffe mourner to deplore
My Death; and bring the showe to Brittaines shoare,
I enuy nott there hap whom Paros stone
Dot shroude in statelie Tombes by Time orethroune,
The Christ all teares of those my worthy freynds,
Who now regrett my losse, a tribute lends.
To reare a Monument of love for Mee,
Which will perhaps weare with Aeternitie
In some one pairt, which Lysis if it be
My Ghost shall think she owes the same to Thee.
So fare thou weell live honors lover still,
Heavens sheild thee with there love and mens goodwill,
Forbeare those playntes and teares in vaine to shed,
Since heavens Who lent mee life a limite sett
Vnto my dayes: and I have reached that
My death is too much honored, in the groanes
Of those my freynds, with whom I lived once,
And that which now afflictes my greeved Ghost
Is, that they waille too much what they have lost,
To that last point where heavens would call mee home,
My dayes a webb of wandring errors; wrought
With weel and woe, mee through the world have brought,
Bot stil with Hono'r which my loadstarre was,
In all my weyes and actions, still my glasse,
For Honors love no danger I eshew'd,
No force I fear'd, though greatter pover pursu'd,
Bot still in chace of it, I bold did roame
Throughout the corners of all Christiandome,
What charge I bore when chosen to command,
And with what care perform'd by this right hand,
Lett those for whom I fought be witnes all
Whò Mee almost vnknowne to charge did call,
Bott that's all past, and now my soule doth rest
In peace, and finds the quiet of the Blest,
I now from heavens highe roundes behold this Round,
On which you live, lowe lowe, scarce to be found
Bot of cleere eyes; so small a thing it is,
Compair'd unto the Vniverse of blesse;
There you like Antes doe suarme, and still at Iarres
For lesse then litle still wage deadly warres,
And glorie to be great, on Earth so small,
As if there were no other world at all;
Poore foolles! one day will let you see what oddes
There is betuix Mans Empyrie and Gods,
Bot thou my Lysis; by thy love and faith
Heark I conjure thee, what Evander sayth,
And let the world heare it againe from Thee,
When Time shall give thee opportunitie,
Though heavens in suelling waves my grave assignd,
And made my obsequies the blustring wind;
To grace my funerall pompe with goodlie trayne,
And Neptunes selfe cheeffe mourner to deplore
My Death; and bring the showe to Brittaines shoare,
I enuy nott there hap whom Paros stone
Dot shroude in statelie Tombes by Time orethroune,
The Christ all teares of those my worthy freynds,
Who now regrett my losse, a tribute lends.
To reare a Monument of love for Mee,
Which will perhaps weare with Aeternitie
In some one pairt, which Lysis if it be
My Ghost shall think she owes the same to Thee.
So fare thou weell live honors lover still,
Heavens sheild thee with there love and mens goodwill,
This sayd Hee vanish'd, Lysis weeping lay
Vntill the Sunne had brought about the day.
Vntill the Sunne had brought about the day.
Dignum Laude virum Musa vetat mori,
G. Lavder.
| Tears on the Death of Evander | |