University of Virginia Library

On the death and Poems, of his most deare friend, Master Thomas Beedome.

VVhy did thy muse display her eaglets wing,
And make a flight at heaven? why did shee sing,
Like to the earely Larke, when she begunne,
Glad carolls in the eare o'the listning Sunne.
Till heavens inhabitants did even conspire,
To snatch thee as a chanter to their quire,
But glorious Beedome, ere he left the earth,
Did give to fame a Monument, a birth.
To such a living fancy, as in spight,
Of fate, shall like a precious ray of light,
Dwell 'bout his urne, where all the muses sit,
Wayling the losse of his emergent wit.
And weeping ore his ashes till their eyes,
Instead of teares, shed mournfull Elegies.
Peneian Daphne, there her armes displayes,
As if she would intombe him in her bayes.
And she who Phœbus hot pursuit did shunne,
Imbraces the old ashes of his sonne.
There a bright troope of Uirgins that from farre,
Appeare, resembling every one a starre,
Drown'd in a see of pearle, doe sadly rise,
From his lov'd true, each one without their eyes.
Wept out, or burning left there, as they'd meant,
Those lights for tapers to his Monument.
Where shall we find at such a time a soule,
That could in flowing numbers even controule,
Arts nimblest currents, and most swiftly glide,
Without least noyse, admir'd before espide.
So have I seene a gentle streame, with sweet,
And fluent motion, softly hast to meet,
Its mother Ocean, and inrich her store,
With a more gratefull tribute then before.
A thousand violent torrents paid, whose waves,
Though lowder, brought lesse musicke to their graves,
His life was all one harmony, and in's death,
Numerous, and full of sweetnesse was his breath,
Expanded like the Swans concluding layes,
In lasting accents, that shall speake his prayse,
While Feather-footed time does swiftly passe,
Or has a sand left in his plenteous-glasse,
This is my vote, which to thy Booke shall be,
A just applause, to thee an Elegie.