Bosworth-field With a Taste of the Variety of Other Poems, Left by Sir John Beaumont ... Set Forth by his Sonne, Sir Iohn Beaumont |
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Vpon the vntimely death of the Honourable, hopefull young Gentleman, Edward Stafford, Sonne and Heire to the Lord Stafford.
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Vpon the vntimely death of the Honourable, hopefull young Gentleman, Edward Stafford, Sonne and Heire to the Lord Stafford.
Dead is the hope of Stafford, in whose lineSo many Dukes, and Earles, and Barons shine:
And from this Edwards death his kinred drawes
More griefe, then mighty Edwards fall could cause:
For to this House his vertue promist more
Then all those great Ones that had gone before.
No lofty titles can securely frame
The happinesse, and glory of a Name:
Bright honours at the point of Noone decay,
And feele a sad declining like the day.
But he that from the race of Kings is borne,
And can their mem'ries with his worth adorne,
Is farre more blest, then those of whom he springs,
He from aboue the soule of goodnesse brings,
T'inspire the body of his Noble birth,
This makes it moue, before but liuelesse earth.
Of such I write, who show'd he would haue been
Complete in action, but we lost him greene.
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O that the fruits had giu'n me larger scope!
And yet the bloomes which on his Herse we strow,
Surpasse the Cherries, and the Grapes that grow
In others Gardens. Here fresh Roses lie,
Whose ruddy blushes modest thoughts descry,
In Flowre-de-luces dide with azure huc,
His constant loue to heau'nly things we view:
The spotlesse Lillies shew his pure intent,
The flaming Marigold his zeale present,
The purple Violets his Noble minde,
Degen'rate neuer from his Princely kind;
And last of all the Hyacinths we throw,
In which are writ the letters of our woe.
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