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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An Elegy, dedicated to the memory of his much honoured friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Knight and Baronet.
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An Elegy, dedicated to the memory of his much honoured friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Knight and Baronet.
I write not Elegies, nor tune my Verse,To waite in mourning notes vpon thy Herse
For vaine applause, or with desire to rank
My slender Muse 'mongst those, who on the bank
Of Aganippe's streame can better sing,
And to their words more sence of sorrow bring.
That stirres my Genius, which should excite
Those pow'rfull wits: to doe a pious Right
To noble vertue, and by verse conuay
Truth to Posterity, and shew the way
By strong example, how in mortall state
We heau'nly Worth may loue, and imitate.
Nay, 'twere a great Iniustice, not to saue
Him from the ruines of a silent Graue,
Who others from their Ashes sought to raise,
To weare (giu'n from his hand) eternall Bayes.
It is by all confess'd, thy happy Straines,
Distill'd from milky streames of natiue veines,
Flow to the Eare, thence gently glide along
Downe to the Heart, in notes so heau'nly-sweet,
That there the Sister-graces seem'd to meet,
And make thy Brest their Seate for soft retire,
And place from whence they fetch'd Promethean Fire,
To kindle other hearts with purest Flame
Of modest Verse, and vnaffected Fame:
While pedant Poetasters of this Age,
(Who stile their saucy Rimes, Poëtique Rage)
Loose humours vent, and Ballad-lines extrude,
Which grieue the Wise, captiue the multitude.
And that thy Poems might the better take,
Not with vaine sound, or for the Authors sake,
Which often is by seruile spirits tryde,
Whil'st heau'n-bred soules are left vnsatisfyde;
Like to the Bee, thou didd'st those Flow'rs select,
That most the tastefull palate might affect,
With pious relishes of things Diuine,
And discomposed sence with peace combine.
Which (in thy Crowne of Thornes) we may discerne,
Fram'd as a Modell for the best to learne:
That Verse may Vertue teach, as well as Prose,
And minds with natiue force to Good dispose,
Deuotion stirre, and quicken cold Desires,
To entertaine the warmth of holy Fires.
There may we see thy Soule exspaciate,
And with true feruor sweetly meditate
Thou seek'st his painefull torments to beguile,
With well-tun'd Accents of thy zealous Song,
Breath'd from a soule transfix'd; a Passion strong,
We better knowledge of his woes attaine,
Fall into Teares with thee, and then againe,
Rise with thy Verse to celebrate the Flood
Of those eternall Torrents of his Blood.
Nor lesse delight (Things serious set apart)
Thy sportiue Poems yeeld with heedfull Art
Composed so, to minister content,
That though we there thinke onely Wit is meant,
We quickly by a happy error, find
In cloudy words, cleare Lampes to light the mind.
Then blesse that Muse, which by vntrodden wayes
Pursuing Vertue, meetes deserued Bayes
To crowne it selfe, and wandring soules reduce
From paths of Ignorance, and wits abuse;
And may the best of English Laureats striue,
Thus, their owne Fun'rall Ashes to suruiue.
Thomas Hawkins.
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