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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To the immortall memory of the fairest and most vertuous Lady, the Lady Clifton.
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To the immortall memory of the fairest and most vertuous Lady, the Lady Clifton.
Her tongue hath ceast to speake, which might make dumbe.All tongues might stay, all Pens all hands benum;
Yet I must write, O that it might haue beene
While she had liu'd, and had my verses seene,
Before sad cries deaf'd my vntuned eares,
When verses flow'd more easily then teares.
Ah why neglected I to write her prayse,
And paint her Vertues in those happy dayes!
Then my now trembling hand and dazled eye,
Had seldome fail'd, hauing the patterne by;
Or had it err'd, or made some strokes amisse,
(For who can portray vertue as it is?)
Art might with Nature haue maintain'd her strife,
By curious lines to imitate true life.
But now those Pictures want their liuely grace,
As after death none can well draw the face:
We let our friends passe idlely like our time,
Till they be gone, & then we see our crime,
And thinke what worth in them might haue beene known,
What duties done, and what affection showne:
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And then beginnes when the thing knowne is lost;
Yet this cold loue, this enuie, this neglect,
Proclaimes vs modest while our due respect
To goodnesse, is restrain'd by seruile feare,
Lest to the world, it flatt'ry should appeare:
As if the present houres deseru'd no prayse:
But age is past, whose knowledge onely stayes
On that weake prop which memory sustaines,
Should be the proper subiect of our straines:
Or as if foolish men asham'd to sing
Of Violets, and Roses in the Spring,
Should tarry till the flow'rs were blowne away,
And till the Muses life and heate decay;
Then is the fury slak'd, the vigour fled,
As here in mine, since it with her was dead:
Which still may sparkle, but shall flame no more,
Because no time shall her to vs restore:
Yet may these Sparks, thus kindled with her fame,
Shine brighter and liue longer then some flame.
Here expectation vrgeth me to tell
Her high perfections, which the world knew well.
But they are farre beyond my skill t'vnfold,
They were poore vertues if they might be told.
But thou, who faine would'st take a gen'rall view
Of timely fruites which in this garden grew,
On all the vertues in mens actions looke,
Or reade their names writ in some morall booke;
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So many liu'd, and triumph'd in her minde.
Nor dwelt these Graces in a house obscure,
But in a Palace faire, which might allure
The wretch who no respect to vertue bore;
To loue It, for the garments which it wore.
So that in her the body and the soule
Contended, which should most adorne the whole.
O happy Soule for such a body meete,
How are the firme chaines of that vnion sweete,
Disseuer'd in the twinkling of an eye?
And we amaz'd dare aske no reason why,
But silent think, that God is pleas'd to show,
That he hath workes, whose ends we cannot know:
Let vs then cease to make a vaine request,
To learne why die the fairest, why the best;
For all these things, which mortals hold most deare,
Most slipp'ry are, and yeeld lesse ioy then feare;
And being lifted high by mens desire,
Are more perspicuous markes for heau'nly fire;
And are laid prostrate with the first assault,
Because, our loue makes their desert their fault.
Then Iustice, vs to some amends should mooue
For this our fruitelesse, nay our hurtfull loue;
We in their Honour, piles of stone erect
With their deare Names, and worthy prayses deck:
But since those faile, their glories we rehearse,
In better Marble, euerlasting verse:
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Some parts of them, though time the rest deuoures;
Then if the Muses can forbid to die,
As we their Priests suppose, why may not I?
Although the least and hoarsest in the quire,
Cleare beames of blessed immortality inspire
To keepe thy blest remembrance euer young,
Still to be freshly in all Ages sung:
Or if my worke in this vnable be,
Yet shall it euer liue, vpheld by thee:
For thou shalt liue, though Poems should decay,
Since Parents teach their Sonnes, thy prayse to say;
And to posterity, from hand to hand
Conuay it with their blessing and their land.
Thy quiet rest from death, this good deriues
Instead of one, it giues thee many liues:
While these lines last, thy shadow dwelleth here,
Thy fame, it selfe extendeth eu'ry where;
In Heau'n our hopes haue plac'd thy better part:
Thine Image liues, in thy sad Husbands heart:
Who as when he enioy'd thee, he was chiefe
In loue and comfort, so is he now in griefe.
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