Thalia Rediviva The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan] |
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To the pious memorie of C. W. Esquire who finished
his Course here, and made his Entrance into Immortality
upon the 13 of September, in the year of
Redemption 1653.
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 | Thalia Rediviva |  |
To the pious memorie of C. W. Esquire who finished his Course here, and made his Entrance into Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the year of Redemption 1653.
Now, that the publick Sorrow doth subside,
And those slight tears which Custom Springs, are dried;
While all the rich & out-side-Mourners pass
Home from thy Dust to empty their own Glass:
I (who the throng affect not, nor their state:)
Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
And those slight tears which Custom Springs, are dried;
While all the rich & out-side-Mourners pass
Home from thy Dust to empty their own Glass:
I (who the throng affect not, nor their state:)
Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
So when the world's great Luminary setts,
Some scarce known Star into the Zenith gets,
Twinkles and curls a weak but willing spark:
As Gloworms here do glitter in the dark.
Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there,
An humble love unto the light doth bear,
And true devotion from an Hermits Cell
Will Heav'ns kind King as soon reach and as well
As that which from rich Shrines and Altars flyes
Lead by ascending Incense to the Skies:
'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might
Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
And from my sad retirements calls me forth
The Just Recorder of thy death and worth.
Some scarce known Star into the Zenith gets,
Twinkles and curls a weak but willing spark:
As Gloworms here do glitter in the dark.
Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there,
An humble love unto the light doth bear,
And true devotion from an Hermits Cell
Will Heav'ns kind King as soon reach and as well
As that which from rich Shrines and Altars flyes
Lead by ascending Incense to the Skies:
'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might
Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
And from my sad retirements calls me forth
The Just Recorder of thy death and worth.
7
Long did'st thou live (if length be measured by
The tedious Reign of our Calamity:)
And Counter to all storms and changes still
Kept'st the same temper, and the self same will.
Though trials came as duly as the day,
And in such mists, that none could see his way:
Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw
The Sun give Clouds: and Charles give both the Law.
When private Interest did all hearts bend
And wild dissents the public peace did rend:
Thou neither won, nor worn wer't still thy self;
Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
The tedious Reign of our Calamity:)
And Counter to all storms and changes still
Kept'st the same temper, and the self same will.
Though trials came as duly as the day,
And in such mists, that none could see his way:
Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw
The Sun give Clouds: and Charles give both the Law.
When private Interest did all hearts bend
And wild dissents the public peace did rend:
Thou neither won, nor worn wer't still thy self;
Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
What the insuperable stream of times
Did dash thee with, those Suff'rings were, not Crimes.
So the bright Sun Ecclipses bears; and we
Because then passive, blame him not, should he
For inforc'd shades, and the Moon's ruder veile
Much nearer us, than him; be Judg'd to fail?
Who traduce thee, so erre. As poisons by
Correction are made Antidotes, so thy
Just Soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to Good;
Us'd bad Laws so, they drew not Tears, nor Blood.
Heav'n was thy Aime, and thy great rare Design
Was not to Lord it here, but there to shine.
Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e're
Thou pray'dst for here, was Peace; and Glory there.
For though thy Course in times long progress fell
On a sad age, when Warr and open'd Hell
Licens'd all Artes and Sects, and made it free
To thrive by fraud and blood and blasphemy:
Yet thou thy just Inheritance di'dst by
No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply;
No rapine swell'd thy state: no bribes, nor fees
Our new oppressors best Annuities.
Such clean, pure hands had'st thou! And for thy heart
Man's secret region and his noblest part;
Since I was privy to't, and had the Key
Of that faire Room, where thy bright Spirit lay:
I must affirm, it did as much surpass
Most I have known, as the clear Sky doth glass.
Constant and kind, and plain and meek and Mild
It was, and with no new Conceits defil'd.
Busie, but sacred thoughts (like Bees) did still
Within it stirr, and strive unto that Hill,
Where redeem'd Spirits evermore alive
After their Work is done, ascend and Hive.
No outward tumults reach'd this inward place,
'Twas holy ground: where peace, and love and grace
Kept house: where the immortal restles life
In a most dutiful and pious strife
Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order, still;
The Will serv'd God, and ev'ry Sense the Will!
Did dash thee with, those Suff'rings were, not Crimes.
So the bright Sun Ecclipses bears; and we
Because then passive, blame him not, should he
For inforc'd shades, and the Moon's ruder veile
Much nearer us, than him; be Judg'd to fail?
Who traduce thee, so erre. As poisons by
Correction are made Antidotes, so thy
Just Soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to Good;
Us'd bad Laws so, they drew not Tears, nor Blood.
Heav'n was thy Aime, and thy great rare Design
Was not to Lord it here, but there to shine.
Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e're
Thou pray'dst for here, was Peace; and Glory there.
For though thy Course in times long progress fell
On a sad age, when Warr and open'd Hell
Licens'd all Artes and Sects, and made it free
To thrive by fraud and blood and blasphemy:
Yet thou thy just Inheritance di'dst by
No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply;
8
Our new oppressors best Annuities.
Such clean, pure hands had'st thou! And for thy heart
Man's secret region and his noblest part;
Since I was privy to't, and had the Key
Of that faire Room, where thy bright Spirit lay:
I must affirm, it did as much surpass
Most I have known, as the clear Sky doth glass.
Constant and kind, and plain and meek and Mild
It was, and with no new Conceits defil'd.
Busie, but sacred thoughts (like Bees) did still
Within it stirr, and strive unto that Hill,
Where redeem'd Spirits evermore alive
After their Work is done, ascend and Hive.
No outward tumults reach'd this inward place,
'Twas holy ground: where peace, and love and grace
Kept house: where the immortal restles life
In a most dutiful and pious strife
Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order, still;
The Will serv'd God, and ev'ry Sense the Will!
In this safe state death mett thee. Death which is
But a kind Usher of the good to bliss.
Therefore to Weep because thy Course is run,
Or droop like Flow'rs, which lately lost the Sun:
I cannot yield, since faith will not permitt,
A Tenure got by Conquest to the Pitt.
For the great Victour fought for us, and Hee
Counts ev'ry dust, that is lay'd up of thee.
Besides, Death now grows decrepit and hath
Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.
That thick, black night which mankind fear'd, is torn
By Troops of Stars, and the bright day's Forlorn.
The next glad news (most glad unto the Just!)
Will be the Trumpet's summons from the dust.
Then Ile not grieve; nay more, I'le not allow
My Soul should think thee absent from me now.
Some bid their Dead good night! but I will say
Good morrow to dear Charles! for it is day.
But a kind Usher of the good to bliss.
Therefore to Weep because thy Course is run,
Or droop like Flow'rs, which lately lost the Sun:
I cannot yield, since faith will not permitt,
A Tenure got by Conquest to the Pitt.
For the great Victour fought for us, and Hee
Counts ev'ry dust, that is lay'd up of thee.
Besides, Death now grows decrepit and hath
Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.
That thick, black night which mankind fear'd, is torn
By Troops of Stars, and the bright day's Forlorn.
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Will be the Trumpet's summons from the dust.
Then Ile not grieve; nay more, I'le not allow
My Soul should think thee absent from me now.
Some bid their Dead good night! but I will say
Good morrow to dear Charles! for it is day.
| Thalia Rediviva | |