 | Poems |  |
96
On the Duke of Buckingham.
Beatissimis Manibus charissimi viri Illma Conjunx sic Parentavit.
When in the brazen leaves of Fame,
The life, the death, of Buckingham
Shall be recorded, if Truth's hand
Incize the story of our Land,
Posteritie shall see a faire
Structure, by the studious care
Of two Kings rays'd, that no lesse
Their wisdome, than their Power expresse;
By blinded zeale (whose doubtfull light
Made murders scarlet robe seeme white,
Whose vain-deluding phantosmes charm'd
A clouded sullen soule, and arm'd
A desperate hand, thirstie of blood)
Torne from the faire earth where it stood;
So the majestique fabrique fell.
His Actions let our Annals tell:
Wee write no Chronicle; This Pile
Weares onely sorrowes face and stile,
Which, even the envie that did waite
Vpon his flourishing estate,
Turn'd to soft pitty of his death,
Now payes his Hearse; but that cheape breath
Shall not blow here, nor th'unpure brine
Puddle those streames that bathe this shrine.
The life, the death, of Buckingham
Shall be recorded, if Truth's hand
Incize the story of our Land,
Posteritie shall see a faire
Structure, by the studious care
Of two Kings rays'd, that no lesse
Their wisdome, than their Power expresse;
By blinded zeale (whose doubtfull light
Made murders scarlet robe seeme white,
Whose vain-deluding phantosmes charm'd
A clouded sullen soule, and arm'd
A desperate hand, thirstie of blood)
Torne from the faire earth where it stood;
So the majestique fabrique fell.
His Actions let our Annals tell:
97
Weares onely sorrowes face and stile,
Which, even the envie that did waite
Vpon his flourishing estate,
Turn'd to soft pitty of his death,
Now payes his Hearse; but that cheape breath
Shall not blow here, nor th'unpure brine
Puddle those streames that bathe this shrine.
These are the pious Obsequies,
Drop'd from his chast Wifes pregnant eyes
In frequent showres, and were alone
By her congealing sighes made stone,
On which the Carver did bestow
These formes and Characters of woe;
So he the fashion onely lent,
Whilst she wept all this Monument.
Drop'd from his chast Wifes pregnant eyes
In frequent showres, and were alone
By her congealing sighes made stone,
On which the Carver did bestow
These formes and Characters of woe;
So he the fashion onely lent,
Whilst she wept all this Monument.
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