A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures Gallantly garnished, with goodly Galleries of strang inuentio[n]s and prudently polished, with sundry pleasant Posies, & other fine fancies of dainty deuices, and rare delightes. Written by a student in Ca[m]bridge. And published by I. C. Gent |
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An Epitaph vpon the death of the famous Phylosopher,
P. Ramus, who was murdered in the persecution of
Fraunce, 26. Augusti.
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 | A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures |  |
An Epitaph vpon the death of the famous Phylosopher, P. Ramus, who was murdered in the persecution of Fraunce, 26. Augusti.
Anno Domini. 1572. Etatis circiter. 57.
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This Epitaph followinge of P. Ramus the Poore knight, hath often tolde mee, to bee a freendes of his in Cambridge, and not of his owne indightinge, which if it bee, I craue pardon of the Author, and I leaue it to the consideration of the Reader.
The losse of him who while hee liude, your Alters did adore.
The bow, ye branch, which bare such frute, whose tast & plesant sauor,
Did moue the harts, of all the impes, which sought to win your fauor.
Who plighted paine to Hellicon, in Parnas was his pleasure,
Who drunke of Aganippas well, in Thespias was his treasure.
By sundry sortes hee sought to clyme, the Mount which merit fame,
No thorne this was, but fruitfull tree, his faults declare the same.
Oh would you could permit the pen, and quiuering quill to wright.
Wherwith olde Homer did discourse, the toyle of Troian fight.
To hew his tombe with cunning hand, whō denting death hath slain
Fye Poets, fy: fy, fy, for shame: vniust you seeme to bee.
To pen the praise of bush and shrub, and to let pas this tree.
Who yeelded frute to euery one, of sweete & sugred sauor,
Now winters blast hath blown him bare, shal none requite his labor
If Virgils verse I could atchiue, his renowme to declare,
No Textor his toyle, should quaile my Muse, or put my mind in feare
Or for to pen olde Ramus praise, then blessed wight I were.
If I of him as hee could doo, while hee was liuing here.
A Iem, a ioy, a freend to France, yet France to him a foe,
A Lampe of light, to those which seeke, to Parnas Hill to goe.
What should I say, a peereles perle, and of a precious price.
A teacher to the silly soule, a Iudge amongst the wise.
A Spectacle to studients, to youth a perfit glasse,
A rescue to Religion, when discorde mooued was.
A light to good Logicions, a pen to Tullies praise,
A Pilot vnto passengers, which bee to saile those seas.
A Mirror to Philosophy, an ayd to them which bee,
Minded to feede vpon the frute, which grow vpon this tree
Thus while he liued in skilful schooles, and taught most perfit waies,
The roote, the stock, which bare this branch, did win immortal praise
And while he sought to clere the springs, being stopt with filthy mier
His paines did purchase publicke foes, as paiment for his hier.
And while hee sought the truth to tell, by proofe to try the same.
Alectos shaked her snaky snout, and from Cocitus came,
Whose grisly ghost did moue the mindes, of those whom fury fed,
How tumults stirred their libels lost, such frute Alectos bred.
Olde Ramus hee, whose tongue was truth, whose pen did purchase fame,
By straight edict must silent rest, his pen must doo the same.
His paper hath no liberty, his pen may not display,
That which his Muse in learned stile, is now forbid to say,
His auditors who willingly, his lectures did frequent,
By publicke charge they must abstaine in feare of punishment.
Till mighty Ioue which raised vp, this bow, this branch, this tree,
Sent siluer cowes, and christall springes, his comfort for to bee.
By whom this branch did blow againe with bloomes that were most bright,
With filed pen and reasons rule, hee put his foes to flight,
In liftes his manhood for to try, his foes bee entred in.
Not one nor twaine, but many foes, assembled were togeather,
To lanche the barke into ye waues, against the stormes & weather.
Olde Ramus hee whose worthy wit, whose force to few was knowne,
Ariueth in porte, but in the seas, his foes bee ouerthrowen.
And they which made this fire for to consume this florishing tree,
Through beate of kindled coales, them selues to ashes wasted bee.
The pit which Pretus wife did dig, Belerophon to intrap,
As pleased the fates to winde their clew, returnd to her mishap.
Euen so Don Phœbus dained at last, his glittering beames to show,
Expulsing Winters hoary head, with boysterous windes that blow,
And Ramus gates which earst were lockt, bee now vnbard againe,
Free passage is permitted there, where bondage did remaine.
The learned route frequented him, the Muses did him fauor,
The graces sought by gracious meanes, for to requite his labor.
The bowes did flourish fruitfully, while sommer did remaine,
When season came hee yeelded fruit, and France did reape the gaine.
And oft olde Ramus sayd: come, come, come learne if that you will,
I haue the key that doth vnfolde, and openeth vnto skill.
Grammarians, come and learne I pray: come Retors come (quoth hee)
In Logickes art I will you teache, so shall you perfite bee.
Oh happy place, oh ioyfull man, which hast such ware in sight,
Twise happy France, if France had knowē, to vse thy fruites aright
Oh blessed man whose listning eare, might heare thy dubled voyce,
What cause had they which were thy freends, of thee for to reioyce.
Thus while the skyes were cleare, while calme did beare the sway,
Olde Ramus wan his fame and praise, which shall remaine for aye.
And pend his frute in volumes great, which all the learned know,
The gaine they reape, which taste his frute, the paine hee did bestow
What cause haue they that studients bee, and taste his frutes aright?
For him and his to yeeld great praise, vnto the Lorde of might.
But as they haue cause to reioyce, so may they weepe and waile,
Though dolefull dumpes, & trickling teares, his cause wil not auaile.
Waile, waile, & weepe they may: for why the tempest raised on hye,
When foes did frowne then winde did wrest, & frute did scattered lye
The tree was digged vp by the roote, the branch was lopped low,
And France disdayned at the frute, which on this tree did grow.
With these was Ramus put to death, & murdred with ye sword.
When noble peeres and Gentilmen: when men of martiall might,
By bloody hands and flinty harts, (alas I rue that wight:
Partaker of such misery) by those of Tigers traine,
Whom pittie neuer seemde to mooue, for Christ his cause were slain.
Then Ramus hee, that Lampe of light, of learning in our daies,
Did ende his life, and purchast fame, which shall remaine alwaies.
Whose death although his foes did wish: which haue therto consented,
Yet all the world no doubt the losse, of him haue long lamented.
In Christ hee liued, in Christ hee died, with Christ hee doth inioy,
A place no doubt for which hee died, which nothing can anoy.
As then his life deserued fame, his death deserueth more,
Then cease the losse of such a life, yee Muses to deplore.
And graunt to him his guerdon due, which all his deedes doo merit,
I meane within your Courts of fame, his meede hee may inherit.
Vt voce sic vultu ac vita.
| A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures | |