 | Anniversaries upon his panarete |  |
Melpomene.
Mvse, thou hast oft to others griefes beene knowne,“Now shew a reall passion in thine owne,
Niobe.
I'le not invoke, as others use,“The influence of any Muse;
“The Muses nine shall be no other,
“Than Orphans nine to mone their Mother.
Anniversaries upon his Panarete.
Wepelno; I will not: yt would ease mine heart;
The burden of my griefes shal beare a part
In sadder Straines: Still-running Rivers are
Ever the deepest: Not a teare shall share
In my discomfort: They that can allay
Their griefes with teares, are Mourners for a day.
The burden of my griefes shal beare a part
In sadder Straines: Still-running Rivers are
Ever the deepest: Not a teare shall share
In my discomfort: They that can allay
Their griefes with teares, are Mourners for a day.
Nor will I cast my Sorrowes on my backe,
Nor cloath them, as our Painters vse, in blacke;
Such clothing's meere dissembling: many weare
A sable habit, and distill a teare,
Who can dispense with griefe: which I detest;
Though Pictures be by Shadowes best exprest
To Native Symmetrie: wee cannot so
Paint our essentiall Portraiture of woe.
Nor cloath them, as our Painters vse, in blacke;
Such clothing's meere dissembling: many weare
A sable habit, and distill a teare,
Though Pictures be by Shadowes best exprest
To Native Symmetrie: wee cannot so
Paint our essentiall Portraiture of woe.
O Niobe! that Story writ of thee
Shall borrow life and lineament from mee.
I'm stupid growne, and by continuate mone
A livelesse-senselesse metamorphos'd stone.
Where shall I then retire, dejected man?
But like the Desart-hanting Pellican,
To some darke Lawne, close Cell, or remote place,
Where I may take full view of Sorrowes face;
And make my selfe the Embleme? Where delight
In melancholy walkes, and Birds of night
Shall feed my pensive passion, and in time
Make my retired bosome Sorrowes Shrine.
Shall borrow life and lineament from mee.
I'm stupid growne, and by continuate mone
A livelesse-senselesse metamorphos'd stone.
Where shall I then retire, dejected man?
But like the Desart-hanting Pellican,
To some darke Lawne, close Cell, or remote place,
Where I may take full view of Sorrowes face;
And make my selfe the Embleme? Where delight
In melancholy walkes, and Birds of night
Make my retired bosome Sorrowes Shrine.
The throbbing Turtle having lost his Spouse,
Will not on any bloome or blossome brouse,
Nor roust on any twigge that's fresh or greene,
But like a Recluse live unknowne, unseene.
The chaste-choice Bird Porphyrio, left alone,
(Rest of his Mate) converts his mirth to mone;
Famine's his food, darke silence his repose,
Lost Love the Loome, his Life the Webbe of woes.
Retir'd hee liues, not seene converse with any,
His comforts few, his discontentments many;
Dew-trickling teares, like Christall Rills distill,
Which forme a funerall habit to his will.
To live he loaths, for while he lives he tries
Nought good in life, till it expires and dies.
If Birds oth' Aire such heavie Aires send forth,
Deepe-drain'd must mine be, or they'r little worth,
Will not on any bloome or blossome brouse,
Nor roust on any twigge that's fresh or greene,
But like a Recluse live unknowne, unseene.
The chaste-choice Bird Porphyrio, left alone,
(Rest of his Mate) converts his mirth to mone;
Famine's his food, darke silence his repose,
Lost Love the Loome, his Life the Webbe of woes.
Retir'd hee liues, not seene converse with any,
His comforts few, his discontentments many;
Dew-trickling teares, like Christall Rills distill,
Which forme a funerall habit to his will.
Nought good in life, till it expires and dies.
If Birds oth' Aire such heavie Aires send forth,
Deepe-drain'd must mine be, or they'r little worth,
Had she beene, like too many of our Nation,
Expos'd to riot, or engag'd to fashion;
Or enter'd parley with an amorous Mate,
Or for a toy impaun'd her husbands state;
Or like a private Gossip, wip'd her mouth,
And in a corner had a luscious tooth;
Or showne a tempest in a furrow'd brow,
Or beene averse what she was mou'd unto;
Or seaz'd by various humours; or opprest
With spleene and passion; or reserv'd a Brest
To nourish jealous thoughts; observ'd no Lawes;
Or ta'ne exception when there was no cause;
Or heard aspersions with a longing eare,
And made them ever worser than they were.
Had she beene such, by all mine hopes, I vow,
I should haue mourn'd in clothes, as others doe,
And with a sable habit cloth'd my skin,
But worne a cheerefull Nuptiall Robe within;
And ioy'd like those, who, when the storme is done,
Refresh themselves in seeing of the Sunne.
Yea, e're th'Rosemary Sprigs and fragrant flowers
Stucke on those ashy corpse, which once were ours,
Should lose their beauty or their odor sweet,
Or Moth or worme should pierce her shrouding sheet.
I'd dride my teares, clozing her obits thus,
“Adew! th'art fitter farre for Earth than us.
Expos'd to riot, or engag'd to fashion;
Or enter'd parley with an amorous Mate,
Or for a toy impaun'd her husbands state;
Or like a private Gossip, wip'd her mouth,
And in a corner had a luscious tooth;
Or showne a tempest in a furrow'd brow,
Or beene averse what she was mou'd unto;
Or seaz'd by various humours; or opprest
With spleene and passion; or reserv'd a Brest
Or ta'ne exception when there was no cause;
Or heard aspersions with a longing eare,
And made them ever worser than they were.
Had she beene such, by all mine hopes, I vow,
I should haue mourn'd in clothes, as others doe,
And with a sable habit cloth'd my skin,
But worne a cheerefull Nuptiall Robe within;
And ioy'd like those, who, when the storme is done,
Refresh themselves in seeing of the Sunne.
Yea, e're th'Rosemary Sprigs and fragrant flowers
Stucke on those ashy corpse, which once were ours,
Should lose their beauty or their odor sweet,
Or Moth or worme should pierce her shrouding sheet.
“Adew! th'art fitter farre for Earth than us.
None Such was mine! her vertues were too pure
To feed fond fancy with a forraine lure.
Fixt was her eye on heav'n, while ev'ry sense
In doing good strove for preeminence.
In distinct houres shee would divide the day,
To walke, write, worke, to meditate and pray:
Her first fruits were for Heav'n; her second cares
Pitcht their resolves on temporall affaires.
For Mine held Time of higher estimate
Than to expose it at so vile a rate,
As to bestow't on trifles: ev'ry houre
Was her improver; not a budding flower
(Such sacred contemplation did awake her)
But stampt in her the mem'ry of her Maker.
Yea, of such sweet compassion shee was,
As not one subtile graine of sand did passe
Through th'glassie Crevet, but each single graine
(So loath she was that ought should fall in vaine)
Wrought in her thoughts an Embleme; which shee'd thus
In her devoutest privacy discusse.
To feed fond fancy with a forraine lure.
Fixt was her eye on heav'n, while ev'ry sense
In doing good strove for preeminence.
In distinct houres shee would divide the day,
To walke, write, worke, to meditate and pray:
Her first fruits were for Heav'n; her second cares
Pitcht their resolves on temporall affaires.
For Mine held Time of higher estimate
Than to expose it at so vile a rate,
As to bestow't on trifles: ev'ry houre
Was her improver; not a budding flower
But stampt in her the mem'ry of her Maker.
Yea, of such sweet compassion shee was,
As not one subtile graine of sand did passe
Through th'glassie Crevet, but each single graine
(So loath she was that ought should fall in vaine)
Wrought in her thoughts an Embleme; which shee'd thus
In her devoutest privacy discusse.
“Howres, minutes, moments, yee distilling sands
“Whereon our lives dimension meerely stands,
“Diviner use of you I cannot make,
“Than by your swifter current to awake
“My long-depressed thoughts, and lodge them there
“In that pure orbe, where you must not appeare.
“Hence then this benefit doe I receive,
“As sands doe summon me unto my Grave,
“It shall be my sole comfort, supreme care,
“Each minute for my passage to prepare:
“That when my vading breath shall cease in me,
“I may plant there where I desire to be.
“Whereon our lives dimension meerely stands,
“Diviner use of you I cannot make,
“Than by your swifter current to awake
“My long-depressed thoughts, and lodge them there
“In that pure orbe, where you must not appeare.
“As sands doe summon me unto my Grave,
“It shall be my sole comfort, supreme care,
“Each minute for my passage to prepare:
“That when my vading breath shall cease in me,
“I may plant there where I desire to be.
“O Soule! wouldst thou but eie these sands that fall,
“And how thou canst not one of these recall
“With myriads of teares, thou wouldst esteeme
“Nothing more precious than to redeeme
“Th'expense of mis-spent time, and strive to show
“A patterne unto others what to doe:
“That every minute might a modell give
“To thee and thine both how to love and live.
“And how thou canst not one of these recall
“With myriads of teares, thou wouldst esteeme
“Nothing more precious than to redeeme
“Th'expense of mis-spent time, and strive to show
“A patterne unto others what to doe:
“That every minute might a modell give
“To thee and thine both how to love and live.
Thus would my Panarete meditate,
And thus with Death would she expostulate,
To make him more familiar; which was wrought
By sleighting Death, t'enioy Him whom she sought.
And thus with Death would she expostulate,
To make him more familiar; which was wrought
By sleighting Death, t'enioy Him whom she sought.
But leaving these, Deare Mvse relater be
Of her descent and honour'd Familie;
Ennobled by her spotlesse vertuous name,
To prove those Ancestors from which she came.
Of her descent and honour'd Familie;
Ennobled by her spotlesse vertuous name,
To prove those Ancestors from which she came.
Neere Darlington was my Deare Darling borne,
Of noble house, which yet beares Honors forme,
Teese-seated Sockbourne, where by long descent
Cogniers were Lords, their Countries ornament;
Which by that antient Monument appeares,
Rear'd in the Chancell there for many yeares;
Where th'Ancestor such an Exploit perform'd,
As hee by Fame and victory adorn'd,
Made his Successours glorious, which I wish
(And crowne my wishes Heav'n!) may live in his:
Meane time I this relation will omit,
Because elsewhere I have recorded it.
Of noble house, which yet beares Honors forme,
Teese-seated Sockbourne, where by long descent
Cogniers were Lords, their Countries ornament;
Which by that antient Monument appeares,
Rear'd in the Chancell there for many yeares;
As hee by Fame and victory adorn'd,
Made his Successours glorious, which I wish
(And crowne my wishes Heav'n!) may live in his:
Meane time I this relation will omit,
Because elsewhere I have recorded it.
But what's a Family but style or name,
Vnlesse preserved by a vertuous Fame?
And this she had, which did perfume her life,
(Like a most precious odor) Maid and Wife.
Pure were her thoughts, her Actions without staine,
Grace was her Guide, and Godlinesse her Gaine.
She breathes not that liv'd freer from suspect,
Nor courted vanity with more neglect;
Pride was her scorne, Humilitie her Prize,
And Heav'n the Object where she fixt her eyes.
Yea, there was nought on Earth she more did love,
Than Fame by reall goodnesse to improve:
So as, ev'n those which knew her by report,
Admir'd that which they heard, and fam'd her for't:
Teares trickling stream'd frō Neighbors eyes; exprest
Those silent sorrowes treasur'd in their brest:
While with joynt voice, made hoarse through griefe,
“None ever liv'd more lov'd, or moaned, dide they cride,
Vnlesse preserved by a vertuous Fame?
And this she had, which did perfume her life,
(Like a most precious odor) Maid and Wife.
Pure were her thoughts, her Actions without staine,
Grace was her Guide, and Godlinesse her Gaine.
She breathes not that liv'd freer from suspect,
Nor courted vanity with more neglect;
And Heav'n the Object where she fixt her eyes.
Yea, there was nought on Earth she more did love,
Than Fame by reall goodnesse to improve:
So as, ev'n those which knew her by report,
Admir'd that which they heard, and fam'd her for't:
Teares trickling stream'd frō Neighbors eyes; exprest
Those silent sorrowes treasur'd in their brest:
While with joynt voice, made hoarse through griefe,
“None ever liv'd more lov'd, or moaned, dide they cride,
Nor was shee vaine in habit or attire,
A modest-matron Weed was her desire;
That habit solely tender'd her delight,
Which made her comely in her Makers sight.
No painting, purfling, poudring of the haire,
No Cerusse cheeke, no azur'd brest laid bare,
To take deluded eyes; fantasticke toyes,
Wherein corrupted fancy onely joyes,
Ne're lur'd her love: Her Maxime us'd to bee,
“Shee weares best clothes, that weares to her degree,
Yet was she neate; attir'd in such a manner,
As she wore nought but properly became her:
Nor carelesse, neither curious would she seeme,
But in her habit to retaine esteeme;
Whose gracefull presence did so well besit,
It gave a grace to her, and she to it.
A modest-matron Weed was her desire;
That habit solely tender'd her delight,
Which made her comely in her Makers sight.
No Cerusse cheeke, no azur'd brest laid bare,
To take deluded eyes; fantasticke toyes,
Wherein corrupted fancy onely joyes,
Ne're lur'd her love: Her Maxime us'd to bee,
“Shee weares best clothes, that weares to her degree,
Yet was she neate; attir'd in such a manner,
As she wore nought but properly became her:
Nor carelesse, neither curious would she seeme,
But in her habit to retaine esteeme;
Whose gracefull presence did so well besit,
It gave a grace to her, and she to it.
For to describe her Person, which shall be,
As was her selfe, compos'd of modestie,
Her Beauty was her owne, a native red
Got by a modest blush, her tincture, fed
By Feare and Fancy; No complexion bought
From Shop e're toucht her Shape, nor euer wrought
On her affection; rather high than low
Appear'd her stature, that the Age might know
Nature did owe her nothing, taking care
To make her proper, as her forme was faire.
As was her selfe, compos'd of modestie,
Got by a modest blush, her tincture, fed
By Feare and Fancy; No complexion bought
From Shop e're toucht her Shape, nor euer wrought
On her affection; rather high than low
Appear'd her stature, that the Age might know
Nature did owe her nothing, taking care
To make her proper, as her forme was faire.
Nor can I vye in my true teares with these
Who faigne an Idoll of Hyperboles:
As to compare the tresses of her haire
To purest Lydian threds, which subtile ayre
Dishevels; or her smooth-ascending Front
Vnto a Beacon, or some rising Mount
For prospect glorious; nor those Lampes of light
To burnish'd Diamonds, which beday the night
With their diffused lustre; nor her teeth
To Orient pearles; nor her roseat breath
To Nectar or Ambrosian rivolets;
Nor Lips to Rubies dipt in Violets:
Nor with description upon ev'ry part
To make my griefe a curious Scene of Art,
To give a relish to a liq'rish tast,
And so forget what dishes should be plac'd
At this sad funerall feast: No, Dearest, no,
My grounded griefes cannot be razed so.
Colours well laid, and such are dyde in graine
Are of that substance, they'll admit no staine;
The more you wash, the more you lose your time,
And so it fares with these extreames of mine.
I cannot artfully show what she was,
But sure she did all mortals farre surpasse
In my conceipt, nor needs he any art
To pensill Her, whose feature's in his Hart:
Which a more living deepe impression beares
Than all our Art-expressive Characters.
This, were my breast unript, would make more show
Than all our Limners with their art can doe.
Who faigne an Idoll of Hyperboles:
As to compare the tresses of her haire
To purest Lydian threds, which subtile ayre
Dishevels; or her smooth-ascending Front
Vnto a Beacon, or some rising Mount
To burnish'd Diamonds, which beday the night
With their diffused lustre; nor her teeth
To Orient pearles; nor her roseat breath
To Nectar or Ambrosian rivolets;
Nor Lips to Rubies dipt in Violets:
Nor with description upon ev'ry part
To make my griefe a curious Scene of Art,
To give a relish to a liq'rish tast,
And so forget what dishes should be plac'd
At this sad funerall feast: No, Dearest, no,
My grounded griefes cannot be razed so.
Colours well laid, and such are dyde in graine
Are of that substance, they'll admit no staine;
And so it fares with these extreames of mine.
I cannot artfully show what she was,
But sure she did all mortals farre surpasse
In my conceipt, nor needs he any art
To pensill Her, whose feature's in his Hart:
Which a more living deepe impression beares
Than all our Art-expressive Characters.
This, were my breast unript, would make more show
Than all our Limners with their art can doe.
So as, I cannot chuse but highly taxe
These Mimick Mourners, who like Shrines in waxe
Can mould their faces to what forme you please,
And varnish o're their Deare Loves Obsequies
With high poeticke raptures: whereas sense
Of grounded griefe admits no Eloquence:
“He that is truely wounded and heart-sicke
“Will ne're converse with flowers of Rhetoricke,
Let it suffice, nought could in woman be,
If good, were not in her espous'd to me.
Chast was my choice; so choice, as ne're was bred
A Sweeter Consort both for boord and bed.
These Mimick Mourners, who like Shrines in waxe
Can mould their faces to what forme you please,
And varnish o're their Deare Loves Obsequies
Of grounded griefe admits no Eloquence:
“He that is truely wounded and heart-sicke
“Will ne're converse with flowers of Rhetoricke,
Let it suffice, nought could in woman be,
If good, were not in her espous'd to me.
Chast was my choice; so choice, as ne're was bred
A Sweeter Consort both for boord and bed.
Besides, where e're I walke, I gather thence
Apparent tokens of her Providence:
Although I seeke her, whom I cannot find,
I finde Inventions of her pregnant mind
Exprest in ev'ry Arbour: quicke conceite
Steer'd by discretion to support a state;
Without too much restraint or libertie,
Not domineering in a familie,
Nor too remisse; nor lavish, nor too spare;
Carefull, yet wise to moderate her care;
Rich in a frugall bounty, while content
Smil'd on her brow, whether she spar'd or spent,
So as, in all domesticall affaires
So sweetly mixt were her well-temper'd cares,
As if she had beene from her childhood bred,
And th'Oeconomicks solely studied.
Nor did her cautious providence extend
Wholly to thoughts of frailty, which take end
From time and mutability; O, no!
She thought of th'place, whereto all Mortals go;
And that she might with Preparation store her,
She had her Shrouding-Sheet still laid before her,
As a Memoriall, which, during breath,
Might represent to her the face of Death:
With which, that she might make her selfe more fit,
Thus shee'd familiarly converse with it.
Apparent tokens of her Providence:
Although I seeke her, whom I cannot find,
I finde Inventions of her pregnant mind
Exprest in ev'ry Arbour: quicke conceite
Steer'd by discretion to support a state;
Not domineering in a familie,
Nor too remisse; nor lavish, nor too spare;
Carefull, yet wise to moderate her care;
Rich in a frugall bounty, while content
Smil'd on her brow, whether she spar'd or spent,
So as, in all domesticall affaires
So sweetly mixt were her well-temper'd cares,
As if she had beene from her childhood bred,
And th'Oeconomicks solely studied.
Nor did her cautious providence extend
Wholly to thoughts of frailty, which take end
From time and mutability; O, no!
She thought of th'place, whereto all Mortals go;
She had her Shrouding-Sheet still laid before her,
As a Memoriall, which, during breath,
Might represent to her the face of Death:
With which, that she might make her selfe more fit,
Thus shee'd familiarly converse with it.
“Shrovd, thou art all that's left me to my grave,
“To cloathe this poore Remainder which I have;
“Pray thee be my Remembrancer, and now
“Put me in minde oth' place where I must goe.
“Vile vaile of frailty! pray thee still be nie,
“And be my Lecture, “to prepare to die.
“To cloathe this poore Remainder which I have;
“Pray thee be my Remembrancer, and now
“Put me in minde oth' place where I must goe.
“Vile vaile of frailty! pray thee still be nie,
“And be my Lecture, “to prepare to die.
And that she might leave pledges of her love
On earth below, as she had done above,
Rings on her Husbands Sisters she bestowes,
For a Remembrance, which expressely showes
The goodnesse of her Nature, being knowne
To tender them as dearely as her owne.
Shee sets her house in order, and applies
Her will to Gods; and dies before she dies.
On earth below, as she had done above,
For a Remembrance, which expressely showes
The goodnesse of her Nature, being knowne
To tender them as dearely as her owne.
Shee sets her house in order, and applies
Her will to Gods; and dies before she dies.
Some Countries I have red of, who did use,
When by Election they their Princes chuse,
Pieces of Stone or mettall to present,
Which they would chuse to be their monument,
Tombe, or Triumphant Vrne; for they renoune
A royall death before a regall Crowne.
This use or custome may be well applide,
To my now glorious Heav'n-infranchis'd Bride,
Who lodg'd Deaths modell ever in her eyes,
And in her thoughts that sole-sufficient prize,
Which of a Mortall, an immortall makes,
And looseth nought by those that share in stakes.
Glorious resolves! When, while we mortals are,
For heav'n on earth, wee 'dresse our highest care;
And so enspheere our thoughts in Him we love,
That though our Foot's below, our Faith's above.
Such doe not prize Rase, jeat, nor Porphyry,
To give a Cover to Mortality.
The Thracian Marble naturally wrought
To be their Shrine is least of all their thought.
A Mansion more transcendent is their aime,
While they reflect on th'place frō whence they came.
Both which reflexive aimes did her attend,
To crowne her gracious life with glorious end.
When by Election they their Princes chuse,
Pieces of Stone or mettall to present,
Which they would chuse to be their monument,
Tombe, or Triumphant Vrne; for they renoune
A royall death before a regall Crowne.
This use or custome may be well applide,
To my now glorious Heav'n-infranchis'd Bride,
And in her thoughts that sole-sufficient prize,
Which of a Mortall, an immortall makes,
And looseth nought by those that share in stakes.
Glorious resolves! When, while we mortals are,
For heav'n on earth, wee 'dresse our highest care;
And so enspheere our thoughts in Him we love,
That though our Foot's below, our Faith's above.
Such doe not prize Rase, jeat, nor Porphyry,
To give a Cover to Mortality.
The Thracian Marble naturally wrought
To be their Shrine is least of all their thought.
A Mansion more transcendent is their aime,
While they reflect on th'place frō whence they came.
To crowne her gracious life with glorious end.
Dorcas full of good workes and almes too,
The lively Embleme of my lovely Doe;
Widdowes stood weeping, and with griefe dismaid,
Shewing the coates and garments Dorcas made;
All which commends may be applide, and more,
To Her, whose hand made garments for the poore.
Besides rich Needle-workes, which antient use
Approves to store and beautifie an house.
Which patternes when I see, needes must appeare
Still in mine eie a Monumentall teare.
The lively Embleme of my lovely Doe;
Widdowes stood weeping, and with griefe dismaid,
Shewing the coates and garments Dorcas made;
All which commends may be applide, and more,
To Her, whose hand made garments for the poore.
Besides rich Needle-workes, which antient use
Approves to store and beautifie an house.
Which patternes when I see, needes must appeare
Still in mine eie a Monumentall teare.
Shall I expresse her Love! it might be made
Equall to what the Roman Matron said,
“Where thou art Caius, I am Caia too,
“Nor will I act what Caius would not doe,
What sacred secret union was this,
Where nought was done by Her, implide not His?
And such was mine; and happy was the time,
When I might truly living style her mine.
No mount, no vale, no shady Laune nor grove,
But in her presence were receipts of love;
Locall Idæas, where all comforts were
Cloz'd in one abstract, while her selfe lodg'd there.
For where Wit, neatnesse, goodnesse joyntly meet,
That subject needs must be perfections seat,
And such was mine; neat to delight the eye,
Good to improve her life, and pregnancy
Of sweet-chaste-choice conceipts to cheere the care,
And raise Invention to an higher Spheare.
Which puts me now in minde of various flowers
And Posies too, which at retired houres
Her richer Fancy used to devise
For Bracelets, rings, and other rarities;
In which, ingenious modesty would show
Emblemes of Love, and teach an Artist too
His just dimension; Such would She compose,
Crowning invention with a vertuous close.
Equall to what the Roman Matron said,
“Nor will I act what Caius would not doe,
What sacred secret union was this,
Where nought was done by Her, implide not His?
And such was mine; and happy was the time,
When I might truly living style her mine.
No mount, no vale, no shady Laune nor grove,
But in her presence were receipts of love;
Locall Idæas, where all comforts were
Cloz'd in one abstract, while her selfe lodg'd there.
For where Wit, neatnesse, goodnesse joyntly meet,
That subject needs must be perfections seat,
And such was mine; neat to delight the eye,
Good to improve her life, and pregnancy
And raise Invention to an higher Spheare.
Which puts me now in minde of various flowers
And Posies too, which at retired houres
Her richer Fancy used to devise
For Bracelets, rings, and other rarities;
In which, ingenious modesty would show
Emblemes of Love, and teach an Artist too
His just dimension; Such would She compose,
Crowning invention with a vertuous close.
One day, two rings with Posies I receav'd,
In which were these inscriptions ingrav'd:
By This (th'devise, a bleeding Heart) I Live,
Yet This (see her affection!) I Give:
On th'inner brimme these words inscribed were,
This (heart ingraven) Is Neare, Yet Yov As Deare.
The next a Garter-ring, and on the knot
Was this in Capitals distinctly wrot:
This (and may this be sacred) When I Dye
Fate (and too soone came it) May This Vntye.
Within the wreaths, these words addrest unto me,
Sir, If Yov Loose Me (aye me!) Yov Vndoe Me,
In which were these inscriptions ingrav'd:
By This (th'devise, a bleeding Heart) I Live,
Yet This (see her affection!) I Give:
This (heart ingraven) Is Neare, Yet Yov As Deare.
The next a Garter-ring, and on the knot
Was this in Capitals distinctly wrot:
This (and may this be sacred) When I Dye
Fate (and too soone came it) May This Vntye.
Within the wreaths, these words addrest unto me,
Sir, If Yov Loose Me (aye me!) Yov Vndoe Me,
Such quaint conceipts allai'd more serious cares,
But suffer'd no neglect in her affaires:
For her stay'd thoughts surpast her yeares, and told
The World, that 'tis Discretion which makes old
The bloomingst youth; which stood confirm'd in ours,
Who, though but young in yeares, was old in houres.
But suffer'd no neglect in her affaires:
For her stay'd thoughts surpast her yeares, and told
The World, that 'tis Discretion which makes old
The bloomingst youth; which stood confirm'd in ours,
Who, though but young in yeares, was old in houres.
And now, me-thinkes, in silent shade I heare
The Answer of that Sage sound in mine eare;
Who much perplext, and walking all-alone,
Was askt by one, what He was thinking on:
“I'm thinking, Sir, quoth he, of my dead wife,
“Wherein she ere offend't me all her life,
“That thought thereof might bid me cease to mone,
“And so allay my griefe, but I find none.
“This makes my Sorrowes infinitely prest,
“And addes new store to re-possesse my brest.
“Besides, this draines fresh rivers from mine eyes,
“For that sufficiently I could not prize
“The height or weight of her unequall'd losse,
“Before I felt mine unsupported crosse.
These thoughts of his deare Spouse his ioyes exil'd,
And caus'd this antient Sage to play the child.
The Answer of that Sage sound in mine eare;
Who much perplext, and walking all-alone,
Was askt by one, what He was thinking on:
“I'm thinking, Sir, quoth he, of my dead wife,
“Wherein she ere offend't me all her life,
“That thought thereof might bid me cease to mone,
“And so allay my griefe, but I find none.
“This makes my Sorrowes infinitely prest,
“And addes new store to re-possesse my brest.
“Besides, this draines fresh rivers from mine eyes,
“For that sufficiently I could not prize
“The height or weight of her unequall'd losse,
“Before I felt mine unsupported crosse.
And caus'd this antient Sage to play the child.
Reflect on thy sad Scene; peruse each clause;
And poize thy griefes, if they have not like cause.
Did she ere give occasion of offence?
Or if she did, would not her penitence
Resolve it into teares? did she not share
In thy discomforts, and allay thy care
With her discreete advice? and yeeld increase
Vnto thy Comforts, by partaking these?
Would she not joy, and in her joyes o'reflow
When she saw smoothnesse smile upon thy brow?
Could ought affect thine humour, shee'd not make
The Object of her pleasure for thy sake?
No, heav'n thou know'st, all these her life exprest;
Which are with teares recorded in my brest.
And poize thy griefes, if they have not like cause.
Did she ere give occasion of offence?
Or if she did, would not her penitence
Resolve it into teares? did she not share
In thy discomforts, and allay thy care
With her discreete advice? and yeeld increase
Vnto thy Comforts, by partaking these?
Would she not joy, and in her joyes o'reflow
When she saw smoothnesse smile upon thy brow?
Could ought affect thine humour, shee'd not make
The Object of her pleasure for thy sake?
Which are with teares recorded in my brest.
Bvt pause a while! canst thou be said to breath,
And breathlesse Shee sleepe in the armes of death?
Husband and Wife are two-united-one,
How can I live then when my selfe is gone?
Gone to her gaine, my losse; unvalued losse!
Yet should her Christian Crowne allay my Crosse,
Could I appease my passion, which springs
From brackish streames of humane sufferings:
While Reason with my Passion dictates thus:
And breathlesse Shee sleepe in the armes of death?
Husband and Wife are two-united-one,
How can I live then when my selfe is gone?
Gone to her gaine, my losse; unvalued losse!
Yet should her Christian Crowne allay my Crosse,
Could I appease my passion, which springs
From brackish streames of humane sufferings:
While Reason with my Passion dictates thus:
“How is't, that you incense both Fate and Us
“With your incessant mourning? you will say
“Shee's dead whom you so lov'd; 'tis true, but pray,
“What was she borne for? or what made of? Earth
“Her composition, whence shee tooke her birth;
“Her feet fraile Bases, though of purest mold;
“Where th'Groundworke's weak, the Building cannot hold.
“Did not that lineall Consumption runne
“(Whereof she dide) to Mother, daughter, sonne,
“Before it seaz'd on her? Eldest was shee,
“Yet last surpriz'd, as one reserv'd for thee.
“Wouldst but consider what to thee is sent,
“Others have felt, thou wouldst be more content.
“With your incessant mourning? you will say
“Shee's dead whom you so lov'd; 'tis true, but pray,
“Her composition, whence shee tooke her birth;
“Her feet fraile Bases, though of purest mold;
“Where th'Groundworke's weak, the Building cannot hold.
“Did not that lineall Consumption runne
“(Whereof she dide) to Mother, daughter, sonne,
“Before it seaz'd on her? Eldest was shee,
“Yet last surpriz'd, as one reserv'd for thee.
“Wouldst but consider what to thee is sent,
“Others have felt, thou wouldst be more content.
“Yea, but againe you'l say, shee dyed young,
“And might by course of Nature have liv'd long.
“Goe to th'Embrodred Theatre of ours
“Deckt with variety of choicest flowers,
“Where you shall find some meldew'd in their prime,
“Some blasted, others pruned 'fore their time;
“Not one 'mongst tenne but culled in their youth,
“And those are left, doe perish in their grouth.
“These spring, & sprung untimely blasts do take them,
“Those grow, and growne then winter comes to shake them,
“Nor is't in these, but in all else that breath,
“Both Youth and Age are subject unto death.
“Nor should it be unto our humane forme
“More strange to dye, than for us to be borne.
“Recount those Heroës that were styl'd divine,
“Renoun'd for famous actions in their time,
“What's left of all their glory? a straite urne
“After such spatious conquests serv'd their turne.
“Where's all those specious Dames, whose very sight
“Darkned the lustre of the Chrysolite;
“Whose richer beauties seemed to bestow
“Mintage on all inferiour beauties too,
“And seem'd exempt frō frailty? those ev'n shun them
“Dead and deform'd, who, living, doated on them:
“Their beauteous Bodies earth-reduced formes,
“Their eyes darke Cranies to encloister wormes.
“Hee then or shee the happiest appeares
“That dies the youngst, because he sheds least teares:
“Since Life is such a vaine-deceiving sleepe,
“Wee dreame of joyes, but when we wake, wee weepe.
“And might by course of Nature have liv'd long.
“Goe to th'Embrodred Theatre of ours
“Deckt with variety of choicest flowers,
“Some blasted, others pruned 'fore their time;
“Not one 'mongst tenne but culled in their youth,
“And those are left, doe perish in their grouth.
“These spring, & sprung untimely blasts do take them,
“Those grow, and growne then winter comes to shake them,
“Nor is't in these, but in all else that breath,
“Both Youth and Age are subject unto death.
“Nor should it be unto our humane forme
“More strange to dye, than for us to be borne.
“Recount those Heroës that were styl'd divine,
“Renoun'd for famous actions in their time,
“What's left of all their glory? a straite urne
“After such spatious conquests serv'd their turne.
“Darkned the lustre of the Chrysolite;
“Whose richer beauties seemed to bestow
“Mintage on all inferiour beauties too,
“And seem'd exempt frō frailty? those ev'n shun them
“Dead and deform'd, who, living, doated on them:
“Their beauteous Bodies earth-reduced formes,
“Their eyes darke Cranies to encloister wormes.
“Hee then or shee the happiest appeares
“That dies the youngst, because he sheds least teares:
“Since Life is such a vaine-deceiving sleepe,
“Wee dreame of joyes, but when we wake, wee weepe.
“Yea, but you'l say, Shee was with vertues blest,
And might improve the place which shee possest
“By her example! Doe you therefore grieve
That for her Countrey shee should Exile leave?
O doe not so maligne her happinesse!
“This were t'adjorne fruition of her blisse
“For humane ends; Her vertues are her Crowne,
“And those Examples which her life hath showne
“Surviving Annals which can never dye,
“But still embalme her pretious memory
“So long as Time keepes minutes: “Cease to mone;
“'Tis sinne to mourne for such a Saintly one:
“Whose death's her wreath, her palme her periode,
“Her Epithalamie her dying ode.
“Cease then your fruitlesse wishes; they'r in vaine;
“Nor Prayers nor Teares can call her backe againe.
“But should Heav'ns grant this suit perferr'd by thee,
“Her losse were greater than thy gaine could bee.
“Her joyes are infinite, thine finite are,
“And 'twixt these two there can be no compare.
“For what's this world, but a painted blisse,
“Where few or want or have what they could wish?
“Doe not give reines then to thy furious will,
“Shee lov'd thee well, why shouldst thou wish her ill?
And might improve the place which shee possest
That for her Countrey shee should Exile leave?
O doe not so maligne her happinesse!
“This were t'adjorne fruition of her blisse
“For humane ends; Her vertues are her Crowne,
“And those Examples which her life hath showne
“Surviving Annals which can never dye,
“But still embalme her pretious memory
“So long as Time keepes minutes: “Cease to mone;
“'Tis sinne to mourne for such a Saintly one:
“Whose death's her wreath, her palme her periode,
“Her Epithalamie her dying ode.
“Cease then your fruitlesse wishes; they'r in vaine;
“Nor Prayers nor Teares can call her backe againe.
“Her losse were greater than thy gaine could bee.
“Her joyes are infinite, thine finite are,
“And 'twixt these two there can be no compare.
“For what's this world, but a painted blisse,
“Where few or want or have what they could wish?
“Doe not give reines then to thy furious will,
“Shee lov'd thee well, why shouldst thou wish her ill?
These Dictates on my Senses wrought some force,
Though Sense told Reason, Nature must have course:
“Too well knows hee his moane with mirth to season,
“Who in his griefes applies his Eare to Reason.
But to impressive were these prints of griefe
To tender me such expedite reliefe:
Too deepe those Characters to be defac'd,
Or so by Reason or perswasion raz'd;
As no Remaines were left to gather head,
Nor in my birth of Sorrowes to succeed.
For then, ev'n then, when Reasons selfe affords
Some rayes of comfort, her last dying words
Renue my wounds, and adde unto the store
Of those old griefes I parlyed with before.
And blame me not, that these effects were such,
Who so forgets them, Hee affects not much.
For if these halfe-breath'd words of dying men
To strangers pretious be, who knew not them,
What will the voyce of one doe whom wee love?
What strange impressions leave? how strongly move?
When it cals to us from the Death-bed too,
And with eyes fixt on heav'n's addrest to goe
From this vaine vale, these few but evill daies,
O what a conflict doth-each accent raise!
Griefe and affection struggle to inclose them,
The Heart becomes a Casket to repose them:
No Syllable is lost, nought uttered
By that weake-faltring tongue unregistred:
Knowing, that in short space, that very tongue,
Whose weake-breath'd Organs tun'd their dying song,
And as yet speake, and all attention move,
By friendly accents, in their Eares that love,
Shall in eternall silence be ty'de up,
And from the Eare of Mortals ever shut;
So as, those dying words you heard before
With their sweet sound shall ne're salute you more.
And such were mine; O that the Judge of time
Would have repriv'd her to be longer mine!
But let me not offend; Heav'ns pardon me,
If Passion make me speake too forwardlie!
Though Sense told Reason, Nature must have course:
“Too well knows hee his moane with mirth to season,
“Who in his griefes applies his Eare to Reason.
But to impressive were these prints of griefe
To tender me such expedite reliefe:
Or so by Reason or perswasion raz'd;
As no Remaines were left to gather head,
Nor in my birth of Sorrowes to succeed.
For then, ev'n then, when Reasons selfe affords
Some rayes of comfort, her last dying words
Renue my wounds, and adde unto the store
Of those old griefes I parlyed with before.
And blame me not, that these effects were such,
Who so forgets them, Hee affects not much.
For if these halfe-breath'd words of dying men
To strangers pretious be, who knew not them,
What will the voyce of one doe whom wee love?
What strange impressions leave? how strongly move?
And with eyes fixt on heav'n's addrest to goe
From this vaine vale, these few but evill daies,
O what a conflict doth-each accent raise!
Griefe and affection struggle to inclose them,
The Heart becomes a Casket to repose them:
No Syllable is lost, nought uttered
By that weake-faltring tongue unregistred:
Knowing, that in short space, that very tongue,
Whose weake-breath'd Organs tun'd their dying song,
And as yet speake, and all attention move,
By friendly accents, in their Eares that love,
Shall in eternall silence be ty'de up,
And from the Eare of Mortals ever shut;
With their sweet sound shall ne're salute you more.
And such were mine; O that the Judge of time
Would have repriv'd her to be longer mine!
But let me not offend; Heav'ns pardon me,
If Passion make me speake too forwardlie!
Now to her dying words let me descend,
Sweetly deliver'd, while her sweetest end
Was now approaching; just the very same,
Though not so moving, as from whence they came.
Sweetly deliver'd, while her sweetest end
Was now approaching; just the very same,
Though not so moving, as from whence they came.
“Sir, (with a dying-smile, these words she spake,
“While her weake-beating pulse my hand did take)
“I'm going from you, and must recommend
“These little ones now to you at mine end,
“To whom you must father and mother be,
“And in their Image, Sir, remember me.
“Be it your care, next to your supreme care,
“To tender these, in whom none h'as a share
“But your deare selfe; by all my hopes I vow,
“Not one strai'd thought estrang'd their birth from you:
“Nor did you e're conceipt it; For wee were
“By Nuptiall tye fix'd in one sacred spheere,
“Where Twin-like Love such graces did bestow,
“As neither lik'd, what th'other lov'd not too.
“Deare your respect to me, to you was mine,
“And so were you opinion'd all our time.
“For since I held the title of a wife,
“I n'ere ey'd pleasing Object all my life
“But in your presence, (and heavens forgive)
“If that delight made me desire to live.
“So constantly was my affection fixt,
“As it was ne're with forraigne fancy mixt,
“But pure as is the Fire: Which to requite,
“Let these be in your thought, when least in sight;
“These younglins, tender in their mothers eye,
“Whom they must want, and you are to supply.
“Let them have breeding, Sir, by your dispose,
“It is a portion that they cannot Iose.
“Correct them too, yet let them understand
“That their Correction's from a Fathers hand.
“—Now with a Mothers Blessing, Babes, adjeu,
“Your Mother takes her lasting leave of you.
“For you, Sir, as God's pleased to bestow
“Much on you, so make use of what you know;
“O doe not hide your Talent in the ground,
“But let your knowing life with fruits abound!
“Feare God for love, more than for feare of Hell;
“Heav'n be our meeting—Dearest Love farewell.
“—So, now my race is done, mine Houre-glasse run,
“Come, my Lord Iesu, my sweet Iesu come.
“While her weake-beating pulse my hand did take)
“I'm going from you, and must recommend
“These little ones now to you at mine end,
“And in their Image, Sir, remember me.
“Be it your care, next to your supreme care,
“To tender these, in whom none h'as a share
“But your deare selfe; by all my hopes I vow,
“Not one strai'd thought estrang'd their birth from you:
“Nor did you e're conceipt it; For wee were
“By Nuptiall tye fix'd in one sacred spheere,
“Where Twin-like Love such graces did bestow,
“As neither lik'd, what th'other lov'd not too.
“Deare your respect to me, to you was mine,
“And so were you opinion'd all our time.
“For since I held the title of a wife,
“I n'ere ey'd pleasing Object all my life
“If that delight made me desire to live.
“So constantly was my affection fixt,
“As it was ne're with forraigne fancy mixt,
“But pure as is the Fire: Which to requite,
“Let these be in your thought, when least in sight;
“These younglins, tender in their mothers eye,
“Whom they must want, and you are to supply.
“Let them have breeding, Sir, by your dispose,
“It is a portion that they cannot Iose.
“Correct them too, yet let them understand
“That their Correction's from a Fathers hand.
“—Now with a Mothers Blessing, Babes, adjeu,
“Your Mother takes her lasting leave of you.
“Much on you, so make use of what you know;
“O doe not hide your Talent in the ground,
“But let your knowing life with fruits abound!
“Feare God for love, more than for feare of Hell;
“Heav'n be our meeting—Dearest Love farewell.
“—So, now my race is done, mine Houre-glasse run,
“Come, my Lord Iesu, my sweet Iesu come.
What a choice-curious piece of Clay was this
Which gave her forme! Which forme shall be in blisse,
Cloath'd with immortall beauty and divine,
Not subject to mortality or time,
When it shall rise againe; and rise it must
From this poore shell of Earth, or Shrine of dust
Where it lies now interl'd; to re-appeare
Fuller of lustre than it shined heere:
Rankt with triumphant Quires, where length of daies
Is the sole-sov'raigne subject of their praise:
While her heav'n-mounting Soule with airy wings
Sings glorious Pæans to the King of kings.
Which gave her forme! Which forme shall be in blisse,
Cloath'd with immortall beauty and divine,
Not subject to mortality or time,
When it shall rise againe; and rise it must
From this poore shell of Earth, or Shrine of dust
Fuller of lustre than it shined heere:
Rankt with triumphant Quires, where length of daies
Is the sole-sov'raigne subject of their praise:
While her heav'n-mounting Soule with airy wings
Sings glorious Pæans to the King of kings.
Cloze then thy funerall Ode, since thou maist heare
This sound from ev'ry mouth to ev'ry Eare;
“Her due deserts this sentence on her gives,
“She dyes to life, yet in her death she lives.
She lives in fame above the reach of death,
And from her ashes doe such odours breath
Of her surviving vertues, as they prove
No death so sweet as theirs who goodnesse love.
For though they seeme unto our Senses dead,
The Branches of their living actions spread,
From whence no bloomes nor blossomes onely shoot,
But to succeeding ages store of fruit.
And such was mine; once mine; now from mine eyes
Ta'ne, to obtaine a more transcendent prize
Than earth could give her: and heav'ns will be done!
My night is comming, but her day's begun.
This sound from ev'ry mouth to ev'ry Eare;
“Her due deserts this sentence on her gives,
“She dyes to life, yet in her death she lives.
She lives in fame above the reach of death,
And from her ashes doe such odours breath
Of her surviving vertues, as they prove
No death so sweet as theirs who goodnesse love.
The Branches of their living actions spread,
From whence no bloomes nor blossomes onely shoot,
But to succeeding ages store of fruit.
And such was mine; once mine; now from mine eyes
Ta'ne, to obtaine a more transcendent prize
Than earth could give her: and heav'ns will be done!
My night is comming, but her day's begun.
In silent passion then, or as griefes be,
When they doe labour of an Extasie,
Retire, and when thou see'st Earth-minded men
Bemoane inferiour losses, Smile at them.
And if they aske thee why thou can'st not grieve,
Tell them, Discretion will not give thee leave.
Vaine griefes can worke no such effect in thee,
Thy teares are treasur'd for Panarete.
If they aske What Shee was, bid them heere read;
If they aske Where Shee is, in teares write, Dead.
When they doe labour of an Extasie,
Retire, and when thou see'st Earth-minded men
Bemoane inferiour losses, Smile at them.
And if they aske thee why thou can'st not grieve,
Tell them, Discretion will not give thee leave.
Thy teares are treasur'd for Panarete.
If they aske What Shee was, bid them heere read;
If they aske Where Shee is, in teares write, Dead.
FINIS.
1 Epitaph.
[For rites of holy Church which Christians have]
For rites of holy Church which Christians have,Quires of blest Angels sing her to her grave;
For hallow'd candles, vertues give her light,
And forme a day of a sad funerall night;
For Bels good workes, which ring so sweet a chime,
As they doe sound her mortally-divine;
For Anthems and Memorials of the dead,
With Saintly Orisons solemnized:
For Shrines of Raze or monumentall Brasse,
A living fame; her Epitaph: I Was.
“Cease then your friendly Sorrow, 'twere a Sin
“To weepe for Her; reserve your teares for Him.
2 Epitaph.
[March dust more worth thā a kings ransome is]
March dust more worth thā a kings ransome is;Which proverbe may be verifide by this,
This pretious gage lest here to Earth in trust;
Who on the sev'nth of March resolv'd to dust.
3 Epitaph. Upon her onely Sister.
In this Vine interred lyesOne, who clos'd from mortall eyes,
Eyes that Day which knowes no night,
Spheared in her Makers sight;
Who to crowne her Day with blisse,
Hath vouchsaf'd to style her his.
“Life so ended, is begun,
“Farre from Death, when Death h'as done.
4 Epitaph. Upon her dearest Fannie.
I lost a Mother for a Grave,And by it I two Mothers have;
Earth, and mine owne deare Mother too,
In whose bare brest I slumber now:
“My corps sleep (Mother Earth) in thee,
“While Angels sing my Lullabee.
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