The Nations sin hath drawn that Veil which shrouds Our Day-spring in so sad benighting Clouds Heaven would no longer trust its Pledge but thus Recall'd it rapt its Ganymede from us Was there no milder way but the Small Pox The very Filth'ness of Pandora's Box So many Spots like naeves our Venus soil One Jewel set off with so many a Foil Blisters with pride swell'd which th'row 's flesh did sprout Like Rose-buds stuck i' th' Lily-skin about Each little Pimple had a Tear in it To wail the fault its rising did commit Who Rebel-like with their own Lord at strife Thus made an Insurrection 'gainst his Life Or were these Gems sent to adorn his Skin The Cab'net of a richer Soul within No Comet need foretel his Change drew on Whose Corps might seem a Constellation O had he di'd of old how great a strife Had been who from his Death should draw their Life Who should by one rich draught become what ere Seneca Cato Numa Caesar were Learn'd Vertuous Pious Great and have by this An universal Metempsuchosis Must all these ag'd Sires in one Funeral Expire All die in one so young so small Who had he liv'd his life out his great Fame Had swoln 'bove any Greek or Romane Name But hasty Winter with one blast hath brought The hopes of Autumn Summer Spring to nought Thus fades the Oak i' th' sprig i' th' blade the Corn Thus without Young this Phoenix dies new born Must then old three-legg'd gray-beards with their Gout Catarrhs Rheums Aches live three Ages out Times Offal onely fit for th' Hospital Or t' hang an Antiquaries room withal Must Drunkards Lechers spent with Sinning live With such helps as Broths Possits Physick give None live but such as should die Shall we meet With none but Ghostly Fathers in the Street Grief makes me rail Sorrow will force its way And Show'rs of Tears Tempestuous Sighs best lay The Tongue may fail but over-flowing Eyes Will weep out lasting streams of Elegies But thou O Virgin-Widow left aâ—â—ne Now thy belov'd heaven-ravisht Spouse is gone Whose skilful Sire in vain strove to apply Med'cines when thy Balm was no Remedy With greater then Platonick love O wed His Soul though not his Body to thy Bed Let that make thee a Mother bring thou forth Th' Idea's of his Vertue Knowledge Worth Transcribe th' Original in new Copies give Hastings o' th' better part so shall he live In 's Nobler Half and the great Grandsire be Of an Heroick Divine Progenie An Issue whichâ—t ' Eternity shall last Yet but th' Irradiations which he cast Erect no Mausolaeums for his best Monument is his Spouses Marble brest JOHANNES DRYDEN Scholae Westm. Alumnus In Obitum Honoratissimi Viri Domini HENRICI HASTINGS INcipe lugubris Musa incipe nostra querelas Contineat Lachrymas nec Cytherea suas Excidit amplexu Musâ—rum abreptus Alumnus Pulchrior Idalio Sponsus Adone perit Cum celebranda forent laeâ—o connubia cantu Ferres accensas túque Hymenaee faces Pronuba praebebant piceas funalia flammas Iunonis subiit tunc Libitina vices Vertitur in moestum genialis sponda feretrum Fit vespillo priùs qui Paranymphus erat Flent omnes tristÃque irrorant imbre cadaver Et superat morbi lachryma fusa notas Pro virtute tuâ si vota superstite dentur Victima si pro te sospite digna cadat Vt Pietas Virtus Linguaeque Artesque supersint Nec pereat formae aut Nobilitatis honos Qui pro communi renuit se tradere Fato Non tibi sed Patriae denegat officium Occidis exemplar generosae norma juventae Insequitur morum magna ruina tuam Vita tibi dempta est sed nobis Regula vitae Tecum Nobilitas semisepulta jacet Graecia Roma tuam excoluit quotae Natio Linguam Qui totum excoleret te minor orbis erit Tantus es ut coeli tumulandus in orbibus esses Non satis in Tumulum terra Britanna patet At quid amator eras Musarum castra sequenti Permansiâ— puro sanguine sana cutis Mox ubi pectus amor Morbilli corpus adurunt Tabe omni costas fortiùs urit amor Protegis arte tuâ cultores Phoebe dolendum est Arte quod in Medicâ nil Cytherea potest Sponsa parata velut pulchrae virtutis Idaea Interiore animam concremat igne tuam I procul hinc conjux auges incendia fletu Vulnerat ex oculis ignea gutta tuu Est toleranda mihi duri inclementia morbi Virtus aut facies non toleranda tua est Exturget mihi Mens laxat Corporis arcta Vincula in amplexus non satis ampla tuos ExtendÃtque cutem partésque exporrigit omnes Ruptá que mille aditus per sua membra parat Exit Sponsi anima iâ—gremium Sponsaeque recepta est Non duo jam nexi mentibus unus erunt Totus amor totus nunc Spiritus I pete coelos Non Sponsus Christi sis modo Spousa tui CYRILLUS WYCHE Scholae Westm. Alumnus PVllâ hâc in Vrnâ saeculi Genius sui Reclinat augustum caput Natura multâ dote quem ditaverat Hominúmque coetu exemerat Mortalitatem nisi fateretur suam Intelligentiam putes Desideratiùs quis unquam vixerit PoterÃtve flebiliùs mori Meditentur alii busta suspendant Tholos Titulis onusti grandibus Quorum superstes fama Marmoribus manet Tribuenda non meritis suis Non poscit Hastings Funeris pompam hanc sui Sibi non Sepulchra postulat Epitaphiúmve quod recenseret quibus Sit ortus è Penatibus Pietate Factis Arte Linguis Inclytus Stat Ipse Monumentum sibi EDW. CAMPION Scholae Westm. Alumnus ARtibus Linguis Sanguine Nobilis Heros Vrnula tot dotes non capit unae tuas Vix capiti locus est in coelis quaere sepulchrum Terra negat Tumulo non satis ampla tuo Scribenti titulos mihi longa excrescit Honorum Pagina inceptis grandior illa meis Nescimus Patriam tua si modò lingua loquatur Esse suam credit Graecia Roma suam Non unus moreris funus non plangimus unum Sed strages hominum sed {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} obis Fama superjectam Coelo dignissima teâ—ram Rumpit ad similes te vehit alta deos Pallas virtutes artes donavit Apollo Mors tamen has ill as invidiosa rapit Parca parat sua tela parat sua tela Cupido Comburit corpus pustula pectus amor Festinat Citherea suas accendere taedas Accendit taedas invi a Parca suas Exornat Citherea torum Libitina Sepulchrum Illa suum sternit floribus illa suum Laberis ex Thalamo in Tumulum mirabile Spectrum Visus es Sponsae non procus esse tuae Sponsa tuam mirata luem restinguere vulnus Conatur lachrymis sed magis ardet amor Impatiens morbi ruit in contagia cura Tanta Tui est ut sit nulla relicta Sui Sit licet atra lues nil nisi pustula corpus Ibit in ampexus vel moritura tuos Et placuere tui magis exanthemata vultûs Quà m flores propriis qui rubuere genis Cum Sponsâ mea Musa tuâ te plangit amátque Cum linguis muta est sed mea Musae tuis THO. ADAMS Scholae Westm. Alumnus NObilium pueris bullae olim insignia Morbi Nos insignivit plurima bulla notis Me nuper languente infecit pustula corpus Iam mentem affecit Te moriente meam Morbi iterum videor tecum sentire dolores Quà m leve ferre meos quà m grave ferre tuos Partior ipse tui languores corporis O si Virtutes animae partiar ipse Tuae RADVLPHVS MOVNTAGVE EDWARDI MOUNTAGUE Baronis de Boughton Filius natu minor ex Scholà Westmonast FINIS Vana Salus hominis PIETATI SACRUM H. S. E. Quod mortale fuit I. N. R. I. Praestolans Epiphaniam depositun HENRICI Baronis HASTINGS Com. Venantoduni Haeredis designati Sobole antiquissimâ vere Regiâ prognati Quippe cujus Praenobile fluentum per Hungerfordios Piperelios à Ludovici VI Francorum-Regis origine devolvit Per Polos Masculo rivo è Venedotiae principe desilit Foemineo ductu è Clarentio è Lineâ Plantogenistarum Ebullienti Nevillorum Scaturigine è Bello-campo promanat Qui è Mortuo-mari prosilit Bello-campi per dispensatores ab Henrieo primo Angliae Per Nevillos Monte-acuto impetu ex Edv. I. Regio Noviss per Stanlaeos luculenter prolabitur ab Hen. VII sinu Terreni Sanguinis factus exhaeres Coelestem crevit haereditatem CLARITATEM SANGUINIS INGENII DOTIBUS SUPER A VIT. H. I. Trilinguis Sacer nec non Gallici Vernaculi idiomatis ornamentum Par decus artium Historiarum indagator Sagacissimus Omnifariae eruditionis Academia magnum Numen SED VICIT INGENIUM MORUM ET PROBITATIS CANDOR E C C E Suavitatis Suada Cor Gratiarum Sedes Amorum Votum deliciae populi dudum Nunc desiderium Divini amoris flamma Denuò Astrum Filius obsequenâ— Dominus benignus impubes â—thicus Senex Unicum familiae columen Pridiè Sponsalium proh Hymenaee Funere luit immaturo AT at Sanguine Christi longè maxumè Nobiâ—ior Sacrarum Literarum studio consultior Trini-unius cultu Sanctior cluens Raptus in patriam obiit Divi defuncti manibus ingens hoc doloris Amphitheatrum tota Gens Britonum L. M. Q. Posuit Gloria Dei est celare verbum Prov. Denatus A. D. MDCXLIX IX Kal. Iulii h PHIL. KINDEâ— a Stoick and Academick Philosophy b Pythagoras c Aristotle d Seneca e Plutarch f Cheronea * Ens Verum Bonum convertuntur Arist.
LACHRYMAE MVSARVM Quam cuâ—eret â—acrymans augusti Herois in vruam Musa tuum Niobe corpus et Arge tuum Vt fiueret Morbi Dolor aemulus utque tumeâ—at Pustula sic tumeat Lachryma mille oculis Flete Deâ—e Britonum hunc Florem tellure repostuÌ„ Expromta in Lachrymas Castalis unda riget LACHRYMAE MUSARUM The Tears of the MUSES Exprest in ELEGIES WRITTEN By divers persons of Nobility and Worth Upon the death of the most hopefull Henry Lord Hastings Onely Sonn of the Right Honourable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Heir-generall of the high-born Prince GEORGE Duke of Clarence Brother to King EDWARD the fourth Collected and set forth by R. B. Dignum laude virum Musae vetant mori Hor. London Printed by Tho. Newcomb 1649. The Names of the Writers of these following ELEGIES Earl of Westmorland Lord Falkland Sir Aston Cokaine Sir Arthur Gorges M. Robert Millward M. Tho. Higgons M. Charles Cotton M. Tho. Pestel sen. M. George Fairfax M. Francis Standish M. I. Ioynes M. Samuel Bold M. I. Cave M. Phil. Kindar M. Robert Herrick M. Iohn Denham M. Io. Hall M. I. B. M. Iohn Benson M. I. Bancroft M. Will. Pestel M. Tho. Pestel jun. M. R. P. M. Io. Rosse M. Alex. Brome M. Edward Standish M. R. Brome Upon the death of the most hopeful young Lord The Lord HASTINGS A Remembrance from a Kinsman IS there a bright Star faln from this our Sphere Yet none sets out some newer Kalender Do the Orbs sleep in silence Is the Scheme Struck dumb at th' apprehension of the Theme I shall not challenge Booker here nor will I Call up the Mathemat-like dreams of Lilly To search the reason sift Prognosticks out How this so sad Disaster came about Since that to every one it is well known The best and precious things are soonest gone Such Grief by th' cause is heightned to excess And where that falls expression goes less Yet if we 'd scan why thus he 's Hasting hence His name may give you some intelligence The World with him this opposition had He was too good for it and that too bad WESTMORLAND On the death of my worthy Friend and Kinsman the Noble Vertuous and Learned Lord HASTINGS FArewel dear Lord and Friend since thou hast chose Rather the Phoenix life then death of Crows Though Death hath ta'n thee yet I 'm glad thy Fame Must still survive in Learned Hastings Name For thy great loss my Fortune I 'll condole Whilst that Elizium enjoys thy soul FALKLAND A Funeral-Elegie upon the death of Henry Lord Hastings Son to the Right Honorable Ferdinando Earl of HUNTINGDON c. KNow all to whom these few sad Lines shall come This melancholy Epicedium The young Lord Hastings death occasion'd it Amidst a storm of Lamentations writ Tempests of sighs and groans and flowing eyes Whose yeelding balls dissolve to Delugies And mournful Numbers that with dreadful sound Wait this bemoaned Body to the ground Are all and the last Duties we can pay That Noble Spirit that is fled away 'T is gone alas 't is gone though it did leave A body rich in all Nature could give Superiour in beauty to the Youth That won the Spartan Queen to forfeit truth Break Wedlocks strictest bonds and be his wife Invironed with tumults all her life His yeers were in the Balmy Spring of age Adorn'd with blossoms ripe for Marriage And but mature His sweet Conditions known To be so good they could be none but 's own Our English Nation was enamour'd more Of his full Worths then Rome was heretofore Of great Vespatian's Jew-subduing Heir The love and the delight of Mankinde here After a large survey of Histories Our Criticks curious in Honour wise In parallelling generous souls will finde This youthful Lord did bear as brave a minde His few but well-spent yeers had master'd all The Liberal Arts and his sweet tongue could fall Into the ancient Dialects dispence Sacred Iudaea's amplest Eloquence The Latine Idiome elegantly true And Greek as rich as Athens ever knew The Italian and the French do both confess Him perfect in their Modern Languages At his Nativity what angry Star Malignant Influences flung so far What Caput Algols and what dire Aspects Occasioned so Tragical Effects As soon as Death this fatal blowe had given I fancy mighty Clarence sigh'd in heaven And till this glorious soul arrived there Recover'd not from his Amaze and Fear Had this befaln in antient credulous times He had been Deifi'd by Poets Rhymes That Age enamour'd on his Graces soon Majestick Fanes in Adoration Would have rais'd to his Memory and there On Golden Altars yeer succeeding yeer Burnt holy Incense and Sabaean Gums That Curls of Vapour from those Hecatoms Should reach his soul in heaven But we must pay No such Oblations in our purer Way A nobler Service we him owe then that His fair Example ever t' emulate With the advantage of our double yeers Let 's imitate him and through all affairs And all encounters of our lives intend To live like him and make so good an end To aim at brave things is an evident signe In Spirits that to Honour they incline And though they do come short in the Contest 'T is full of glory to have done ones best You mournful Parents whom the Fates compel To bear the loss of this great Miracle This Wonder of our times amidst a sigh Surrounded with your thickst Calamity Reflect on Joy think what an happiness Though Humane Nature here conceits it less It was to have a son of so much worth He was too good to grace the wretched Earth As silver Trent through our North Counties glides Adorn'd with Swans and crown'd with flowry sides And rushing into mightier Humber's waves Augments the Regal Aestuarium's braves So he after a Life of Eighteen yeers Well manag'd as Example to our Peers In 's early youth encountring sullen Fate Orecome became a Trophey to his state Didst thou sleep Hymen or art lately grown T' affect the Subterranean Region Enamour'd on blear'd Libentina's eyes Hoarse howling Dirges and the baleful cries Of inauspicious voices and above Thy Star-like Torch with horrid Tombs in love Thou art or surely hadst oppos'd this hie Affront of Death against thy Deitie Nor wrong'd an excellent Virgin who had given Her heart to him who hath his soul to heaven Whose Beauties thou hast clouded and whose eyes Drowned in tears of these sad Exequies Those fam'd Heroes of the Golden Age Those Demi-gods whose Vertues did asswage And calm the furies of the wildest Mindes That were grown salvage ev'n against their kindes Might from their Constellations have look'd down And by this young Lord seen themselves out-gone Farewel admired Spirit that art free From this strict prison of Mortality Ashby proud of the honour to enshrine The beauteous Body whence the Soul divine Did lately part be careful of thy Trust That no profane hand wrong that hallowed Dust The costly Marble needs no friend t' engrave
Upon it any doleful Epitaph No good man's tongue that office will decline Whilst yeers succeeding reach the end of Time ASTON COKAINE Upon the Death of HENRY Lord HASTINGS SInce that young Hastings bove our Hemisphear Is snatch'd away O let some Angels Wing Lend me a Quill his Noble Fame to rear Up to that Quire which Hallelujah sing Sure Heaven it self for us thought him too good And took him hence just in his strength and prime When Vertue 'gan to make him understood Beyond the Peers and Nobles of his time Wherefore 't will ask more then a Mortal Pen To speak his worth unto Posterity Whose judgment shin'd 'mongst grave and learned men With true Devotion and integrity For which in heaven the Joys of lasting Bliss He reaps whilst we sowe Tears for him we miss But I no praise for Poesie affect Nor Flatteries hoped meed doth me incite Such base-born thoughts as servile I reject Sorrow doth dictate what my Zeal doth write Sorrow for that rich Treasure we have lost Zeal to the Memory of what we had And that is all they can that can say most So sings my Muse in Zeal and Sorrow clad So sang Achilles to his silver Harp When foul affront had ' reft his fair delight So sings sweet Philomel against the Sharp So sings the Swan when life is taking flight So sings my Muse the notes which Sorrow weeps Which Antheme sung my Muse for ever sleeps ARTHUR GORGES EPIGRAM Upon the death of the most hopeful Henry Lord Hastings Eldest son of the Right Honorable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Heir general of the high-born Prince GEORGE Duke of Clarence Brother to King Edward 4. 'T Is a Mistake Lord Hastings did not die But 't was our Hopes and his great Parents Joy That did depart Is he said to decease That raigns in Glory now and lives in Peace Yet may we gently mourn not that he 's gone But left us till the Resurrection Our Joy ought to be more since he doth get A Heavenly Crown for an Earths Coronet Then let us cease our Tears for if we grieve Too much too little surely we believe ROB. MILLWARD Upon the death of my Lord Hastings THese are thy Triumphs Death who prid'st to give Their lives an end who best deserve to live Dull useless men whom Nature makes in vain Or but to fill her Number and her Train Men by the world remembred but till Death Whose empty story endeth with their breath Stay till Old-age consume them when the Good The Noble and the Wise are kill'd i' th' bud Such was the Subject of our Grief in whom All that times past can boast or times to come Can hope is lost whose Blood although its Springs Stream from the Royal loyns of Englands Kings His Vertue hath exalted and refin'd For his high Birth was lower then his Minde But that the Fates inexorably bent To mischief Man and ruine his Content Would have this Sacrifice the Sisters might Have been affected with so sweet a sight And thought their hastie Cruelty a Crime To tear him from his Friends before his Time THOMAS HIGGONS An Elegie upon the Lord HASTINGS AMongst the Mourners that attend his Herse With flowing eyes and wish each Tear a Verse T' embalm his Fame and his dear Merit save Uninjur'd from th' oblivion of the Grave A Sacrificer I am come to be Of this poor Offring to his Memory O could our pious Meditations thrive So well to keep his better part alive So that in stead of Him we could but finde Those fair Examples of his Letter'd Minde Vertuous Emulation then might be Our hopes of Good men though not such as He. But in his hopeful progress since he 's crost Pale Vertue droops now her best Pattern 's lost 'T was hard neither Divine nor Humane Parts The strength of Goodness Learning and of Arts Full crowds of Friends nor all the Pray'rs of them Nor that he was the Pillar of his Stem Affection's Mark secure of all mens Hate Could rescue him from the sad stroke of Fate Why was not th' Air drest in Prodigions forms To groan in Thunder and to weep in Storms And as at some mens Fall why did not His In Nature work a Metamorphosis No he was gentle and his soul was sent A silent Victim to the Firmament Weep Ladies weep lament great Hastings Fall His House is bury'd in his Funeral Bathe him in Tears till there appear no trace Of those sad Blushes in his lovely face Let there be in 't of Guilt no seeming sence Nor other Colour then of Innocence For he was wise and good though he was young Well suited to the Stock from whence he sprung And what in Youth is Ignorance and Vice In him prov'd Piety of an excellent price Farewel dear Lord and since thy body must In time return to its first matter Dust Rest in thy melancholy Tomb in peace for who Would longer live that could but now die so CHA. COTTON For the Right Honourable LVCIE Countess of HUNTINGDON 1649. From her Honours humblest Servant T. P. Her Soliloquie or her Meditation 'T Is mystick Union Man and Wife Yet scarce distinct from Single life Till like the Sun a Son arise And set them Both before their eyes No sweeter braver fairer sight Then thus to stand in our own Light And such a Son I joy'd Ay me Was ever such a Son as he And felt what fervent spirits of Love Orbs of Maternal Bowels move I wou'd not shun those outward snares Of Shape of shining eyes and hairs Which still the more they catch or wound More pleasing still their power I found And it is lawful godly too To love what Gods own fingers do Whose Angels still are sweetly fac'd Himself with perfect Beauty grac'd But eager Vertue from the Clay In words and actions making way To Sense in All that heard or saw Became a fierce almighty Law And stoop'd all hearts that were not stone Or drown'd in Malice or in Moan Like mine So overgone with Wo My very Reason bids it go Nor lies it in the power of Wit By Reason to recover it The Rational Reply By Reason to recover it Sans forlorn Hope or wings of Wit Who serves you his main Battel brings Heark how the feather'd Tempest sings Your clouds of Grief transpiercing quite Or hurrying to disordered Flight Then Sorrow vanquisht on his Herse Rears Trophies of victorious Verse First let us ask Impatience why At gentle Death's approach we cry Sweet Favourite of heaven that flies With Cupids face but Hermes eyes Whose Rods and Snakes and seeming harms Our souls in slumber wisely charms For that poor Spark call'd Life the brand The Rush we carry in our hand Which dropping and defiling spends Death gives Delight that never ends O mad mistake Sea-tost a Calm And wounded we reject a Balm Rabide for want of Rest we keep A bawling and refuse to sleep Dead-weary tir'd yet scorn to stay And Cripple hurl our Crutch away
then others and Had all those rebel-Passions 〈◊〉 command Upon a loss so heavie as yours is Some Niobe had been a stone by this And we might plain have read her discontent On her still weeping Marble-monument Madame you shame the very Stoicks who But talkt of those brave matters which you do They could boast much and well discourse upon The patient suffering of affliction But when it came to th' point they ne'er came nie This acting part of your Philosophie But 't is no wonder that a Stoick you Out-strip I 'd see a Christian thus much do Shew me a Christian that a Cross will take So heavie freely for his Iesus sake Or that shall be presented with a Cup So bitter and willingly shall drink it up Well I had thought in point of suffring no-man Could me have stript but now I yeeld t'a woman And Madame this I am resolv'd upon Your heart is full of Grace or made of Stone FRANCIS STANDISH An ELEGIE Upon the death of HENRY Lord HASTINGS the onely Son and Heir of the Right Honorable FERDINANDO Earl of Huntingdon Deceasing immediately before the day designed for his Marriage FOrbear forbear Great house of Huntingdon T' engross this Grief as if 't were all your own The Kingdom has a share and every Eye Claims priviledge to weep his Elegie The Mirrour of our Age Lord Hastings dead And in his Urn our hopes thus buried And shall not we come in who share i' th' smart In your sad consort to lament our part We must or if that language be you say Rude and uncivil we intreat we may Alas our griefs swell high whilst inward pent They 'll burst our hearts unless we give them vent For pity then if not to spare your eyes Let our tears joyn to mourn his Obsequies Sweet souls alas when we have wept our fill You 'll finde enough of tears for you left still But stay What voice was that Methinks I hear My better Angel whisp'ring in my ear Words of another strain which purer are Then what my Carnal Muse suggesteth far What though our loss be great so great that none In our Age has exceeded it but One Yet this is not the way t' express our Pieties By making large Alembecks of our Eyes The greater our loss is the more 's his gains And whom our eyes think dead our hearts know A Saint in heaven who being there inthron'd reigns How can he take it here to be bemoan'd Away then with these Pagan Rites and be More Christian-like in your Solemnity And know he celebrates his Fun'ral best Who comes unto 't as to a Nuptial-feast And truely 't is his Nuptial-feast indeed Not that which Man meant but which God decreed A Marriage fit for him and in my sence Most sutable unto his Innocence A Marriage with the Lamb who took his sin First quite away from him and then took Him Why should we mourn then how can it but please us When young Lord Hastings married to his Iesus FRA. STANDISH On the incomparable Lord HASTINGS An ELEGIE TO speak thy Praises or our Sorrows now Are both impossible Alone they know Exalted Soul thy worth who now above Converse with thee by Intellect and Love Grief onely and dumb Admiration are The Legacies thou hast bequeath'd us here This onely woful Comfort 's left us now Our Misery 's compleat Fate knows not how Beyond this to inflict another wound They fear not falling that lie on the ground Not perfect Bankrupt was this Land till now Nor her sick lapsed desp'rate state below The hopes of all recovery till His fall We could not justly say we had lost All We could not say while he was yet alive Truth and Religion did not still survive There was a Church and Academy still All Vertue whilst he liv'd they could not kill Justice and Honour whatsoever 's good Was not yet fled from Earth to Heaven Still stood In him that Cypher for these many yeers Th' opprest and now quite ruin'd House of Peers All these not lost but outlaw'd did conspire To him as to their centre to retire But he is gone and now this carcase World Is into her first rude dark Chaos hurl'd Vertue and Knowledge now for Monsters go To grope out Truth henceforth how shall we do Or finde what 's Just or Sense To whom repair To let us know those things have been not are Further then him before you need not move To learn the Placits of the a Porch or Grove Or had you pleased to consult the Sprite Of the deep b Samian or c Stagyrite d Cordova's Sage or e him that did renown The scarce-before-him-known f Boeotian Town Rome Athens Sybils Oracles could teach Nothing not comprehended in his reach Was none so hopeful Instrument as he The savage World t' reduce from Levity Purge and restore our Manners and call home Civility to barb'rous Christendome For this great Work he furnisht was like those Upon whose sacred heads did once repose In shape of parted Tongues celestial Fire What they infused had he did acquire Unless we justly make a doubt wheth'r He At Eighteen could in full possession be Without a Miracle of all Tongues one Whereof to purchase asks an Age alone Him in 's own Language might have heard indite The Swarthy Arab or the Elamite What Athens heard or Solyma or Rome Of old that from his tongue did flowing come He that now drinks of Tyber or of Po Utters not that word that he did not know No more doth he that tastes the Streams of Sceine Or those of Celtica or Aquitain He was indeed a Miracle and we That Miracles are ceas'd may now agree How could we hope t' enjoy him being one Whose new profane Opinion says There 's none Besides this our own wicked Merits might Instruct us 'Twixt our Darkness and his Light There could not be a long Communion In vain therefore alas did we go on To light his Nuptial-Tapers and invoke Iuno and Hymen and the air to choke With ecchoing Epithalms the whilst above Th' Angelick Quire enflamed with his love Court him from us to those Celestial Bowers As fitting for their Consort and not ours So unto Heaven our thoughts being fixt on Clay In 's Fever's fiery Chariot he takes way The weeks first day sets forth and six days done As God had his his Sabbath he begun Thrice happie Soul whose Work and Labour gone Holds with thy Maker's such proportion Now whether he a Constellation be Intelligence or Tut'lar Deity Is hid from us 'T is great'st part of our cross Nothing of him to know or feel but 's loss Which though we could not read in leaves of Fate Thy Tow'rs O Ashby did prognosticate Which fell the dutious ushers to his fall There was no further use of them at all Since he must fall for whose sake they had stood Not be at all as to no end 's as good This these Prophetick Buildings did
Callis unto Tagus shore A Minute to an Age Lead-Oar to Gold So precious was that Gem now Caskt in Mold If Passenger thou ask whom this may be Thus Thron'd on such an height of Dignity I may not tell but blushing when each Letter Terms my speech rude because 't is spoke no better Ghess by the Sequele see the Mourners all Ev'n drunk with Asps and Cockatrices gall Pensive to death view next th' Attendants see How each one droops because it was not he The very Steeds which drew that heavenly Load Went such a pace as if they 'd understood Their Master's fall so slowe yet full of grace As ne'er to come unto a parting-place Like hairy Comets pregnant with Mishaps Do seldom come alone but After-claps Of Princely Horrour issues of that Womb Such though in State are Waiters on a Tomb Lo here the Crest the Sword the Gantlet all Applauded Rites that speak a Funeral Like Comets come before and tell us plain Some Prince his Death or Noble Hero's slain I can no longer hold Look ye upon The Royal Arms and then say Huntingdon Hath now the largest share in this sad Fate Though Darby Suffolk Clarence great in State May challenge Blacks yet much more Royal Blood Centred in Hastings t' make a perfect Good Amongst this Throng of Nobles we may set A Stuart Tudor and Plantagenet None e'er disdain'd this Royal Loyal Stem Faithful to Church true to the Diadem Well might it be thought Honour to fix there Where God's sole Soveraign and the prime sole Peer So much of every Line of every Good Of every Vertue extant in their Blood Was here that as in him they lived all Sweetly united so in him they fall I here dare tell the mad Pythagorist Helyes his Transmigration now hath mist A Body so compos'd each Lineament So perfect full exact 's if Nature meant To shew her Master-piece and that possest With such a noble Soul as ne'er can rest In coarser Roofs it can no other fit There 's not a Subject capable of it Judge in three words he was at these young yeers A Synod Commons and an House of Peers His pure diviner Parts shew him but lent The World a Pattern for their Parliament Where ev'ry Member like a Loyal Soul Assists each other to compleat the Whole Of a just Temper Gracious and Good To God and Man kept close yet understood Apparent yet unvoic'd made known to all But to himself no ways Thrasonical Of what whole Ages might therefore in brief His Lords and Ladies highest Joy and Grief Should I attempt each Circumstance to scan Which makes the Grief unequall'd as the Man â—ight by oddes far sooner end this Strife 〈…〉 Dead my Self then This to th' Life Epitaph Here lies our Ages Paramont the Store Of Albions shame because it mourns no more And since the Fate is so if for his fall We cannot weep enough our Children shall JOH. ROSSE Upon the unhappie Separation of those united Souls The Honorable Henry Lord Hastings And his beloved Parallel WHat make I here how ill this place befits A Shrub to sprout i' th' Lebanon of Wits Mong such Caesarean Muses whose pure strains Out-soar the Clouds of Sublunary brains I 'ld quit the place but that I know I may Lament as much though not so well as they Thus Princely Eagles when together th' are Met at a Carcase yeeld the Fly a share The Tongs and Iews-trump too when they do come In Consort serve to fill a Vacuum And to compleat the sound though artless Tone So he that can't sing Elegies can groan Sad accident how pityable's Man Billow'd about this restless Ocean Born to be wretched who no sooner doth Begin to live or love but dies to both The Tennis-ball bandy'd 'tween Love and Fate Whom both do court yet both do emulate Whom like young Doctors Women use to kill To try Experiments and nurse their skill The Females Trophie Or if Love can't do 't To sink him Fate contributeth her foot To crush i' th' Bud. Thus the great Hastings di'd The Young-mens Glory and the Scholars Pride Envie 's just Zenith But why should I lament his death since he Loseth not by 't but 't is his LOVE and We She we 're undone for both have lost that All That She could Love or We could Vertue call One who by 's Learning did demonstrate that There is a Plebs in Brain as well as State And by his Studies labour'd to derive Nobility from Worth its Primitive Whom he that would mourn as he ought to do Must be the Poet and the Subject too Now others Obsequies are my Thanksgiving Nor mourn I for the dead but for the living Poor Hemistick that but began to be Inoculated when she lost the Tree She that had flam'd her soul with Hymens fires Who with full Sayls blown on with strong desires In reach of Hav'n in sight of Safety sinks Up to the lips in Nectar yet not drinks She that had past the Gulf of Love and Wo Which none but we that taste and feel can know Now must love o'er again and come to be New disciplin'd in Cupids A B C. How vast a world has she to range about How long a search ere she can finde one out Second to him An equal we despair Like Pallas born o' th' brain of Iupiter Riddle of Nature of unfathom'd parts Whose Brain was the Synopsis of all Arts Whose Soul whose Heart whose Person justly can Stile Lover Scholar and a Gentleman Whom loaden Nature did designe to die Unwedded being a Genealogie Unto himself and therefore thought it shame To live in any Issue but his Fame This Sun in 's Zenith totters now and falls And Death 's the Vigil to Loves Festivals Thus purest Lovers when their Ioy is near Are by 't struck dead as Cowards are by Fear Yet though he could not know what Joys wait on The Bridal-Bed but by privation Now woes the Angels and intends to be Wedded to them in their Virginity Yet are the Muses cross'd for had this hit We 'd joyn'd Yorks Wealth to th' Lancaster of Wit Sic flevit ALEX BROME An ELEGIE On the much-lamented death of the Lord HASTINGS A Lack good young Lord Hastings is he dead He 's rise again as sure as buried There 's Comfort yet that 's worth our Sadness then But yet w' are bound to grieve as to love men Shall I be silent then not to relate The Grievance of my Minde for this sad Fate Wanting the Learned Phrases to set forth In high Expressions such a Subject's worth Let deep Divines that long have studied Art Adorn their Lines to please I 'll write my Part. Then on my mournful Pen help Muses nine That he may drop a Tear that reads a Line When he shall know the grievous Sighs and Groans Of that sad Noble Race of Huntingdon Great pity 't is so young a Branch as He Should drop so sudden from so good a Tree But Heaven th'
Strafford Falkland and brave Capel were Whose pregnant Brain spake a descent from Iove And Shape Celestial from the Queen of Love So that to charm the World he match'd the grace Of Nestors Wisdom with Adonis Face The Nurse Minerva boasts how this her son Suck'd dry the Poets and their Helicon With what a nimble pace he posted ore The fields of Phant'sie rifled all her Store Cropt ev'ry Flow'r and Tulip which did grow To make a Garland for his own fair Brow That young Apollo never wan more Praise When he pursu'd his Love and catcht the Bays This but the Bud these but the Blossoms were The Fruit grew ripe in Studies more severe Where he seem'd born to master and control Both the Cecropian and the Roman School Big with designe t' usurp the Chair of Wit From Tully and depose the Stagirit Adde next to these the Grace which did belong T' unlock those Treasures with a Golden tongue A Tongue so rarely furnisht as might boast It self of kin to those at Pentecost And in their proper Languages begun To court the Rising and the Setting Sun Fit to reform our own degen'rous Sprites And plant the world with Loyal Proselytes Thus ripen'd see this rare Example stood No less ennobled in Desert then Blood Whilst others swoln high with an empty Name Leave nothing but their Lusts and Sins to Fame But if you 'll Noble be indeed your yeers Improve like him strive to become his Peers How joy'd think you the Noble Huntingdon To be thus copi'd in so brave a Son How did he bless admire and smile to see This young Ascanius of his Family As did Aeneas that his onely Joy The precious Relique of confounded Troy What Fruits he reckon'd would the Harvest bring After so sweet and so serene a Spring How fair an Issue should the Boy beget Good as their Sire and as their Grandsires Great Whose Vertues claim this Title to their Line Of all the British Heroes most Divine No marvel then the famous Mayern strove To place his Childe where he had fixt his Love Melting the Indies to unite in one His Onely Daughter with this onely Son That so his longing Soul might once behold This Jewel set within his Ring of Gold The old man woo'd as if he meant to prove An earnest Rival in his daughters love Gave Hymen speedy Orders to prepare The Triumphs due unto this harmless War Invited all the gods of Mirth and Wine That as Themselves the Feast might be Divine Venus her Trinkets sent without delay To dress ten thousand Cupids for the day The Duellists with plighted hands did greet And promis'd quick within the Lists to meet The lustre of whose mutual Smiles and Rays Foretold a Sunshine of auspicious days But Oh! the Scene is alter'd some cross Star Darts down Infection th'row the Hemisphear Those eyes which Hymen hop'd should light his Torch Aethereal flames of Fevers now do scorch And envious Pimples too dig Graves apace To bury all the Glories of his face The Boy-god sighing soon unbends his Bowe And with his Mother lies extinct belowe In vain expecting Succour while the Race Of Stygian Monsters seize upon the place Where they their Revels keep mocking the skill Of best Physitians and then rage their fill Till ugly Death his dire Magnetick Dart Shot th'row the Veins to hit his tender Heart Ruined the Fort and then snatch'd the Prize Due to the conquest of his Ladies eyes The onely Legacies he left us are Grief to his Friends and to the World Despair So when fair Phoebus 'gins to gild the Morn Some sullen Cloud within a moment born Sends Hell and Darkness th'row the air to flie And all with Mourning hangs the lofty Skie M. N. De honoratissimo Juvene Dom. HENRICO HASTINGS Linguis Artibus Virtutibus excultissimo Comitis HUNTINGDONIAE Filio Unico qui undevicesimum Aetatis suae annum agens diem obiit magno cum Literarum juxtà Literatorum detrimento PEgasus excussit fontem unum e Vertice montis Laxat at hìc fontes singula Musa duos Semper ut è teneris lacrymae Labuntur ocellis Sic LACRYMAE Musis Musica semper erit Apostrophe ad defunctum Qui Musas omnes in Te complexus es uno Musa Tibi non est quae fleat una satis {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} IOANNES HARMARVS Oxoniensis {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} C. W. M. moerens posuit Upon the death of the Lord HASTINGS MUst Noble Hastings Immaturely die The Honour of his ancient Family Beauty and Learning thus together meet To bring a Winding for a Wedding-sheet Must Vertue prove Death's Harbinger Must She With him expiring feel Mortality Is Death Sin 's wages Grace's now shall Art Make us more Learned onely to depart If Merit be Disease if Vertue Death To be Good Not to be who 'd then bequeath Himself to Discipline who 'd not esteem Labour a Crime Study Self-murther deem Our Noble Youth now have pretence to be Dunces securely Ign'rant healthfully Rare Linguist whose Worth speaks it self whose Praise Though not his Own all Tongues Besides do raise Then Whom Great Alexander may seem Less Who conquer'd Men but not their Languages In his mouth Nations speak his Tongue might be Interpreter to Greece France Italy His native Soyl was the Four parts o' th' Earth All Europe was too narrow for his Birth A young Apostle and with rev'rence may I speak ' it inspir'd with gift of Tongues as They Nature gave him a Childe what Men in vain Oft strive by Art though further'd to obtain His Body was an Orb his sublime Soul Did move on Vertue 's and on Learning's Pole Whose Reg'lar Motions better to our view Then Archimedes Sphere the Heavens did shew Graces and Vertues Languages and Arts Beauty and Learning fill'd up all the parts Heav'ns Gifts which do like falling Stars appear Scatter'd in Others all as in their Sphear Were fix'd and conglobate in 's Soul and thence Shone th'row his Body with sweet Influence Letting their Glories so on each Limb fall The whole Frame render'd was Celestial Come learned Ptolomy and trial make If thou this Hero's Altitude canst take But that transcends thy skill thrice happie all Could we but prove thus Astronomical Liv'd Tycho now struck with this Ray which shone More bright i' th' Morn then others beam at Noon He 'd take his Astrolabe and seek out here What new Star 't was did gild our Hemisphere Replenish'd then with such rare Gifts as these Where was room left for such a Foul Disease