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How durst you to such men such boldnesse show,
As t' practise with these parts you did not know?
Or meddle with those veines, that none should strike
But those, that had beene practiz'd in the like?
Alas! you knew not how their bodies stood;
Their veines abounded with a Nobler blood,
Of a farre purer dye, and far more rife
With actiue spirits, of a nimbler life,
Than e're before, you practiz'd on. May all
The sicknesses that on our nature fall,
And vex rebellious man for his foule sin,
Seize on you all throughout, without, within,
For this presumptuous deed, and want of skill;
And may such potions as haue pow'r to kill,
Be all your physicke; yet, corrected, striue
To weare you out, and keepe you long aliue.
But, O, mee think's I raue? 'Tis time to end,
When, 'gainst the rules I loue, I so offend.
Pardon, you learned Artists: well I know
Your skill is great, and you not spar'd to show
The vtmost of it. Yet when all's assay'd,
The debt to God and nature must be pay'd.
You precious Vrns, that hold that Noble dust,
Keepe safe the wealth, committed to your trust.
And you, deare Reliques of that ample worth,
That whilom through your creuices shin'd forth,
That now haue put off Man, and sweely lye;
T' expect your Crowne of Immortality;
Rest there repos'd, vntouch't, and free from care,
you shall meet your soules, with them to share
In that rich glory, wherein now they shine,
Disdaining all, that's not like them; Diuine.
Where I assur'd, againe, to see, and greete you,
Resolue to weepe, till I goe out to meet you.
Ita non cecinit; at verè, piissimeq. flevit.
Ille dolet verè, qui sine teste dolet.
Certaine touches upon the Life and Death of the Right Honourable Henrie, Earle of Southampton, and his true Image, Iames, the Lord Wriothesley his eldest Sonne.
TO THE READER.
Reader, beleeue me, 'tis not Gaine, nor Fame
That makes me put in my neglected Name;
Mong'st learned Mourners that in Sable Verse,
Doe their last Honour to this dolefull Herse.
Nor did these Lords, by liuing bountie, tie
To Them, and to their Heires my Poetry:
For, to speake plainly, though I am but poore;
Yet neuer came I knocking to their doore:
Nor euer durst my low obscuritie,
Once creepe into the luster of their die.
Yet since I am a Christian, and suppose
My selfe obliged, both with Verse and Prose;
Both with my Pencills, and my Pens best Art;
With eye, tongue, heart, and hand, and euery part
In each right Noble well-deseruing Spirit,
To honour Vertue, and commend true merit.
Since first I breath'd and liu'd within the Shire,
That giues a Title to this honoured Peere;
Since twelue long Winters I, my little Flock
Fed in that Isle that (wal'd with many a rock;
And circled with the Maine) against her shore,
Hear's the proud Ocean euery day to rore;
And sitting there in sun-shine of his Glory
Saw his fair Vertues, read his lifes true Story.
Who see's not, I haue reason to make one, In this Isle's, Churches, Countries common mone? Or thinks that in this losse I haue no part, When the whole Kingdome seems to feele the smart? Let him that list his griefs in silence mutter, I cannot hold; my plaints I needs must vtter: I must lament, and sigh, and write, and speake, Lest while I hold my tongue, my hearte should breake. W. PETTIE.
To the Right Honourable, Henry, Earle of Southampton.
The changing World, and the Eternall Word;
Nature, Art, Custome, Creatures all accord
To proue (if any doubted) that we must
(Since All haue sin'd) all die and turne to dust.
But (deare Sovthampton) since deserued praise
Came thronging on Thee faster then thy dayes;
Since thy Immortall. Vertues then were seene
(When thy graue head was gray) to be most greene;
Wee fooles began to hope that thy lifes date,
Was not confined to our common fate,
But that thou still should'st keep the worlds faire Stage,
Acting all parts of goodnesse: that Each Age
Succeeding ours, might in thy action see,
What Vertue, (in them dead) did liue in Thee,
Bvt oh vaine thoughts, though late, we find alas; The fairest flowers that th' earth brings forth are grass: Wealth, Honor, Wisdome, Grace, nor Greatnesse can Adde one short moment to the life of Man.
Time will not stay: and the proud King of feares;
Not mov'd by any Presents, Prayers or teares;
Doth trample downe fraile flesh, and from the wombe
Leads vs away close prisoners to the tombe.
III. To both the Lords.
And you braue Lords, the glorie of your Peeres,
More laden with your Honors then your yeeres;
Deare to Your Soueraigne, faithfull to the State;
Friends to Religion, ill men's feare and hate :
Death, as his Captiues, here hath laid full lowe,
And left your friends long legacies of woe.
Griefe to your Country, to your house sad losses,
Tour Armies dread, to our designements crosses.
IIII. To the Liuing.
Tell me (yee liuing wights) what marble heart,
Weying our wants, doth not with sorrow smart
To see those glorious Starres that shin'd so cleere,
In our disconsolate darke Hemisphere:
To see these Pillars, whose firme Basies prop't
Our feeble State; the Cedars that oretop't
The ayrie clouds, yeelding to Birds a Neast,
Shadow and shelter to the wearied Beast:
Now by Death's bloudie hand, cut downe, defaced,
Their Light ecclipsed, and their height abased?
V. To Death.
Yet boast not (cruell Tyrant) of thy spoyle, Since with thy conquest thou hast won the foile ; For they (O happy Soules) diuinely armed Could not (though hit) bee with thine arrowes harmed.
Thus robbed, not of Beeing, but of Breath, Secure they triumph ouer stinglesse Death; And while their pure immortall part inherits The heauenly blisse, with glorified Spirits;
Their dust doth sleepe in hope, and their good name
Liue's in th' eternall Chronicles of fame.
VI. To the Hollanders vpon the returne of the Lords Corpes.
Holland: t'is knowne that you vnto our Nation
Haue long bin linc'kt in friendlie Combination;
T'is knowne, that we to you haue daily, duly,
All offices of loue performed truely.
You still haue had protection from our Forts,
Trade to our Townes, and harbour in our Ports;
When big-swolne Spaine you threatend to deuour,
We to your weaker ioyn'd our stronger power.
And our old souldiers willingly, vnprest,
Ran to your wars as fast as to some feast:
We man'd your Cities, and instead of stones,
Helpt you to build your Bulwarks with our bones.
Nor had your Castles now vnbattered stood,
Had not your slime ben tempered with our blood.
All this we did, and more are still content,
With men, munition, mony to preuent
Your future ruine; Hence with warie speede
Our state sent ouer to your latest neede.
Ten Noble heads, and twice ten thousand hands,
All prest to execute their wise commands:
Mongst them our good Southampton, and his joy,
Deare lames in hart a man, in age a boy.
But oh your fatall fields, vnhappie soile,
Accurst Acheldama, foule den of spoile,
Deaths Hospitall, like Hell the place of woe,
Admit all commers, but nere let them goe;
Churl's to your aide, we sent strong liuing forces, And you in lieu returne vs liueless corses.
Ah Noble Lords: went you so farre to haue
Your Death, and yet come home to seeke a graue?
VII. To the young Lord.
Bright starre of Honour, what celestiall fires
Inflame thy youthfull bloud; that thy desires
Mount vp so fast to Glories highest Spheres,
So farre beyond thine equalls and thy yeares?
Whil'st others Noblie borne, ignoblie staine
Their bloud and youth with manners base and vaine,
Thou to thy Fathers holie lessons lending
Thine eare; and to his liue's faire patterne bending
Thy steps; did'st daily learne for sport or need
Nimblie to mount and man thy barbed steed;
Fairelie thy serious thoughts to write or speake,
Stoutlie vpon thy foe, thy lance to breake.
It did not with thine actiue spirit suite
To wast thy time in fingring of a Lute,
Or sing mongs't Cupids spirits a puling Dittie
To moue some femall saint to loue or pittie.
T'was Musick to thine eare in ranged batle
To heare sad Drums to grone, harsh Trumpets ritle:
Or see, when clouds of bloud do rent in sunder,
The pouders lightning, and the Canons thunder.
And when thou might'st at home haue liued free
From cares and feares in soft securitie,
Thou scorning such dishonorable ease,
To all the hazards both of land and sea's,
Against Religions and thy Countries foes,
Franklie thy selfe and safetie did'd expose.
O Sacred virtue thy mild modest glances,
Rais'd in his tender heart, these amorous trances,
For thy deare loue so dearely did he weane
His youth from pleasures, and from lusts vncleane:
And so in thy straight narrow paths still treading,
He found the way to endlesse glorie leading.
But soft (sad Muse) tis now no fitting taske, The prayses of his well spent Youth t'vnmaske, To sing his pious cares, his studious night's, His thriftie daies, his innocent delights,
Or tell what store of vsefull obseruations
He gain'd at home and 'mongst the neighbring Nations.
Leaue we this virgin theame vntouch't, vntainted,
Till some more happie hand so liuely paint it,
That all Posteritie may see, and read,
His liuing virtues when hee's cold and dead.
(Sweet Youth) what made thee hide thine amorous face, And cheekes scarce downie in a steelie case, And like yong Cupid vnder Mars his sheild, Mongst men of armes to braue it in the field?
Thought'st thou (o fondling) cruell death would pitty The faire, the yong, the noble, wise and witty, More then the foule and foolish, base and old? Oh no: the tirant bloudy, blind and bold, All the wide world in single combate dareth, And no condition, sex or age he spareth.