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COMMENDATORY VERSES.

That stirres my genius, which should excite
AN ELEGY,

Those pow'rfull wits : to doe a pious right
TO THE LIVING MEMORY OF HIS DECEASED FRIEND, Truth to posterity, and sbew the way

To noble vertue, and by verse connay
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, KNIGHT, BARONET.

By strong example, how in mortall state
To tell the world what it bath lost in thee, We heau'nly worth may loue, and imitate.
Were but in vaine; for such as cannot see, Nay, 'twere a great injustice, not to saue
Would not be grieu'd to heare, the morning light Him from the ruines of a silent graue,
Should neuer more succeed the gloomy night. Who others from their ashes sought to raise,
Such onely whom thy vertue made, or found To weare (giu’n from his hand) eternall bayes.
Worthy to know thee, can receive this wound : It is by all confess'd, thy happy straines,
Of these each man will duly pay his teares Distillid from milky streames of natiue veines,
To thy great memory, and when he heares Did like the liuing source of Naso's song,
One fam'd for vertue, he will say, “ So blest, Flow to the eare, thence gently glide along
So good, bis Beaumont was," and weepe the rest. Downe to the heart, in notes so heau’nly sweet,
If knowledge shall be mention'd, or the arts, That there the sister-graces seem'd to meet,
Soone will he reckon vp thy better parts :

And make thy brest their seate for soft retire, At naming of the Muses, he will streight

And place from whence they fetch'd Prometheat Tell of thy workes, where sharpe and bigh conceit,

fire,
Cloath'd in sweet verse, giue thee immortall fame, 'To kindle other hearts with purest flame
Whilst ignorance doth scorne a poet's name: Of modest verse, and voaffected fame:
And then shall his imagination striue,

While pedant poetasters of this age,
To keepe thy gratefull memory aliue,

(Who stile their saucý rimes, poëtique rage) By poems of his owne ; for that might bee, Loose humours vent, and ballad-lines extrude, Had he no Muse, by force of knowing thee. Which grieue the wise, captiue the multitude. This maketh me (who in the Muses' quire

And that thy poems might the better take, Sing but a meane) thus boldly to aspire,

Nor with vaine sound, or for the author's sake, To pay sad duties to thy honor'd herse,

Which often is by seruile spirits tryde, With my vnpolish'd lines, and ruder verse. Whilst heau’n-bred soules are left vnsatisfyde ; Yet dreame I not of raysing amongst men

Like to the bee, thou didd'st those flow'rs select, A lasting fame to thee by my fraile pen :

That most the tastefull palate might affect, But rather hope, something may liue of me, With pious relishes of things diuine, (Perhaps this paper) hauing mention'd thee. And discomposed sence with peace combine.

TUOMAS NEUILL.

Which (in thy Crown of Thorns) we may discerne,
Fram'd as a modell for the best to learne:
That verse may vertue teach, as well as prose,

And minds with natiue force to good dispose,
AN ELEGY,

Deuotion stirre, and quicken cold desires,

To entertaine the warmth of holy fires. DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF HIS MUCH HONOURED

There may we see thy soule exspaciale, FRIEND, SIR JOEN BEAUMONT, KNIGHT AND BARONET.

And with true feruor sweetly meditate I WRITE not elegies, nor tune my verse,

Vpon our Sauiour's sufferings; that while To waite in mourning notes vpon thy herse Thou seek'st his painefull torments to beguile, For vaine applause, or with desire to rank

With well-tun'd accents of thy zealous song, My slender Muse 'mongst those, who on the bank Breath'd from a soule transfix'd, a passion strong, of Aganippe's streame can better sing,

We better knowledge of his woes attaine, And to their words more sence of sorrow bring. Fall into teares with thee, and then againe,

found;

Rise with thy verse to celebrate the flood To haue of him? Perhaps an empty voyce,
Of those eternall torrents of his blood.

While him we wrong with our contentlesse choyce:
Nor lesse delight (things serious set apart) To you I this attribute, sisters nine ;
Thy sportiue poems yeeld, with heedfull art For onely you can cause this worke diuine ;
Composed so, to ininister content,

By none but you could these bright fires be
That though we there thinke onely wit is meant,
We quickly, by a happy errour, find

Prometheus is not from the rocke vnbound;
In cloudy words, cleare lampes to light the mind. No Asculapius still remaines on Earth,
Then blesse that Muse, which, by vntroddeu wayes To giue Hippolitus a second birth.
Pursuing vertue, meetes deserued bayes

Since then such goxilike pow'rs in you remaine,
To crowne it selfe, and wand'ring soules reduce To worke these wonders, let some soule containe
From paths of ignorance, and wits abuse;

His spirit of sweet musicke, and infuse
And may the best of English laureats strine, Into some other brest his sparkling Muse.
Thus, their owne fun'rali ashes to suruiue.

But yon, perhaps, that all your pow'r may speake,
Will chuse to worke on subiects dull and weake:
Chuse me, inspire my frozen brest with heat,
No deed you euer wrought can seeme more great.

THOMAS HAWKINS.

IOHN BEAUMONT

V PON THE FOLLOWING POEMS OF MY DEARE FATHER

TO THE WORTHY MUSE OF HIS NOBLE FRIEND,
SIR 10HN BEAUMONT,

KNIGHT BARONEʻr.
We doe not vsher forth thy verse with these,
That thine may by our prayse the better please :
That were impertinent, and we too weake,
To adde a grace, where eu'ry line doth speake,
And sweetly eccho out, in this rich store,
All we can any way pretend, and more.
Yet since we stand engag'd, we this nake knowne,
Thy layes are vnaffected ; free; thine owne;
Thy periods, cleare; expressions, genuine ;
Muse most emphaticall; and wit, diuine.

THOMAS HAWKINS.

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A CONGRATULATION TO THE MUSES,
FOR THE IMMORTALIZING OF HIS DBARE EATHER, AX.

THE SACRED VERTUE OF POETRY.
Ye heau’nly sisters, by whose sacred skill,
Sweet sounds are rays'd vpon the forked hill
Of high Parnassus : you, whose tuned strings
Can cause the birds to stay their, nimble wings,
And silently admire: before whose feet,
The lambs, as fearelesse, with the lions meet :
Yon, who the harpe of Orpheus so inspir'd,
That from the Stygian lake he safe retir'd;
You could Amphion's harpe with vertue fill,
That euen the stones wero pliant to his will.
To you, you, therefore, I my verse direct,
From whom such beames celestiall can reflect
On that deare author of my life, inspir'd,
With hcauenly heate, and sacred fury fir'd;
Whose vigour, quencht by death, you now reujue,
And in this booke conserue bim still aliue.
Here liues his better part, here shines that fame,
Which lights the entrance to eternall fame.
These are his triumphs ouer death, this spring
From Aganippe's fountaines he could bring
Cleare from all drosse, through pure intentious

drain'd,
Ilis draughts no sensuall waters euer staind,
Behold, he doth on cuery paper strow,
The loyall thouglits he did his sou'raigne owe,
Here rest afections to each dearest friend,
And pious sighs, which noble thoughts attend;
Parnassus hiin containes, plast in the quire
With poets: what then can we more desire

SIR JOHN BEAUMONT,

BARONET, DECEASED.
You, who prepare to reade graue Beaumont's

verse,
And at your entrance view my lowly straines,

Expect no flatt'ring prayses to reberse,
The rare perfections, which this booke contained

But onely here in these few lines, behold
The debt which 1 vnto a parent owe;

Who, though I cannot his true worth ynfold,
May yet at least a due affection show.

For should I striue to decke the vertues bigh,
Which in these poems (like faire gemmes) ap-

peare;
I might as well adde brightnesse to the skie,
Or with new splendour make the Sunne more cleare.

Since eu'ry line is with such beauties grac'd,
That nothing farther can their prayses sound:

And that deare name which on the front is plac'de
Declares what ornaments within are found.

That name, I say, in whom the Muses meete,
And with such heate his noble spirit raise,

That kings admire his verse, wbil'st at his feetea
Orpheus his harpe, and Phæbus casts his bayes.
Whom, though fierce Death hath taken from our

sights,
And cans'd that curious hand to write no more,

Yet maruell pot it from the fun'rall rites
Proceed these branches neuer seene before.

For from the corne arise not fruitfull eares,
Except at first the earth receive the same :

Nor those rich odours which Arabia beares,
Send forth sweet smells, unlesse consum'd. with

flame.
So from the ashes of this phoenix Aye
These off-springs, which with such fresh glory shine;
That whil'st

time runneth, be shall neuer dye,
But still be honour'd in this famous shrine :

To which, this verse alone I humbly giug;
He was before: but now begins to liue.

PRAXCIS BEAUMONT

VYON THESE POÈMS OF HIS DEAREST BRO THER, And have already had this curse from vs,

That in their pride they should grow barbarous, SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.

There is no splendour, that our pens can giue Woen lines are drawn greater than nature, art

By our most labor'd lines, can make thee liue Commands the object and the eye to part,

Like to thine owne, which able is to raise Bids them to keepe at distance, know their place,

So lasting pillars to prop vp thy prayse, Where to receive, and where to giue their grace;

As time shall hardly shake, vntill it shall I am too neere thee, Beaumont, to define

Ruine those things, that with it selfe must fall. Which of those lineaments is most diuine,

MÍ, DRAYTOX And to stand farther off from thee, I chuse In silence rather to applaude thy Muse, And lose my censure ; 'tis enough for mee

AD POSTHUMUM OPUS D. To ioy, my pen was taught to moue by thee.

10. BELLO-MONTIJ, GEORGE FORTESCUE.

EQUITIS AURATI ET BARONETTI, VIRI NOSLISSIMI,

HENDECASYLLABON,

Lectum discubui ; biceps gemello ON THE HONORED POEMS OP HIS HONORED FRIEND,

Parnassus bijugo imminebat : vnde SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.

Fontes desiliunt leues, loquaces;

Pellucent vitreo liquore fontes.
This booke will live; it hath a genius : this

Sudo sub loue, sydere & secundo
Aboue his reader, or his prayser, is. [pense Discumbo. Teneras rosas pererro
Hence, then, prophane: here needs no words' ex- Narcissum, violas odore gratas,
In bulwarkes, rau’lins, ramparts, for defense,

Vnguento Ambrosio has & bas refectas,
Such, as the creeping common pioners vse

Quas inter Philomela cantitillat When they doe sweat to fortifie a Muse.

Præpes, blandula, mellilinguis ales. Though I confesse a Beaumont's booke to bee

Quas inter volitant Apollinesque, The bound, and frontier of our poëtrie ;

Et Musæ Veneresque mille, mille.
And doth deserue all muniments of praise,

Insomne hoc sibi somnium quid audet ?
That art, or ingine, on the strength can raise. Altùm effare noëma bello-montis :
Yet, who dares offer a redoubt to reare ?

Effatum euge ! Poëma Bello-monti est
To cut a dyke? or sticke a stake vp, here, Dium, castalium nitens, politum;
Before this worke? where Envy hath not cast Libatum salibus, lepore tinctum.
A trench against it, nor a battry plac't

? Decurrens velut amnis alti monte
Stay, till she make her vaine approches. Then feruet delicijs, ruit profundo
If, maymed, she come off, 'tis not of men

Beauinontus latice. Altiùs resultat This fort of so impregnable accesse,

Fertur, nec tenui nec vsitatâ But higher power, as spight could not make lesse,

Pennâ per liquidam ætheram, biformis. Nor flatt'ry! but secur'd, by the author's name, Hic Phæbi deus est, decus cohortis

Defies, what's crosse to piety, or good fame. Summum Palladiæ, iubar sororum, And like a hallow'd temple, free from taint Ipse & fos Venerum, resurgo; legi. Of ethnicisme, makes his Muse a saint.

BEN, JONSON,

PU. KIX.

V PON THE HONORED POEMS OF HIS VNKNOWNE FRIEND, TO THE DEARE REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NOBLE FRIEND, SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET. SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.

I KNEW thee not, I speake it to my shame: This Posthumus, from the braue parents' name, which (with the Sunne's bright course) did iogntly

But by that cleare, and equall voyce of fame, Likely to be the heire of so much fame, Can haue at all no portion by my prayse :

Thy glorious name about each hemisphere. [beare Onely this poor branch of my with’ring bayes

Whiles I, who had confin’d my selfe to dwell I offer to it; and am very glad,

Withiu the straite bounds of an obscure cell, I yet haue this; which if I better had,

Tooke in those pleasing beames of wit and worth, My loue should build an altar, and thereon Which, where the Sunne could neuer shine, breake Should offer vp such wreaths as long agone,

Wherewith I did refresh my weaker sight, (forth : Those daring Grecians, and proud Romans, crown'd; When others bath'd themselues in thy full light. Giving that honour to their most renown'd.

But when the dismall rumour was once spred, But that braue world is past, and we are light,

That struck all knowing soules, of Beaumont dead: After those glorious dayes, into the night

Abone thy best friends 'twas my benefit, Of these base times, which not one heröe haue,

To know thee onely by thy liuing wit ; Onely an empty title, which the graue

And whereas others might their losse deplore, Shall soone deuoure; whence it no more shall sound, Thou liu'st to me just as thou didst before. Which neuer got vp higher than the ground.

In all that we can value great or good, Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath,

Which were not in these cloai hes of flesh and blood, Brought on too soone thy much lamented death.

Thou now hast laid aside, but in that mind, But Heau'n was kind, and would not let thee see

That onely by it selfe could be confin'd, The plagues that must vpon this nation be,

Thou liu'st to me, and shalt for euer raine, By whom the Muses haue neglected bin,

both the issues of thy blood and braine. Which sball adde weight and measure to their simpe;

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Replies : “ I should haue been asham'd to tell
BOSWORTH FIELD.

Fond dreames to wise men: whether Heau'n or

Hell,
The winter's storme of ciuill warre I sing, Or troubled nature, these effects hath wrought :
Whose end is crown'd with our eternall spring, I know, this day requires another thought,
Where roses ioin'd, their colours mixe in one, If some resistlesse strength my cause should crosse,
And armies fight no more for England's throne. Peare will increase, and not redeeme the losse;
Thou, gracious Lord, direct my feeble pen, All dangers, clouded with the mist of feare,
Who (from the actions of ambitious men)

Seeme great farre off, but lessen comming neare.
Hast by thy goodnesse drawne our joyfull good, Away, ye black illusions of the night,
And made sweet flowres and oliues grow from blood, If ye combin’d with Fortune, haue the might
While we, delighted with this faire release, To hinder my designes: ye shall not barre
May clime Parnassus, in the dayes of peace. My courage seeking glorious death in warre."

The king (whose eyes were neuer fully clos'd, Thus being chear'd, he calls aloud for armes, Whose minde opprest, with feareful dreames sup- and bids that all should rise, whom Morpheus pos'd,

charmes.
That be in blood had wallow'd all the night) “ Bring me,” saith be, “ the harnesse that I wore
Leapes from his restlesse bed, before the light : At Teuxbury, which from that day no more
Accursed Tirell is the first he spies,

Hath felt the batıries of a ciuill strife,
Whom threatning with his dagger, thus he cries. Nor stood betweene destruction and my life.”
" How darst thou, villaine, so disturbe my sleepe? Vpon his brest-plate he be holds a dint,
Were not the smother'd children buried deepe? Which in that field young Edward's sword did
And bath the ground againe been ript by thee,

print : That I their rotten carkases might see?

This stirres remembrance of his heinous guilt, The wretch, astonisht, bastes a way to slide, When he that prince's blood so foulely spilt. (As damned ghosts themselues in darkenesse hide) Now fully arm’d, he takes his helmet bright, And calles vp three, whose counsels could asswage Which, like a twinkling starre, with trembling light The sudden swellings of the prince's rage:

Sends radiant lustre through the darksome aire; Ambitious Louell, who, to gaine his grace,

This maske will make his wrinkled visage faire. Had stain'd the honour of his noble race:

But when his head is couer'd with the steele, Perfidious Catesby, by whose curious skill,

He telles his seruants, that his temples feele
The law was taught to speake his master's will: Deepe.piercing stings, which breed vpusuall painen,
And Ratcliffe, deepely learn'd in courtly art, Aud of the heauy burden much complaines.
Who best could search into his sou'raigne's hart : Some marke bis words, as tokens fram'd t'expresse
Affrighted, Richard labours to relate

The sharpe conclusion of a sad successe.
His hideous dreames, as signes of haplesse fate : T'hen going forth, and finding in his way
" Alas !” said they, “such fictions children feare, A souldier of the watch, who sleeping lay,
These are not terrours, shewing danger neare, Enrag'd to see the wretch neglect his part,
But motiues sent by some propitious power, He strikes a sword into his trembling heart ;
To make you watchfull at this early hower : The hand of death, and iron dulnesse, takes
These proue that your victorious care preuents Those leaden eyes, wbich nat'rall ease forsakes i
Your slouthfull foes, that slumber in their tents. The king this morning sacrifice commends,
This precious time must not in vaine be spent, And for example, thus the fact defends :
Which God (your helpe) by heau’nly meanes hath “ I leaue him, as I found him, fit to keepe
lent.”

The silent doores of euerlasting sleepe."
He (by these false coniectures) much appeas'd, Still Richmond slept : for worldly care and feare
Contemning fancies, which his minde diseas'd, Have times of pausing, when the soule is cleare,

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