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And shew the baruest of your constant loue,
And must so farre dilate his noble minde, In this swette armefull, which your ioy shall proue: Till it in Heau'n eternall honour finde. Her sex is signe of plenty, and fore-runnes The order of the blessed spirits there The pleasing hope of many noble sonnes :
Must be his rule, while he inhabits here : Who farre abroad their branches shall extend, He must conceive that worldly glories are Anil s: read their race, till time receiue au en:l. Vaine shadowes, seas of sorrow, springs of care : Be euer blest, (faire childe) that hast begunne All things which vader Cynthia leade their life, So white a threed, by hands of angels spunne:
Are chain'd in darknesse, borne and nurst in strise :
When with lesse paine he may imbrace the light,
Whose gracious presence giues bim perfect rest,
And baildes a paradise within bis brest:
Where trees of vertues to their height increase, TO MY LORD MARQUESSI OF BUCKINGHAM. And beare the flowres of ioy, the fruites of peace. Sır, you are truely great, and enery cye,
No enuie, no reuenge, no rage, no pride, Not diime with enuy, joyes to see you high:
No lust, nor rapine, should his conrses guide :
Though all the world conspire to doe him grace, But chiefely mine, which, buried in the night,
Yet he is little, and extremely base,
If in his heart these vices take their seate;
(No pow'r can make the slaue of passions great.)
MY LORD OF BUCKINGHAM'S ARMES. Your worth, which must be studied in your face, į BEHOLD, the ensignes of a Christian knight, The lively table, where your vertue shines
Whose field is, like his minde, of siluer bright: More clearely, than in strong and waighty lines. In-vaine I striue to write some noble thing,
Ilis bloudy crosse supports fiue golden shels, To make you pobler for that prudent king,
A precious pearle in euery scallop dwels : Whose words so oft, yon happy are to heare,
Fiue vertues grace the middle and the bounds, Hath made instruction needlesse to your eare:
Which take their light from Christ's victorious
wounds : Yet give me leaue, in this my silent song, To shew true greatnesse, while you passe along;
Vpon the top commanding Prudence shines, And if you were not humble, in each line
Repressing Temp'rance to the foote declines;
Brane Fortitude and lustice are the hands, Might owne your selfe, and say,
And Charity as in the center stands; mine."
Which binding all the ends with strong effect, They that are great, and worthy to be so,
To euery vertue holds the same respect :
May he that beares this shield, at last obtaine
The azure circle of celestiall raigne;
And hauing past the course of sliding houres, To all, according to their worth and place;
Emoy a crowne of neuer-fading fow'rs!
MY LORD OF BUCKINGHAM'S SHIELD Whose noble vertnes,may the rest direct:
AT A TILTING,
HIS IMPREŚse BeNG A BIRD OF PARADISE. Aud must not glory in their stile or birth; See how this bird erects his constant flight The starres were made for man, the Heau'n for Aboue the cloudes, aspiring to the light : Farth,
As in a quiet paradise be dwels He whose iust deedes his fellow-seruants please,
In that pure region, where no winde rebels : May serae his sou'raigne with more joy and ease,
And fearing not the thunder, hath attain'd Obeying, with sincere and faithfull love,
'The palace, where the demigods remaind : That po v'rfull band, which giues his wheele to
This bird belongs to yon, thrice glorious king;
From you the beauties of his feathers spring : His spheare is large, who can his duty know
No vaine ambition lifts him vp so high, To princes ? and respect to ys below!
But, rais'd by force of your attractive eye, His soule is great, when it in bounds confines,
He feedes vpon your beames, and takes delight, This scale, which, rays'd so high, so deepe declines : Not in his owne ascent, but in your sight. These are the steps, by which he must aspire
Let them, whose motion to the Earth declines, Beyond all things which earthly hearts desire :
Describe your circle by their baser lines,
“ This grace
And enuy at the brightnesse of your scate : Nay, we will striue that Eccho,' with her notes,
May draw some joy into our homely cotes:
And teach me to foretell the hopes that Row 10 THË DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM AT HIS From this young lord, as he in yeeres shall grow. RETURNE FROM SPAINE.
First, we behold (and neede not to presage)
What pleasing comfort in this tender age My lord, that you so welcome are to all, He giues his parents, sweetning eu'ry day You haue deseru'd it; neuer could there fall With deare contentments of his harmelesse play. A fitter way to prooue you highly lou'd,
They in this glasse their seu'rall beauties place, Than when your selfe you from our sights reinou'd. And owne themselues in his delightfull face. The clouded lookes of Brittaine sad appeare, But when this dowry bud shall first beginne With foubtfull care (ah, who can bridle feare!) To spread bis leaues, which were conceal'd within, For their inestimable gemme perplext;
And casting off the dew of childish teares, The good and graceful Buckingham is next More glorious then the rose at noone appeares ; In their desires: they to remembrance bring His minde extends it selfe to larger bounds ; How oft, by mediation with the king
Instinct of gen'rous nature oft propounds You mitigate the rigour of the lawes,
(Great duke) your actiue graces to his sight, And pleade the orphan's and the widowe's cause. As objects full of wonder and delight: My Muse, which touke from you her life and light, These in his thoughts entire possession keep, Sate like a weary wretch, whome suddaine night They stop his play, and interrupt his sleepe. Had ouerspred : your absence casting downe So doth a carefull painter fixe his eyes The tiow'rs, and Sirens' feathers from her crowne, Vpon the patterne, which before him lies, Your fauour first th' anointed head inclines And neuer from the boord his hand withdrawes, To heare my rurall songs, and reade my lines: Vntill the type he like th' exemplar cause. Your voyce my reede with lofty musick reares To courtly dancing now he shall decline, To offer trembling songs to princely cares. To manage horses, and in armes to shine. But since my sou’raigne leaves in great affaires Such ornaments of youth are bat the seeds His trusty seruant to his subjects' pray’rs : Of noble vertues, and heroick deeds. I willing spare for such a noble end
He will not rest in any outward part,
Within a litle modell, and to frame
In riper yeeres he shall your wisedome learne, TO THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. And your vndaunted courage shall discerne,
And from your actions, from your words and lookes, The words of princes justly we conceive,
Shall gather rules, which others reade in bookes : As oracles inspir'd by pow'r diuine,
So in Achilles more those lessons wrought, Which make the vertues of their seruants shine, Which Peleus show'd, than those which Chiron And monuments to future ages leque.
taught. The sweet consent of many tongues can weave
Such knots of honour in a flowry line,
That no iniurious hands can'them vntwine, Nor enuious blasts of beauiy can bereaue.
These are your helpes, my lord, by these two THE EARL OF COUENTRY'S' DEPARTURX You lifted are aboue the force of spite : (wings
FROM VS TO THE ANGELS. For, while the publike quire your glory sings, The arme that rules them keepes the musicke right: And call'd my Muse to trace thy dayes along ;
Sweet babe, whose birth inspir'd me with a song,
Such braue endeuours of thy noble minde,
How hast thou left vs, and this earthly stage,
('Not acting many months) in tender age? THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, Thou cam'st into this world a little spie, [eye
Where all things that could please the eare and V PON THE BIRTH OF HIS FIRST SONNE'.
Were set before thee, but thou found'st them toyes, Give leaue (my lord) to his abounding heart,
And flew'st with scornefull smiles t'eternall joyes: Whose faithfull zeale presumes to beare a part
No visage of grim Death is sent t'affright In eu’ry blessing which vpon you shines,
Thy spotlesse soule, nor darknesse blinds thy sight; And to your glory consecrates his lines;
But lightsome angels, with their golden wings, Which, rising from a plaine and countrey Muse,
Ore-spread thy cradle, and each spirit brings Must all my boldnesse with her name excuse,
Some precious balme, for heau'nly physicke meet, Shall Burley onely triumph in this child,
To make the separation soft and sweet. Which by his birth is truly happy stila?
The sparke infus'd by God departs away,
And bids the earthly weake companion stay ? Charles lord Villiers, earl of Coventry, who died an infant, March 17, 1626-7, C,
See the preceding note. C,
With patience in that nurs’ry of the ground,
MISTRIS ELIZABETH NEUELL. Rat change this short and momentary kisse,
A To striot embraces of celestiall blisse.
NYMPH is dead, milde, vertuous, young, and
faire, Death neuer counts by dayes, or months, or yeeres:
Oft in his sight the infant old appeares,
And to his earthly mansion must repaire. TO MY LORD VICOUNT PURBECK.
Why should our sighes disturbe the quiet aire ? A CONGRATULATION FOR HIS HEALTH.
For when the flood of time to ruine bcares,
No beauty can preuaile, nor parents' tearcs. lé we inlarge our hearts, extend our voyce, When life is gone, we of the flesh despaire, To shew with what aflection we reioyce,
Yet still the happy soule immortall liues When friends or kinsmen wealth and honour gaine, In Heauen, as we with pious hope conceiue, Or are return'd to freedome from the chaine : And to the Maker endlesse prayses giues, How shall your seruants and your friends (my lord) That she so soone tbis lothsome world might Declare their joy? who find no sound, no word, We judge that glorious spirit doubly blest, [leauc. Sufficient for their thoughts, since you bave got Which from short life ascends t'eternall rest. That jewell health, which kingdomes equall not, From sicknesse freed, a tyrant farre more fell Than Turkish pirates, who in gallies dwell. The Muses to the friend of musicke bring
OP THE TRULY NOBLE AND EXCBILENT LADY, TUL 7 he signes of gladnesse : Orpheus strikes a string Which can inspire the dull, can cheare the sad,
LADY MARQUESSE OF WINCHESTER And to the dead can lively motion adde :
my poore lines no better office haue, Some play, some sing: while I, whose onely skill, But lie like scritch-owles still about the graue ? Is to direct the organ of my quill,
When shall I take some pleasure for my paine, That from my hand it may not runne in vaine, Commending them that can commend againe? But keepe true time with my commanding braine,
When shall my Muse in loue-sicke lines recite I will bring forth my musicke, and will trie
Some ladie's worth, which she of whom I write, To rayse these dumbe (yet speaking) letters high, With thankfull smiles may reade in her owne dayos. Till they contend with sounds; till arm'd with Or when shall I a breathing woman prayse? wings
O neuer! Mine are too ambitious strings, My feather'd pen surmount Apollo's strings. They will not sound but of eternall things; We much reioice that lightsome calmes asswage Such are freed-soules: but had I thought it fit, The fighting humours, blind with mutuall rage : T'exalt a spirit to a body knit, So sing the mariners exempt from feare,
I would confesse I spent my time amisse,
I will not crowne them till the goale be wou.
I will insert your names among the blest:
And now, perhaps, my verses may increase Who rules the high, can with his pow'rful rod Your rising fame, though not your boundlesse Represse the greatest, and in mercy daignes
peace : With dang'rous ioyes to mingle wholsome paincs.
Which if they euer could, may they make thine, Though men in sicknesse draw vnquiet breath,
Great lady, further, if not clearer, shine. And count it worst of euils, next to death:
I could thy husband's highest styles relate, Yet such his goodnesse is, who gouernes all, Thy father's earledome, and that England's state That from this bitter spring sweete riuers fall.
Was wholy manag'd by thy grandsire's brow: Here we are truly taught our selues to know,
But those that loue thee best, will best allow To pitty others who indure like woe :
That. I omit to praise thy match and line, To feele the waight of sinne, the onely cause And speake of things that were inore truely thine. Whence eu'ry body this corruption drawes :
Thou thought'st it base to build on poore remaines To make our peace with that correcting hand, Of noble bloud, wbich ranne in others' veines; Which at each moment can our liues command.
As many doe, who bcare no flowres, nor fruite, These are the blest effects, which sicknesse leaves, But shew dead stocks, which haue beene of repute, When these your serious brest aright conceaues, And live by meere remembrance of a sound, You will no more repent your former paine; Which was long since by winds disperst and Than we our ioy, to see you well agajne.
While that false worth, which they suppose they * Sir John Villiers, elder brother to the duke of Is digg'd vp new from the corrupting graue: Buckingham, created baron of Stoke and viscount for thou hadst liuing honours, not decay'd Parbeck, June 1620. G.
With wearing time, and needing not the agd
Of heraulds, in the baruest of whose art
We first conceiue, what names bis line adorne : None but the vertuous justly clayme a part: It kindles vertue to be nobly borne. Since they our parents' memories renew,
This picture of true gentry must be grac'd For imitation, not for idle view.
With glitering jewels, round about hiin plac'd ; Yet what is all their skill, if we compare
A com ly budy, and a b.auteous mind; Their paper works with those which liuely are, A heart to loue, a hand to give inclin'd; In such as thou bast been, whose prest nt lookes, A house as free and open as the arre ; If many such were, would surpresse all boobes? Atongue which ioyes in language sweet and faire, For their examples would alone suffice:
Yet can, when need requires, with courage bold, They that the country see, the map despise. To publike eares his neighbour's griefes vnfold. For the : a crowne of vertues we prepare,
All these we neuer more shall find in one,
AN EPITAPH VPON MY DEARE BROTHER,
Os Death, thy murd'rer, this reuenge I take : Which winds might easly bend, yet neuer broke.
I slight his terrour, and just question make, Iu vaire he breakes his steepe, and is diseas'd,
Which of vs two the best precedence haue, Inil grieues hin:selfe that others may be pleas'd.
Mine to this wretched world, thine to the graue : In vaine he striues to beare an equall hand,
Thou shouldst haue followed me, but Death too 'Tuixt Somerst and bold Northuinverland;
blame, And to bis owne close ends directing all, Will rise with both, but will with neither fall.
Miscounted yeeres, and measur'd age by fame. All this had been in raine, vnlesse be might
So dearely hast thou bought thy precious lines, Haac lett his heires cleare knowledge as their right. Thy Nuse, the hearer's queene, the reader's love,
Their praise grew swiftly; so thy life declines : But this no sonne infallibly can draw
All eares, all hearts, (but Death's) could please From his descent, by nature or by law :
OF MY DEARE SONNE,
GERUASE BEAUMONT. As bis who first exalted Paulet's scate: Neere drew, yet not too rcere, the thunder's blow, Can I, who haue for others oft compild Some stood 'twixt Joue and biin, though most be- The songs of death, forget my swectest child, () well waigh' dignity, selected place, [low. Which, like a Row'r crusht, with a blast is dead, Prouided for continuance of bis race,
And ere full time hangs downe bis smiling head, Not by astrologie, but prudence farre,
Expecting with cleare hope to liue apew, More pow'rfull than the force of any starre! Among the angels fed with heáu’nly dew? The dukes are gone, and now (lho' inuch bencath)
We hare this signe of joy, that many dayes, His coronet is next th’imperiall wreath,
While on the Earth bis struggling spirit stayes, No riches siune his flowry rarland drosnes,
The name of lesus in his month containes, Which sbines alone abnue the lesser crowne's.
Flis onely fool, bis sleepe, his ease from paines. This thou jnioyd'st, as sicke men te lious honres,
() may that sound be rooted in iny mind, And thought'st of brighter pearles, and fairer
Of which in bim such strong effect I find. flowres,
[serues, Deare Lord, recciue my sonne, wliose winding loue And higher crownes, which Ucau'n for thee re To me was like a friendship, farre aboue When this thy worldly pompe decayes and starues.
The course of nature, or his tender age, This sacred feruour in thy mind did glow :
Whose lookes could all my bitter griefes asswage ; and tho' supprest with outsard stale and show,
Let his pure soule, ordain'd seu'n yeerts to be Yet at thy neath those bind'ring clouls it clear'd,
In that fraile body, which was part of me, And like the lost Sunne to the world appear'd;
Remaine my pledge in Heau'n, as sent to shew, Furn as a strong fire vnder ashes turn'd,
How to this port at eu'ry step 1 goc.
TEARES TORTUE DEATH OF THE TRULY HONOURABIL,
TIIE LORD CUANDOS.
LET him whose lines a private losse deplore,
Call them to weepe, that neuer wept before;
My griefe is more audacious: giue me one To frame a man, who in those gifts excels, Who eu'ry day hath heard a dying grone. Which makes the country happy where he dwels,
The subject of my verses may suffice
To draw new teares from dry and wcary eyes. This lady marquesse was Lucy, daughter to We dare not loue a man, nor pleasure take Thomas, earl of Exeter. C.
In others' worth for noble. Cbandos' sake:
TO THE MEMORY OF THE LEARNED AND RELICIOUS
And when we seeke the best with reasons light, The spotlesse lillies shew his pure intent,
The flarning marigold bis zeale present,
The purple violets his noble minde,
And last of all the hyacinths we throw,
In which are writ the letters of our woe.
FERDINANDO PULTON, ES2.
Of some long wished child; or when the earth Breath fiyes to ayre, the body falls to ground, Yeelds plenteous fruit, and makes the ploughman And notbing dwels with vs but mournfull sound. Such is the sound and subject of my string: [sing: O, might lijs honour'd name live in my song, Ripe age, full vertue, veed no fun'rall song, Reflected as with ecchoes shrill and strong!
Here mournefull tunes would grace and nature But when my lines of glorious objects treate,
wrong. They should rise high, because the worke is great. Why should vajne sorrow follow him with teares, No quill can paint this lord, vnlesse it. hane Who shakes off bardens of declining years ? Some tincture froin his actions free and braue : Whose thread exceeds the vsuall bounds of life, Yet from this height I must descend againe, And feels no stroke of any fatall knife? And (like the calm sea) lay my verses plaine, The Destinies enioyne their whceles to run, When I describe the smoothnesse of his mind, Vntill the length of his whole course be spun : Where reason's chaines rebellious passions bind : No enuious cloud obscures his struggling light, My poem must in harmony excell,
"bich sets contented at the point of night: His skeet behaviour and discourse to tell;
Yet this large tiine no greater profit brings, It should be deepe, and full of many arts,
Than eu’ry little inoment whence it springs,
The shortest space, which we so lightly prize
No realınes, no worlds can purchase it againe : TPON THE PYTIMELY DEATH OF THE HONOURABLE,
Remembrance one'y makes the footsteps last,
When winged time, which fixt the prints, is past.
This he well knowing, all occasions tries,
l' enrich his owne, and other's learned eyes.
His mindle to trauaile in the knotty law : Dead is the hope of Stafford, in whose line
That gas to him by serious labour made
A science, which to many is a trade; So many dukes, and earles and barons sline :
Who purchase lands, build houses by their tongue, lud from this Edward's death his kiured drawes
And study right, that they may practise wrong. More griefe, than mighty Edward's fall could cause; His bookes were his rich purchases : bis fees, For to this house bis verture promis'd more, Than all those great ones that had gone before.
That praise which fame to painefull works decrees:
His mem'ry hath a surer ground than theirs, No lofty titles can sccurely frame
Who trust in stately tombes, or wealtlıy heires. The happinesse, and glory of a naine : Bright honours at the frontal of noone decay, And fcele a sad derlining like the day. But he that from the race of kings is borne, And can their mem'ries with his worth adorne, TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE PAIRST AX) Is farte more blest, than those of whom he springs,
MOST VERTUOUS LADY, Ile froin above the soule of goo:lnesse brings,
THE LADY CLIFTO.. T'inspire the bo !y of bis noble birth, This makes it moue, before but liuclesse carth. Her tongue bath coast to speake, which might Of such I write, who show'd he would hauc been
inake dumbe Complete in action, but we lost him grecne. All tongues, inight stay all pens, all hands benum; We onely saw him crown'd with flowres of hope : Yet I must write, () that it might hane beene O that the fruits had giu’n me larger scope ! While she had liu's, and had my verses seene, And yet the bloomes which on his hearse we strow, Before sad cries deafʼd my vntuned cares, Surpasse the cherries, and the graps that grow Wben verses flow'l more easily than tearés. In others gardens. Here fresh roses lie,
Ah why neglected I to write her prayse, Whose ruddy blushes inodest thoughts descry; And paint her vertues jo those happy daycs! In flowre-de-laces, dide with azure hue.
Then my now trembling hand and dazled eye His constant loue to heau’nly things we view : Had seldomnc fail'd, hauing the patterne by;
SONNE AND OEIRE TO TIE LORD STAFFORD.