Nothing speakes our griefe so well As to speak nothing. Come then tell Thy mind in teares who e're thou be, That ow'st a name to misery. 30 Eyes are vocall, teares have tongues, And there be words not made with lungs; Sententious showres: O let them fall, Their cadence is rhetoricall.

Here's a theame will drinke th' expence, 35 Of all thy watry eloquence.

Weepe then! onely be exprest Thus much, 'he's dead:' and weep the rest.

VPON THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS.[69]

A plant of n.o.ble stemme, forward and faire, 1 As ever whisper'd to the morning aire, Thriv'd in these happie grounds; the Earth's just pride; Whose rising glories made such haste to hide His head in cloudes, as if in him alone 5 Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly Before, and seize upon Maturity.

Thus grew this gratious tree, in whose sweet shade The sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made 10 The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing Among his branches: yea, and vow'd to bring His owne delicious phoenix from the blest Arabia, there to build her virgin nest, To hatch her selfe in; 'mongst his leaves, the Day 15 Fresh from the rosie East, rejoyc't to play; To them shee gave the first and fairest beame That waited on her birth: she gave to them The purest pearles, that wept her evening death; The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a breath 20 By often kissing them. And now begun Glad Time to ripen Expectation: The timorous maiden-blossomes on each bough Peept forth from their first blushes; so that now A thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each bud, 25 And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in delight, as if already there Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden Yeare His crowne expected: when, (O Fate! O Time!

That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull prime 30 Hide his hot beames in shade of silver age, So rare is h.o.a.ry Vertue) the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore, Ravisht the maiden blossoms, and downe bore The trunke. Yet in this ground his pretious root 35 Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity, and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round, again shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring, To be a shade for angels while they sing; 40 Meane while who e're thou art that pa.s.sest here, O doe thou water it with one kind teare.

VPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED MR. HERRYS.[70]

Death, what dost? O, hold thy blow, 1 What thou dost thou dost not know.

Death, thou must not here be cruell, This is Nature's choycest iewell: This is hee, in whose rare frame 5 Nature labour'd for a name: And meant to leave his pretious feature The patterne of a perfect creature.

Ioy of Goodnesse, love of Art, Vertue weares him next her heart. 10 Him the Muses love to follow, Him they call their vice-Apollo.

Apollo, golden though thou bee, Th' art not fairer than is hee, Nor more lovely lift'st thy head 15 (Blushing) from thine Easterne bed.

The glories of thy youth ne're knew Brighter hopes than his can shew.

Why then should it e're be seen That his should fade, while thine is green? 20 And wilt thou (O, cruell boast!) Put poore Nature to such cost?

O, twill undoe our common mother, To be at charge of such another.

What? thinke me to no other end 25 Gracious heavens do use to send Earth her best perfection, But to vanish, and be gone?

Therefore onely given to day To-morrow to be s.n.a.t.c.h't away? 30 I've seen indeed the hopefull bud Of a ruddy rose that stood Blushing, to behold the ray Of the new-saluted Day: (His tender toppe not fully spread) 35 The sweet dash of a shower new shead, Invited him, no more to hide Within himselfe the purple pride Of his forward flower; when lo, While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling gloryes, Auster spide him, 40 Cruell Auster thither hy'd him, And with the rush of one rude blast, Sham'd not, spitefully to wast All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet, And lay them trembling at his feet. 45 I've seen the Morning's lovely ray Hover o're the new-borne Day, With rosie wings so richly bright, As if she scorn'd to thinke of Night; When a rugged storme, whose scowle 50 Made heaven's radiant face looke foule Call'd for an untimely night, To blot the newly-blossom'd light.

But were the rose's blush so rare, Were the Morning's smile so faire, 55 As is he, nor cloud, nor wind, But would be courteous, would be kind.

Spare him Death, ah! spare him then, Spare the sweetest among men: And let not Pitty, with her teares 60 Keepe such distance from thine eares.

But O, thou wilt not, can'st not spare, Haste hath never time to heare.

Therefore if he needs must go, And the Fates will have it so; 65 Softly may he be possest Of his monumentall rest.

Safe, thou darke home of the dead, Safe, O hide his loved head: Keepe him close, close in thine armes, 70 Seal'd vpp with a thousand charmes.

For Pittie's sake, O, hide him quite From his mother Nature's sight; Lest for griefe his losse may move All her births abortive proue. 75

NOTES AND ILl.u.s.tRATIONS.

See our Essay for notice of 'Mr. Herrys.' In the SANCROFT MS. the heading is 'An Elegie on Mr. Herris. R. CR.' It offers these variations: lines 1 and 2, 'doest:' line 18, 'his' for 'he;' adopted: line 29, 'given' for 'give;' adopted: line 36, 'new' for 'now;' adopted from 1648: line 50, the MS. reads 'rugged' for 'ruddy;' adopted: line 58, 'ah' for 'O;' adopted: line 60, 'And let:' lines 70-71 added from the MS., where in the margin is written 'not printed.' G.

ANOTHER.[71]

If ever Pitty were acquainted 1 With sterne Death; if e're he fainted, Or forgot the cruell vigour Of an adamantine rigour; Here, O, here we should have knowne it, 5 Here, or no where, hee'd have showne it.

For hee, whose pretious memory Bathes in teares of every eye; Hee, to whom our Sorrow brings All the streames of all her springs; 10 Was so rich in grace, and nature, In all the gifts that blesse a creature; The fresh hopes of his lovely youth Flourish't in so faire a growth; So sweet the temple was, that shrin'd 15 The sacred sweetnesse of his mind; That could the Fates know to relent, Could they know what mercy meant, Or had ever learnt to beare The soft tincture of a teare; 20 Teares would now have flow'd so deepe, As might have taught Griefe how to weepe.

Now all their steely operation Would quite have lost the cruell fashion.

Sicknesse would have gladly been 25 Sick himselfe to have sav'd him; And his feaver wish'd to prove, Burning onely in his love.

Him when Wrath it selfe had seen, Wrath it selfe had lost his spleen. 30 Grim Destruction here amaz'd, In stead of striking, would have gaz'd.

Even the iron-pointed pen, That notes the tragick doomes of men, Wet with teares, 'still'd from the eyes 35 Of the flinty Destinies, Would have learn't a softer style, And have been asham'd to spoyle His live's sweet story, by the hast Of a cruell stop, ill plac't. 40 In the darke volume of our fate, Whence each lease of life hath date, Where in sad particulars The totall summe of man appeares, And the short clause of mortall breath, 45 Bound in the period of Death: In all the booke if any where Such a tearme as this, 'Spare here,'

Could been found, 'twould have been read, Writ in white letters o're his head: 50 Or close unto his name annext, The faire glosse of a fairer text.

In briefe, if any one were free Hee was that one, and onely hee.

But he, alas! even hee is dead, 55 And our hope's faire harvest spread In the dust. Pitty, now spend All the teares that Griefe can lend.

Sad Mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride; 60 With this inscription o're his head, 'All hope of never dying here is dead.'

NOTES AND ILl.u.s.tRATIONS

The SANCROFT MS. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't'

have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;'

adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted: line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The SANCROFT MS. writes the two poems as one. G.

HIS EPITAPH.[72]

Pa.s.senger, who e're thou art 1 Stay a while, and let thy heart Take acquaintance of this stone, Before thou pa.s.sest further on.

This stone will tell thee, that beneath, 5 Is entomb'd the crime of Death; The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his yeares so much behind, That numbring of his vertues' praise, Death lost the reckoning of his dayes; 10 And believing what they told, Imagin'd him exceeding old.

In him Perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth.

Him his wisdome's pregnant growth 15 Made so reverend, even in youth, That in the center of his brest (Sweet as is the phoenix' nest) Every reconciled Grace Had their generall meeting-place. 20 In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility.

The splendor of his birth and blood Was but the glosse of his owne good.

The flourish of his sober youth 25 Was the pride of naked truth.

In composure of his face, Liv'd a faire, but manly grace.

His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold, His tongue the touchstone of her gold. 30 What word so e're his breath kept warme, Was no word now but a charme: For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest influence.

His vertue that within had root, 35 Could not chuse but shine without.

And th' heart-bred l.u.s.tre of his worth, At each corner peeping forth, Pointed him out in all his wayes, Circled round in his owne rayes: 40 That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice.

Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his golden prime; E're Hebe's hand had overlaid 45 His smooth cheekes with a downy shade; The rush of Death's unruly wave, Swept him off into his grave.

Enough, now (if thou canst) pa.s.se on, For now (alas!) not in this stone 50 (Pa.s.senger who e're thou art) Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart.

AN EPITAPH VPON A YOVNG MARRIED COVPLE

DEAD AND BVRYED TOGETHER.[73]

To these, whom Death again did wed, 1 This grave's their second marriage-bed; For though the hand of Fate could force 'Twixt sovl and body, a diuorce, It could not sunder man and wife, 5 'Cause they both liued but one life.

Peace, good Reader, Doe not weep.

Peace, the louers are asleep.

They, sweet turtles, folded ly In the last knott that Loue could ty. 10 And though they ly as they were dead, Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead; (Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm) Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm; Let them sleep: let them sleep on, 15 Till this stormy night be gone, And the aeternall morrow dawn; Then the curtaines will be drawn And they wake into a light, Whose Day shall neuer sleepe in Night. 20

NOTES AND ILl.u.s.tRATIONS.