GREAT Britaine, all in Blacke.
FOR The incomparable losse of HENRY, our late worthy Prince.
By Iohn Taylor.
LONDON Printed by E.A. for I. Wright dwelling in Newgate Market, neere vnto Christs Church gate. 1612.
SEe here the portraite of that matcheles wight
Whose valour paralel'd the God of fight:
At Tilt, at Barriers, both with sword and speare
He made his hopefull prowesse oft apeare:
His shadow's here, the world his substance misses
That was this Isles
Achilles and
Vlisses.
His soul's inthroan'd aboue Heauen's spangled frame,
And earth's adorn'd with his resounding fame.
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFVLL AND MY MVCH ENDEERED FRIEND Sir Robert Dowglasse Knight.
TO thee I consecrate these mourning lines
Of Royall
Henries sad vntimely hearse,
For want of whom this Kingdom weeps & pines,
With sighs and grones and eye-bedewing verse:
I know his losse thy manly heart did pearce,
And mongst thy woes, this woe exceeds the worst:
I know thou rather had'st (death's Iaueline fierce)
To saue his life, thy loyall heart had burst.
But tis our fortunes and our fates accurst,
Amid'st these daies of sorrow to suruiue;
And lifes vnpermanent all trustles trust
Is fled from him who kept our hopes aliue:
But let sweet patience subiugate your sorrow
A heauy eu'ning brings a ioyfull morrow.
Your Worships euer most obseqiuous.
Iohn Taylor.
GREAT Britaine all in Blacke.
NOt any Poets all-reuiuing pen
Can write vnparalel'd Prince
Henries praise:
Nor can their Muses call him backe againe:
Whose liuing vertues shine (like
Titans raies)
Had I a quill of that
Arabian wing
That's hatcht in embers of Sun-kindled fire,
VVho to her selfe her selfe doth issue bring,
And three in one, is Young, and Dam, and Sire.
Oh that I could to
Virgills veine aspire,
Or
Homers Verse, that golden languag'd Greeke,
In polish'd Phrases I my lines would tire
Into the depth of Art my Muse would seeke.
Meane time she mongst the linguist Poets throngs,
Although she want the help of Forraigne Tongs.
To King IAMES.
Since such great praise is due vnto the Frute,
There's greater laude belongs vnto the Tree:
Then in thy Glory how can men be mute
That knowes such Glorious Branches sprung from thee?
For if such honour to the Fruit we owe
The Tree deserues more whence this Fruit did growe.
To Queene ANNE.
Thou fruitfull Vine, thou blessed-bearing Queene,
From whome these Oliue Branches sprouts and springs;
Thou that by Heauen so Royaliz'd hast beene,
To be Childe, Sister, and a Wife, to Kings:
Long maist thou liue, that all the World may know
Thou art the Stock whence Maiesty doth grow.
To Prince CHARLES.
Great Sonne of Greatnesse I the Heauens implore
That heere thou maist haue long, and happy daies,
That ere aboue the Skies thy Soule shall sore
Thou maist atchiue thy famous Brothers praise,
And when mongst Saints thy Father takes his seat,
God make thee then great Britaines
Charles the Great.
To the Princesse ELIZABETH.
Thou whome this Ile, and Nations neere and farre
Admires for Angell-forme, and Saint-like minde,
VVhose Vertues shine as doth a fixed Starre,
From Thames vnto the farthest part of Inde.
All Heauenly blessings raine on thee on Earth,
And make thy fortunes Great as is thy Birth.
To the Count PALATINE.
Most mighty, all-beloued louely Lord,
Warrs patterne, and a Patrone vnto Schollers:
Great Brittaine doth a Iewell thee afford,
More rich in price then all the Germane Dollers,
Liue euer happy with thy ioyfull Gem
In Earth, and in the new Ierusalem.
TO GOD.
Last vnto thee that art both First and Last,
For his deere sake that conquer'd Death, and Hell,
I doe beseech thee headlong downe to cast
All Traytors' gainst these Princes that rebell:
Blott from thy Booke of life their impious Names
That seeke subuersion of Monarking
Iames.
AEquinoques on the deceased Prince
HENRIE.
To write Great Britaines woe how am I able?
That hauing lost a peerelesse Princely Sonne,
So wise, so graue, so stout, so amiable,
Whose Vertues shin'd as did the mid daies Sunne,
And did illustrate all our Hemispheare,
Now all the world affoords not him his pheare.
His Royall minde was euermore disposd,
From vertue vnto vertue to accrue:
On good deserts his bounty he disposde,
Which made him follow'd by so braue a crue,
That though himselfe was peerelesse, many a Peere,
As his Attendants, daily did appeere.
In him the Thundrers braine-borne daughter
Pallas
Had tane possession, as her natiue Clime:
In him, and his terrestriall heau'nly Pallace
VVas taught how men by vertuous deeds shall clime,
So that although his yeeres were in their spring
He was true honors fount and vallors spring.
So firme, so stable, and so continent
So wise, so valiant, and so truely chaste:
That from his
Microcosmos continent,
All Heau'n abhorred hell-hatch'd lust was chac'd:
He ran no vicious-vice-alluring race,
To staine the glory of his Royall race.
His soule from whence it came is gone againe,
And earth hath tane, what did to earth belong:
He whilome to this land was such a gaine,
That mem'ry of his losse must needs be long.
All states and sexes both the young and graue
Laments his timeles going to his graue.
Man murdring death, blind, cruell fierce and fell,
How durst thou gripe him in thy meagre armes?
By thy rude stroake this Prince of Princes fell,
Whose valour brau'd the mighty God of Armes:
Right well in peace, he could of peace debate,
Dreadles of dreadfull danger or debate.
Robustious rawboand monster death, to teare
From vs our happy hope we did enioy:
And turne our many Ioyes to many a teare,
VVho else might ioyfully haue liu'd in ioy:
As wind on thousands all at once doth blow,
By his deaths stroake so millions feeles the blow.
Well could I wish, (but wishing is in vaine)
That many millions, and amongst them I
Had sluc'd the bloods from euery flowing veine,
And vented floods of water from each eye:
T'haue sau'd the life of this Maiesticke heire,
VVould thousand soules had wandred in the ayre.
But cease my Muse, thou farre vnworthy art
To name his name, whose praise on high doth mount:
Leaue, (leaue I say) this taske to men of Art,
And let his soule rest in sweet Sions Mount.
His Angell spright hath bid the world adue
And earth hath claim'd his body as a due.
Epitaphe.
Heere under ground great HENRIES corps doth lye,
If God were pleas'd, I would it were a lye.
GREAT BRITAINES GREATEST WOE. OR AN Elegeicall Lamenting Poem, for the incomparable Losse of losses, of HENRIE our late hopefull PRINCE.
SIghs, grones, and teares, assist my Muse to mourne
His death, whose life all vertue did adorne:
Whose aged wisedome, and whose youthfull age
Was second vnto none, that's wise or sage:
So old in sapience, so young, so graue,
To be transfer'd vnto his timelesse graue.
Melpomene (thou sad'st among the Muses)
Possesse my soule, and make mine eyes like sluces,
(Or like the restles torrents of the
Thames)
To gush forth flouds of neuer-ending streames
[Page]For this magnanimous heroicke Prince.
Let euery one their mournefull faces rince,
With brinish teares and bitter lamentation,
And drowne their visage with the inundation.
Let sighs, and grones, and teares this Ile o're-flow,
And ouer-whelme our hearts with flouds of woe:
Let scalding sobs of this lamenting land,
Raise stormes and tempests, vniuersall, and
In this confusion make the world to droope,
And highest hearted honor'd minds to stoope,
And with deploring languor, hang the head,
For losse of him that liues, and yet is dead.
Let Britaines gronings, drowne Oake-cleauing thunder
And fill the vaulty ayre with feare and wonder;
For hee that was the worlds admired Lampe,
The life of Peace, of War, of Court, of Campe,
Th'expected hope of blest ensuing time,
Fell in his spring, and dide in golden prime.
Thou happy Ile, ordain'd to haplesse crosse,
Thou neuer canst enough lament his losse:
Thy hopes, and haps, were neuer lesse, nor more,
A better good, or worser ill before,
(Then was the life or death of this deere Lord)
No memory, nor story doth record.
[Page]Black valiant
Edward that war-breathing Prince,
Whose proued prowes did all France conuince,
And in the iawes of death his foes did quell,
Our
Henry would haue beene his paralell.
Ioue, Mars, and sweet
Adonis were combinde
In
Henries forme, his force, and Royall minde.
But now deaths Cloud eclips'd great Britaines Sunne,
His rayes extinct, our springing hopes are done.
Yee
Esculapian Doctors, now giue ouer,
Honour is dead, and neuer will recouer:
Your Simples are but simple, and your drugges
Are weake, when life and death for mastrie tugges:
Despight your Antidotes and stone of
Bezar,
Death kills the
Catife and the mighty
Keisar.
Your Vomits, Cordials, Euacuations,
Your Bathes and your humidious Fomentations,
Are forcelesse opposites, 'gainst greifly death,
And all vnualued, in exchange of breath.
But pardon me (you famous men of Art)
Ile not impeache your high esteem'd desart,
Who are ordain'd by God to keepe mens liues
In health and vigor with preseruatiues.
We ought to honour the Phisition still,
And hold in reuerence his admired skill.
[Page]But yet if you by wit, by Art, or Nature
Had had preseruing power to saue a creature,
You should haue shew'd it in his preseruation,
Who was the life and soule of this sad Nation.
But ther's no power externall nor internall,
That can resist his will that is Supernall,
Who rules and raignes, aboue the azur'd skies,
And all things sees with his all-searching eyes:
From his omnipotent Maiesticke Seate
He saw the sinne of man was growne so great,
That he audaciously dares spurne 'gainst Heau'n,
And therefore from vs hath this Prince bereau'n:
Depriuing him of a Terrestriall Throne,
Exchanging it for an Immortall one:
Where Kings, and Princes, Saints, and Martyrs sings
Continuall Anthemes to the King of Kings.
Thus God (accounting him too good for Earth)
Hath giuen his Soule a glorious second birth:
And as his state and vertues heere were great,
Hee's greater now, in his triumphant Seat:
In that blest Kingdome of eternall rest,
Where he for euer liues among the blest.
Great Brittaine, thinke not but Almighty God
Doth threaten Vengeance, with his awfull Rod:
[Page]And that from vs this Prince he hath bereft,
Before he drawes his sinne-consuming Shaft.
He takes the good to his great Mercies dome,
And leaues the wicked till his vengeance come.
BVt all our hopes are yet not in dispaire;
For though the heau'ns containe great Britaines heire
(As knowing Earth vnworthy such a gemme)
Yet are there branches of that Royall stemme,
That till the consummation of all things,
I hope shall be this Ilands Queenes and Kings,
In true succession alwaies to perseuer,
To Rule and raigne for euer, and for euer,
Not onely heere, (where pompe is transitory)
But in the heauens in neuer ending glory.
Vnto which praier, with heart, with tongue, and pen,
Let all that loue saluation, say Amen.
FINIS.
Epitaph.
LIu's there a heart that could not riue in sunder,
To see what all-deuouring
Death hath donne
Vnto that lou'ly Maiesties Great Sonne,
Whose stately Corpes lies heere enclosed vnder.
His fame that whilom like
Iehouahs Thunder,
Was mounted on the Aires all-filling Winde
Agreeing well with his Heroick minde,
Who Comet-like made all the world to wonder.
Lo what Grim
Death vntimely hath destroid:
Curst be the Planet gouern'd at his Birth
Who (Traitor-like) conspir'd to rob the earth
Of such a hope as neuer men enioy'd.
O could our teares, or bloods recall this doome,
Millions would wash thee from thy Marble Toome.
To the publique Reader.
IN hast, thus, I now confesse these following Poemes were of my making: but I was condemn'd to be prest, before I would confesse. They are few: (I would there had beene none) the good subiect too soone offered the ill occasion. (Heauens pleasure still put before) Had I determined them for publique view, there had bene more, but being so little, I hope it cannot offend much: 'tis more healthfull to rise vnsated then too much gorg'd, especially, at a funerall banquet. I professe diuinitie, but no teacher, therefore I write not diuinely: the florishes of high stil'd Poesie I likewise hold vnfit for so familiar a Christian subiect, therfore I forsake that onely in a smooth and low-bred method I haue couch't these few verses (in mine own iudgement most proper,) if it be not so, iudge you otherwise: they are vnpolish'd & I haue no time to correct them: read them the more distinctly, & that will somewhat better them; how euer, take them. If they dislike thee, I much care not, since they haue in priuate pleas'd some good ones: and ther's one whisper'd euen now in mine eare, and told me, ‘Male opinentur de te homines, sed mali.’
To Prince CHARLES.
PArdon (dread Prince) that I omit thy praise
Amongst these driery, sad, and funerall layes:
In stead of praise I'le pray; stand noble Stem
Successor to a foure-fold Diadem.
And may the Chronicle of thy great Name
Triple old
Nestor: take thy Brothers Fame,
His Honors, titles, Vertues, and renowne,
And multiplie their lustre with thine owne:
'Boue all take this; may thy Age neuer see
An
Epicedion insculp't for thee.
When e're thou front thy foes, let thy Fate runne
In
Caesars line, that neuer fought but wonne:
Inherit all his glories, (not his fall)
Heauen shield thee from the
Romane Capitall.
Whilst I haue breath, thus shall my duty sing,
Be long a Prince before thou be a King:
But being thron'd, thy Raigne haue ending neuer,
Long Crown'd with Gold, & then with Stars for euer.
To Griefe.
GRiefe giue me leaue now to dis-bosome thee,
Since all in vaine I keepe thee in my brest,
Let some in smokie sighes condensed bee
And with the winds be hurried in vnrest:
But then diuide that part in moisture lyes,
Let halfe fall from my pen, halfe from mine eyes.
To Life.
VVHy didst thou leaue a house, so faire, so sweet?
Earth has no more such earth to lodge thee in,
Such a Tent Royall, such a Royall seat,
As if thou neuer should'st haue weary bin.
Shall I say (life) vnkind to leaue vs so?
O hadst thou stay'd, but to be bidden goe!
If honour could haue won thee, thou wert right;
If youth, thou had'st a louely mansion;
If Beauty, mixture of the Roses might,
That kept all Britaine in an vnion.
Could none of this? pardon, I had forgot,
Thou flie'st to Heauen, 'cause we deseru'd thee not.
To Death:
THou great Monopolist, that all the world
Engrosest to thy selfe, wilt thou spare none?
Shall still thy mortall Iauelings forth be hurld
VVith careles flight? a million for one
Thou might'st haue had: but (Tyrant) thou didst know
To wound foure Kingdomes, at one deadly blow.
Thou might'st haue had a sacrifice of teares,
To stay thy cruell dart, the blow to breake:
So many Seas, to buy so many yeares
VVhen sicknes first did thy first sommons speake:
O when that fearefull blaze gan first to flye,
I knew a loyall subiect by his eye.
To Death.
Foe to thy selfe (rash foole) had hee liu'd still,
Thou might'st haue march't with him into the field,
And by his Royall side sated thy fill,
(Gods foes, and his, falling before his shield)
And being done, with triumphes in thy sting:
Thou hast depos'd a Prince, to crowne him King.
To the Graue.
VNclaspe thy wombe, thou mortuary shrine,
And take the worst part of the best we had,
Thou hast no harborage for things diuine,
That thou had'st any part was (yet) too bad.
Graues, for the graue, are fit, vnfit for thee
Was our sweet branche of youthfull Royalty.
Thou must restore each
Atom backe againe
When that day comes, that stands beyond all night,
His fame (meane while) shall here on earth remaine:
Loe thus we haue diuided our delight.
Heau'n keepes his spirit stel'd amongst the Iust,
We keepe his memory, and thou his dust.
An Epitaph.
DId he dye young? oh no, it could not be,
For I know few that liu'd so long but he,
Till God and all men lou'd him: then be bold;
That man that liues so long, must needs be old.
To N [...]
IN Brazen records shall thy Fift day stand,
Bad Scholler was the sixt, to learne to spill
What once the Fift had sau'd, yet heauens command,
Both wrought, one good, the other (we say) ill.
When life had six daies labor'd in his brest:
He kept his Saboth and lay downe and rest.
To S. Iamses.
STand like the ruynes of old
Ilion,
Loose thy canoniz'd name in our complaint,
Be no more
Iames: for wee'l adore but one,
Who long must be a King, at length a Saint.
Be now cal'd nothing, but a heape of stone,
Thy good name's lost, for why thy Saint is gone.
To the King.
THou Royall Tree from whence the Roses spring,
Vnder thy shades may Britaine euer sing:
Right great and good, shew now thy Royall might,
Though thy top branche be lop't, still grow vpright:
Vnder thy greefe Britiane lyes sicke in paine,
But when thou ioy'st, they'l all sit vp againe.
FINIS.