A Funerall Poem Vppon the Death of the late noble Earle of Deuonshyre,
A Funerall Poeme vpon the Death of the late noble Earle of Deuon-shire.
NOw that the hand of death hath layd thee there
Where all must lie, and leuel'd thee with th'Earth,
Where men are all of them alike, and where
There are no seu'rall roomes for state or birth:
Now thou hast nothing left thee but a name
(O noble
Deuonshire) and all is gone
With thee, except the memorie, and same
Of what thy vertue, and thy worth hath done:
Now shall my verse which thou in life didst grace,
(And which was no disgrace for thee to doe)
Not leaue thee in the graue, that darkesome place
That few regard, or haue respect vnto.
Where all attendance, and obseruance ends,
Where all the Sun-shine of our fauor sets;
Where what was ill, no countenance defends,
And what was good, th'vnthankfull world forgets.
[Page]Now shalt thou haue the seruice of my pen,
(The tongue of my best thoughts) and in this case,
I cannot be suppos'd to flatter, when
I speake behinde thy backe, not to thy face.
And am vntide from any other chaine
Than of my loue, which free-borne draws free breath;
The benefite thou gau'st me to sustaine
My humble life, I lose it by thy death.
Nor was it such, as it could lay on me,
Any exaction of respect, so stronge,
As to enforce my obseruance beyond thee,
Or make my conscience differ from my tongue.
Let those be vassals to such seruices
Who haue their hopes, or whose desires are hye,
For me, I haue my ends, and know it is
For Free-men to speake truth, for slaues to lye.
And if mistaken by the Paralax
And distance of my standing too farre off
I heretofore might erre, and men might tax
My being to free of prayses, without proofe.
[Page]But here it is not so, and yet the choyce
Of those I made did yeald the greatest show
Of honour and of worth, and had the voyce
Of present times their virtues to allow.
And if they haue not made them good, it is
No fault of mine, nor ought it to be layd
To disrepute these my obseruances,
True prayses doe adorne, the false obrayd:
And oftentimes to greatnesse we are glad
To attribute those parts we wish they had.
But
Deuonshire I here stand cleere with thee
I haue a manumission to be free,
I owe thee nothing, and
I may be bold
To speake the certaine truth of what I know,
There is no power remaines in thee, to hold
The tongues of men, that wilbe talking now.
And now being dead
I may anatomise,
And open here all that thou wert within,
Shew how thy minde was built, and in what wise
All the contexture of thy heart hath been:
Which was so nobly fram'd, so well compos'd,
As virtue neuer had a fairer seat.
[Page]Nor could be better lodg'd nor more repos'd,
Than in that goodly frame, where all thing sweet,
And all things quiet, held a peacefull rest;
Where passion did no suddaine tumults raise
That might disturbe her, nor was euer brest
Contayn'd so much, and made so little noise,
That by thy silent modestie is found
The emptiest vessels make the greatest sound.
For thou so well discernd'st thy selfe, had'st read
Man and his smoake so well, as made the force
The lesse to speake, as being ordain'd to spread
Thy selfe in action, rather than discourse.
Though thou hadst made a generall Suruiew
Of all the best of mens best knowledges,
And knew as much as euer learning knew,
Yet did it make thee trust thy selfe the lesse,
And lesse presume; and yet when being mou'd
In priuate talke to speake, thou didst bewray
How fully fraught thou wert within and prou'd
That thou did'st know, what euer wit could say.
[Page]Which shew'd thou hadst not bookes as many haue
For ostentation, but for vse, and that
Thy bountious memorie was such, as gaue
A lardge reuenu of the good, it gat.
Witnesse so many volumes whereto thou
Hast set thy notes vnder thy learned hand,
And markt them with that print as will shew how
The point of thy conceiuing thoughts did stand.
That none would thinke if all thy life had been
Turnd into leasure, thou couldst haue attaind
So much of time, to haue perus'd and seen,
So many volumes that so much containd.
Which furniture may not be deemd least rare
Amongst those ornaments that sweetly dight
Thy solitarie
wansteed, where thy care
Had gathered all what hart, or eyes delight.
And whereas many others haue we see
All things within their Houses worth the sight,
Except themselues, that furniture of thee
And of thy presence, gaue the best delight.
[Page]And thus was thy prouision layd within,
Thus wert thou to thy selfe, and now remaines
What to the world thou outwardly hast been,
What the demension of that side containes.
Which likewise was so goodly, and so lardge,
As shew'd that thou wret borne t'adorne the daies
Wherein thou liud'st, and also to dischardge
Those parts which Englands, and thy fame shuld rayse.
Although in peace thou seem'dst to be all peace,
Yet being in warre, thou wert all warre, and there
As in thy sphere, thy spirits did neuer cease
To moue with indefatigable care.
And nothing seem'd more to arride thy heart
Nor more inlardge thee into iollitie,
Then when thou sawest thy selfe in armor girt
Or any act of armes like to be ny.
The
Belgique warre first tride thy martiall spirit
And what thou wert, and what thou wouldst be found,
And markt thee there according to thy merit
With honors stampe, a deepe and noble wound.
[Page]And that same place that rent from mortall men
Immortall
Sydney, glorie of the field
And glorie of the
Muses, and their pen,
(Who equall bare the
Caduce and the
Shield)
Had likewise been thy last, had not the fate
Of
England then reseru'd thy worthy blood,
Vnto the preseruation of a State
That much coucern'd her honour and her good.
And thence return'd thee to enioy the blis
Of grace and sauour in
Elizaes eyes,
(That miracle of women) who by this
Made thee beheld, and made thee to arise
Vnto a note more hye, which thou might'st well
Haue farre more rays'd, had not thine enemie,
Retired priuacie, made thee to sell
Thy greatnesse for thy quiet, and denie
To meete faire Fortune, when she came to thee.
For neuer man did his preferment flie,
And had it in that eminent degree,
As thou, as if it sought thy modestie.
[Page]For that which many, whome ambition toyles,
And tortures with their hopes, hardly attaine
Withall their thrust, and shouldring, plots, and wiles,
Was easily made thine, without thy paine.
And without any priuate malicing,
Or publique greeuance, euerie good man ioy'd
That virtue could come cleere to any thing,
And faire deserts to be so fairely pay'd.
Those benefits that were bestow'd on thee
Were not like Fortunes fauours, they could see.
Eliza's cleere-eyed iudgement is renown'd
For making choice of thy abilitie:
But it will euerlastingly redound
Vnto the glorie, and benignitie
Of
Brittaines mightie Monarch, that thou wert
By him aduanced for thy great desert,
It being the fairer worke of maiestie
With fauor to reward, than to employ.
[Page]And as thou saidst that naught thy heart did grieue,
In death so much, as that time would not yeeld
Thee meanes to shew thy zeale, that thou mightst liue
T'haue done but one dayes seruice in the field.
And that faire bed of honour died vpon,
And with thy bloud haue seald thy gratefulnesse
To such a royall Maister. Who had done
So much for thee t'aduance thy seruices.
Which were indeed of that deseart, as they
Might aske their grace themselues, although we see,
That to successe deseart hath not a way,
But vnder Princes that most gracious be.
For when our kingdome stood in state t'haue lost
The dearest purchase that it euer made,
And what it bought with that exceeding cost
Of bloud and charge, to keepe and to inuade:
As neuer nation payd a dearer prise,
For such a peece of earth, and yet well paid,
And well aduentur'd for, with great aduise,
And happily to our dominions layde.
[Page]Without which out-let,
England thou hadst bene
From all the rest of th'earth shut out; and pent
Vnto thy selfe, and forst to keepe within,
Inuiron'd with incroching gouernment.
Where now by this, thy large imperiall Crowne,
Stands boundlesse in the West, and hath a way,
For noble times, least to make all thine owne
That lyes beyond it, and force all t'obay.
And this important peece, like t'haue beene rent
From off thy state, did then so tickle stand,
As that no ioynture of the gouernment
But shooke, no ligament, no band
Of order and obedience, but were then
Loose, and in tottering, when the charge
Thereof was laid on
Montioy, and that other men,
Checkt by example sought to put it off.
And he out of his natiue modestie,
(As being no vndertaker) labours too
To haue auoided that which his abilitie,
And Englands
Genius would haue him to doo,
[Page]And did aleadge, it was a charge vnfit,
For him to vndergo, seeing such a one,
As had more powre, and meanes t'accomplish it,
Then he could haue, had there so little done.
Whose ill successe (for that he knew his worth
So great, as if there could haue beene redresse,
He had effected it) in him brought forth
Discouragement, that he should there do lesse.
The state replide, it was not lookt he should
Restore it wholy, being so disrent,
And onely now, if possibly he could
But hold it vp, it was sufficient.
So that it did not fall asunder quite,
Being thus dishiuerd, in a desperate plight.
With courage on he goes, doth execute
With Councell, and returnes with victory:
But in what noble fashion he did sute
This action, with what witt and industry:
There is no roome to place it in this streight.
Time, and my present griefes, do disappoint
[Page]My willingnes. Besides being of that weight,
Tis sinne to place it in a narrowe point,
And better now say nothing then to say
But little, there remaines for this behind,
A
Trophey to b'erected that will stay
To all posterityes, and keepe in minde,
That glorious worke, which did a kingdome saue,
Kept the Crowne whole & made the Peace we haue.
And here I will omit to shew therefore,
His management of publike bus'nesses:
which oft are vnder fortunes conduct more
Then ours, and tell his priuate carriages.
Which on his owne discretion did rely,
Where with his spirit was furnisht happely.
Milde, affable, and easie of accesse
He was, but with a due reseruednes:
So that the passage to his fauours lay
Not common to all commers, nor yet was
So narrow, but it gaue a gentle way
To such as fitly might or ought to passe.
[Page]Nor sold he smoke, nor tooke he vp to day
Commodities of mens attendances,
And of their hopes, to pay them with delay,
And intertaine them with faire promises.
But as a man that lou'd no great commerce
With bus'nesse, and with noise, hee euer flies
That Maze of many wayes, which might disperse
Him, into other mens vncertainties.
And with a quiet calme sincerity,
H'effects his vndertakings really.
His tongue and heart did not turne backes, but went
One way, and kept one course with what he ment.
He vs'd no maske at all, but euer ware
His honest inclination open fac'd,
The friendships that he vow'd, most constant were,
And with great iudgement, and discretion plac'd.
And
Deuonshire thy faith hath her reward,
Thy noble friends do not forsake thee now,
After thy death, but beare a kinde regard,
Vnto thine honour in the Graue, and show,
[Page]That worthinesse, which merits to remaine,
Among th'examples of integritie,
Whereby themselues no doubt shall also gaine,
A like regarde vnto their memory.
Now muttering enuie, what canst thou produce,
To darken the bright luster of such parts,
Cast thy pure stone, exempt from all abuse,
Say what defects could wey downe these deserts,
Summon detraction, to obiect the worst
That may be told, and vtter all it can,
It cannot finde a blemish to b'inforst,
Against him, other, then he was a man,
And built of flesh and bloud, and did liue here
Within the region of infirmitie,
Where all perfections neuer did appeare,
To meete in any one so really,
But that his frailtie euer did bewray,
Vnto the world, that he was set in clay.
But yet his vertues, and his worthinesse,
Being seene so farre aboue his weaknesses,
[Page]Must euer shine, whilst th'other vnder ground,
With his fraile part, shall neuer more be found.
And gratitude, and charitie I know,
Will keepe no note, nor memorie will haue
Of any fault committed, but will now
Be pleasd, to bury all within his Graue.
Seeing onely such lie euer base and low,
That strike the dead, or mutter vnder-hand.
And as Dogges barke at those they do not know,
So they at such they do not vnderstand.
The worthier sort, who know we do not liue
With perfect men, will neuer be so vnkinde,
They will the right to the disceased giue,
Knowing themselues must likewise leaue behinde,
Those that will censure them. And they know how,
The Lion being dead euen Hares insult.
And will not vrge a passed error now,
When as he hath no party to consult.
Nor tongue, nor aduocate, to shew his minde:
They rather will lament the losse they finde,
[Page]By such a noble member of that worth,
And know how rare the world such mē brings forth,
For neuer none had heart more truly seru'd,
Vnder the regiment of his owne care,
And was more at command, and more obseru'd
The coullours of that honesty he bare,
Then that of his
[...] who neuer more was knowne,
To vse immodest act, or speach obscene,
Or any leuity that might haue showne,
The touch but of a thought that was vncleane.
So that what euer he hath done amisse,
Was vnderneath a shape that was not knowne,
As
Iupiter did no vnworthinesse,
But was in other formes, not in his owne.
But let it now sufficient be, that I,
The last scene of his act of life bewray,
Which giues th'applause to all, doth glorifie
The worke. For t'is the euening crownes the day.
This action of our death especially
Shewes all a man. Here onely is he found,
[Page]With what munition he did fortifie
His heart, how good his furniture hath bene.
And this did he performe in gallant wise:
In this did he confirme his worthinesse.
For on the morrow after the surprise
That sicknesse made on him with fierce accesse,
He told his faithfull friend whom he held deere,
(And whose great worth was worthy so to be)
How that he knew those hot diseases were.
Of that contagious force, as he did see
That men were ouertumbled Sodeinely:
And therefore did desire to set a course
And order t'his affaires as speedily,
As might be, ere his sicknes should grow worse:
And as for death, said he, I do not wey
I am resolu'd and ready in this case,
It cannot come t'affright me any way,
Let it looke neuer with so grime a face.
And I will meete it smiling, for I know,
How vaine a thing all this worlds glory is.
[Page]And herein did he keepe his word. Did showe
Indeed as he had promised in this.
For sicknesse neuer heard him grone at al,
Nor with a sigh consent to shew his paine,
Which howesoeuer being tiranicall,
He sweetely made it looke, and did retaine
A louely countenance of being well
And so would euer make his tongue to tell.
Although the seruor of extremity
Which often doth throw those defences downe,
Which in our health, wall in infirmity,
And open lay more then we would haue knowne.
Yet did no idle word in him bewray
Any one peece of nature ill set in,
Those lightnesses that any thing will say
Could say no ill of what they knew within,
Such a sure locke of Silent modesty
Was set in life vpon that noble heart
As that no anguish, nor extremity
Could open it, t'impaire that worthy part.
[Page]For hauing dedicated still the same
Vnto deuotion, and to sacred skil,
That furnish perfect held, that blessed flame
Continued to the last in feruor still.
And when his spirit and tongue, no longer could
Do any certaine seruices beside,
Euen at the point of parting, they vnfolde
With feruent zeale, how onely he relide
Vpon the merits of the precious death
Of his redeemer, and with rapt desires
H'appeales to grace. His soule deliuereth
Vnto the hand of mercy and expires.
Thus did that worthy, who most vertuously
And mildly lind, most sweet, and mildly dye.
And thus Great Patrone of my muse haue I
Paid thee my vowes, and fairely cleerd th'accounts
Which in my loue I owe thy memory.
And let me say that herein there amounts
Something vnto thy fortune, that thou hast
This monument of thee, perhaps may last.
[Page]Which doth not t'euery mighty man befall
For lo how many when they die, die all.
And this doth argue too, thy great desearts
For Honor neuer brought vnworthinesse
Further then to the Graue, and there it parts,
And leaues mens greatnesse to forgetfulnesse.
And we do see that nettles, thistles, brakes
(The poorest workes of nature) tread vpon
The proudest frames that mans inuention makes,
To hold his memory when he is gone.
But
Deuonshire thou hast another Tombe
Which is erected in a safer roome.
FINIS.