Cernere magnanimum
REGIS caput os
(que) requiris.
Magnanimum
REGIS cernere pictus amas!
Tale caput simul os et pectus tale ministras
Ipse
IACOBE, Tibi
REX gravis, amplus opas.
THE PLVRISIE OF SORROVV, LET BLOOD IN THE EYE-VEINE: OR, The Muses teares for the Death of our late Soueraigne, IAMES King of England, &c.
By WILL. HODOSON Mag: in Art: Cantab.
LONDON, [...], and are to be sold at the [...]nd in Paules Church-yard. 1 [...]5.
[...]
Thanks to the Chemist
[...]
[...]
THE PLVRISIE OF SORROVV, LET BLOOD IN THE EYE-VAINE: OR, The Muses teares for the death of our late Soueraigne IAMES, &c.
LOue makes a Poet: and the sweetest
Straine
Fals like the Dew from a disclouded Braine.
Vpon the two-topt Mountaine none doth sing,
But whom the
Paphian Dame doth thither bring.
How many a Lad touch'd but with
Cupids Fiers,
Mounted aboue his wonted thoughts, aspires
In a Hand-Language (complementall
French)
To court and sport, and dally with his Wench?
[Page]Hath Loue this Power? and cannot
Sorrow lend
A voyce vnto her Sighes? cannot Shee send
Abroad hir Cares in aiery Garments drest?
And speak the Thoughts that house within hir brest.
No: though her eares be ope, her eies doe see;
Wordes to interpret Teares still wanting bee.
Plebeian-Greifes they be, that make their tongues
Embassadors; while
Ingentes stupent.
Great-Ones!When pious Princes die, when Great-men fall
As fast as Fruit in
Autumne; when the tall
Cedars of kingdomes shaken are by death;
When the too-enuious
Fates doe stop the Breath
Of Maiesty: how can our
Ile but flow,
And circled be with brinish Waues of Woo?
As when the
The Master Bee.
prety little
Maister dyes,That raignes as Soueraigne o're the
Hony-Flies,
The Subiects from the waxen Tents doe beare
His tender Corps imbalm'd in many a Teare:
And when at
Hibla (Flora's choyce and prime
Garden of Pleasure) in a Bed of thime
They doe intomb him; from their watry Eies
They drop downe Teares, and buzz forth
Elegies:
[Page]Thus are the Sonnes of
Europes cheifest Queene
(Peace-blessed
Albions Children) to bee seene.
One with a Ground-fixt look doth mask his face;
Another, with a solemne-funerall Pace,
Walkes to his
Kings deceased-royall vrne
And melts to Teares, spying his Marble mourne;
He through the Ayre doth seeke to spread his greife,
And weepes his
Epicedium in a Breife,
But passage is deni'd to's funerall song,
Througth' corrall Gates which doe iniayle the toung;
One which hath slept vpon the
Laureat Hill,
And many an
Heros with his nimble quill
Hath canoniz'd already, now doth think
To lymne his muses saddest Thought with ink,
But his Lamp-smelling Labor's all in vaine,
For what Loue dictates, greife blot's out againe;
When such a black and kingdome-couering Hand,
Like an
Aegyptian Cloud, orespreads a Land;
When kings are lodg'd in clay vpon their
Herse,
Each
Poetaster blubburs forth a verse:
And as the losse is
Epidemicall
So should the Mourners be in generall,
[Page]From the rich Purple-clad, to th' meanest Swayne,
Whom but a coate of thatch doth house from rayne.
Me thinkes each riuer betwixt
Rhene and
Thames
Meets to condole the death of Royall IAMES;
And tenant streamlings from their humid caues
Are summon'd to attend their Lordly waues:
While that the Trident-bearers scaly Traine
Downe from their pearly Eye-globes teares do raine.
How could I comment many tedious houres
Vpon those Texts, those blacke and dismall showres,
Which from the Cristall casements oft doe spin,
While
Vesta opes her lap to lodge them in.
My thoughts thus glosse on't: Earth and heauen beares
Their parts both in our sorrowes and our teares.
Denmarke House.
As often as I walke vnto * that place,O how I gaze my
Caesar in that face!
O how my rauisht soule doth reuerence
In that same curious worke Art's Excellence!
Wonder it is such colours should grace Death,
Pitty it is such Beauty should want breath.
And here our humble Muse from Court departs
Vnto her
Cambridge, the rich Mine of Arts:
[Page]And from the Pallace vnto
Pallas bowers
Where springs a lasting
Aprill of choyce flowers.
When first this learning-Louer came to see
His Gowned Subiects in his Royalty;
(Whose Presence was more glorious to behold,
Than
Ioue, descending in a Shower of Gold
To
Danae,) wee, as in open Book,
Might read contentment written in his Look.
So deere our
Nurse was to him, that's Desire,
Like to a glasse-house, kept continuall Fire
Of loue to her, that neuer age could show
Such an Arts-Maister that did grace her so.
If in his life such Honour hee Thee gaue,
Let him not passe vnto the silent Graue
Without a Monument, vpon his Tombe
Fix thou this
Epitaph (which from the doome
Of Enuy and Obliuion shall bee free
And still suruiue vntill there cease to be
Sand in the Glasse of Time).
PEace on the
Sabbath.
Day of Rest to Rest
did bring
This,
[...].
great Kings,
Scholler; and the schollars King.On the learned and Pious workes of King IAMES. Authorem commendat opus.
IF bookes the children of the Braine be nam'd,
Whose paper-tongues may speak their fathers worth;
Then by no Graecian
Bard needs He be fam'd,
But his owne Issue may his praise set forth:
Whose loftie lines haue in a curious loome
To his owne glory rear'd an honoured tombe.
Yet little Osiars gaze on mightie Woods,
Yet little shrubs sit at the Cedars roote,
Yet little Caskets view our richest goods,
Yet little vallies lye atth' Mountaines foote.
Then our earth-groueling Muse may well aspire
To reade his learned Workes, and so admire.
ILLVSTRISSIMO REGI FAELIX FAVSTVMQVE DIADEMA, PRECATVR [...].
GReat King, whose eie speaks common loue to all,
In whom our greife hath found a buriall.
Thou rising Sun of our declining State,
Whose Lustre makes thee,
England, fortunate:
When as thy Royall Father,
Plenus ditrum.
full of Howers,Yielded to Natures Peace his vitall Powers:
Thou the Prime Top-branch of that noble Stem
Wert fitly
Maturus Regno.
ripened for a
Diadem.Far be't from mee dread Soueraign to set forth,
Or in some oyly Colours paynt, thy worth:
For what I write, Heauen knowes, is all so true
That what seemes Flatt, ry, is most true in you.
But most I feare, least that my mudling Muse
(Like an ill Painter that doth onely vse
[Page]To Folks of his owne Rank to giue Delight,
O▪ draw some rude and vulgar-pleasing sight
With vnskill'd pencill; being neuer able
To counterfeit ought in
Apelles Table)
May wrong her selfe, while that shee dares to sing
In her harsh notes the prayses of a king.
Who'll vndertake so great a Task, who can;
But a true Poet, but a
Buchanan?
Yet where wee cannot praise sufficiently,
wee'll pray; and our vnited Pray'rs, on high,
Send vp to heau'ns-Starchamber; for to bring
Myriades of blessings on our Royall king.
May louely Peace her siluer Feathers prune
Vnder thy oliue scepter; may shee tune
Such Notes, as may be found (among the
Peeres)
That Harmony, which the wel-ordered Spheares
(Yf wee beleeue
Pythagoras) doe keepe:
May thy good deedes cast in eternall sleepe
Foule-mouth'd destruction, and still strike her dumbe,
When nigh the Pallace-gates shee dare to come:
And (to sum vp an
lliade in a Shell)
Thy happy raigne may future ages tell.
The New Coines.
| Gold | Fine, | 30. s. | Amor ciuium Regis Praesidium. |
| 15. s. | |||
| 10. s. | |||
| Crowne, | 20. s. | Florent concordia Regna. | |
| 10. s. | |||
| 15. s. | Cultores sui deus protegit. |
| Siluer | 5. s. | Christo auspice regno. |
| 1. s. | ||
| 6. d. | ||
| 2. d. | Iustitia thronum firmat. | |
| 1. d. |
Distichs on the Coines.
Ad mei Coaetaneum, famae spem,
Angliae famam, Serenissimum
Regem Carolum
PArdon, dread Soueraigne, that I dare to Print,
And stamp thy praises in a new found Mint:
Nor doe I clip, nor counterfeit herein,
If ought's amisse make it a veniall sin.
Amor ciuium Regis Praesidium.
SAfetie attends on Loue, this is the Ring
Which weds the Citizens vnto the King.
Florent concordia Regna.
COncord's the Iemme, the breath, the euery thing;
Which makes our Kingdome flourish, & our King.
Cultores sui Deus Protegit.
HE that glorifies his God in Loue,
Shall glorified be, by Him aboue.
Christo auspice regno.
HE that begins his Raigne with Christ on earth,
Shall raigne in Heauen at his second birth.
Iustitia Thronum firmat.
THe prop of Thrones is Iustice, in her hand
She holds the Ball and
Scepter of our Land.
FINIS.