A Cypress Garland, For the Sacred Forehead of our late Sovereign KING JAMES.  
By Hugh Holland.  
P. Ovid: Nase▪ Infaelix habitum temporis huius habe.  
LONDON, Printed for Simon Waterson. MDCXXV.   

❧ TO MY LORD: THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S Grace: Whom God Preserve.  
PRIVATE acknowledgement may not satisfy for Public courtesies. And what more public than a King's presence? Very glad therefore I should have been of the least opportunity to express my thankfulness: and much more grieved at the heart I am, that now I have so just occasion. But all the Noble Favours which I have received at your Gracious Hands, I have laid up in a grateful Heart. It was you that led me by the hand nor once, nor twice, to kiss that awful Hand of his, to which I durst not have else aspired▪ With what sweetness and bravery the Great Majesty of Britain, embraced then his meanest Vassal, and those my humble Compositions, Our young Sovereign (than Prince of my Country) your Grace and the Honourable Lords then present, perhaps remember (sure I am, I can never forget) And if I do, let my right hand forget her cunning. But I will repress myself, lest I may seem to have picked occasion, rather to boast myself, then to bewail him. And yet in spite of mine own modesty, in spite of others malignity, in the approbation of james the great, I do, I must, I will ever triumph His Majesty to me did much grace: and fain to his memory would I do some Glory. Oft to my comfort I spoke or wrote to Him, now to my grief I only write of him. This Elegy vents more sorrow than wit, For in wit the less I was to labour, in whose room matter had succeeded, If it be too long, think that my tears have drowned my ink: if it be too short, think that my sighs both ink at once▪ and tears have drained▪ With his H●●●hments, at Westminster I also offer up my Pen, consecrating the life thereof to Him, and him to eternity. I will conclude with public vows. With vows X and with vows XX. So with X. so with XX. The God of jacob project all his Elixir of blessings upon the Son and Seed of JACOB. That King CHARLES may ever live in the favour of God, your Grace in his, and I in yours.  
Your Grace's servant in much affection HUGH HOLLAND.   

A CYPRESS GARLAND, FOR the Sacred Forehead of our Late Sovereign King JAMES.  
WHo now will read my Rhymes, & with exceeding  
Sweet grace, & accent, mend them in the reading  
So would be praise the manner, & the matter,  
Nor did they him, he rather them did flatter.  
For with his sugared lips my ears he charmed:  
And with his snowy Hand my lips he warmed.  
But now the frost of Death my heart hath chilled:  
My blood is through my eyes to tears distilled.  
His Ague hath me whole, that for enditing,  
I neither ha●● a head, nor hand for writing.  
Great Brittany; that knows no other bounders,  
But Heaven and Sea, lost lately Both her Founders  
My Master King of Arms, by man's appointment:  
My Sovereign King of Peace, by God's anointment.  
Oh that my Sovereign had been longer lived,  
Or had my Camden yet a while survived:  
With Angel's quill (what else can reach his glory?)  
To write this mortal God's immortal story.  
But in that other world, which never endeth,  
Him with his Lords his Herald he attendeth.  
How many Great ones here not meanly graced,  
In thirteen months the dance of Death have traced  
Three Earls, two Dukes, a Marquis & a Baron:  
(Who then may scape thy boat uncourteous Charon)  
Besides young Wriothsly, whom the Earl his Father,  
Then to survive, chose to associate rather.  
Two of the House were Stewards, just and loyal:  
But of the Realm james was the Steward royal,  
In cares, no less than Name: but ever heedful  
To furnish it with noble things, or needful.  
If Heaven and Earth did all their Forces muster,  
You should not find a gentler nor a Juster.  
The flower of Kings, the King of flowers is wasted  
The Rose of England in the Spring is blasted:  
When in the Ram his beams young Phoebus' scattered,  
The Ram of death the Fort of Phoebus battered.  
Yet hath Breda thrice three months' siege endured,  
Is life no more in peace then war secured?  
Great Britain and Breda have lost their Masters:  
(Alas! that here they were no longer lasters)  
Of Peace and War the ornaments are spoilt:  
Their faces Death and not their fame hath soiled.  
The one with peace, which Mars the other sided:  
Yet neither were in life, nor death, divided.  
Both in a year, too late they were engendered:  
Both in a year, too soon to death surrendered.  
But with my plaints why should I others mingle?  
The sorrow which I suffer is not single.  
His Holland hath no need my tears to borrow,  
Enough is me to share in England's sorrow.  
Nor have they so much ink on us bestowed,  
For all the blood which from our breasts hath flowed.  
Why was the fatal Spinster so unthrifty?  
To draw my third four years to tell and fifty?  
Why did not Atropos in pieces ravil  
My string of life and cut it with my Navil?  
Cursed be the day that I was borne, and cursed  
The nights that have so long my sorrows nurced.  
Yet grief is by the surer side my brother:  
The child of pain, and pain was eke my mother.  
Who children had, the Ark had men as many,  
Of which, myself except, now breathes not any.  
Nor Ursula my dear, nor Phil my daughter:  
Amongst us death hath made so dire a slaughter.  
Them and my Martin have I wretch survived:  
But all their deaths, my Sovereign's hath retriued.  
Each year, month, week, day, hour, I lose some fleeces,  
So from myself, and all, I part by pieces:  
The whilst I stand in controversy, whether,  
More Sighs and weep, I, or the wind and weather.  
This is the year that all good hearts hath galled,  
Let it no year of JUBILE be called:  
This is the month of Mars to him so bloody,  
Because he still the arts of peace did study:  
This is the dismal day, the sea'un and twenteth,  
That of no kind of Spring or sweetness scenteth:  
When as the Sun (no Sunday that, nor holy)  
Did set at noon, and was eclipsed wholly.  
Was never March so moist; had heaven refrained  
From tears, our eyes more than enough had reigned.  
And yet, oh furious, oh infernal Fever!  
So great, so precious dust, no March had ever.  
Yet in this month (how have the Fates revolued?)  
The great Eliza went to dust dissolved:  
Yea in this month his glorious Anne expired,  
And drowned his eyes, through which his heart she fired.  
Her lively cheeks were like two lovely spouses  
And bare the mingled badge of both the Houses.  
For, howsoever now we see it coined,  
K. james the Realms, and she the Roses joined.  
This Sun and Moon betwixt them did engender  
A Star, that both their lights alone doth render:  
Young Charlemagne the joy of either nation:  
Great by his birth, and good in expectation  
His Father's throne o may he long inherit:  
His Heir in blood, his Successor in merit.  
With cares, with fears, at home, untost, untroubled?  
His Father's longest reign in his be doubled.  
But if un-friends abroad our peace affritghten,  
In arms so will he thunder, and so lighten:  
That all the troops before his face shall tremble,  
And more their malice, than their fears dissemble.  
My Liege, my Lord, my transitory treasure,  
Amid these worldly woes a world of pleasure;  
You now a triple Crown have in possession:  
Yet must the same demisse to your succession.  
But may that day, than all our days be later,  
Yea turn the world to fire, now turned to water.  
But had you twenty more, imagine rather  
Your gain the less by losing such a Father.  
You are a lively Statue of that Quarry,  
Whereof was also hewed your brother Harry,  
Your Sister Marie, and your Sister Sophey,  
Death over them erected hath a trophy.  
And now (my grief I can no longer smother)  
Remarried are your Father and your Mother.  
Profaner heels on sacred foreheads trample:  
At Westminster we daily see the sample.  
Where now do lie their bones, but void of 〈◊〉  
For whom this Isle, and Ireland were too narr●●●  
Man is but only Proclamation building:  
All but on clay, though some have gayer 〈◊〉  
And Kings are made, what else so ere we clatter,  
To nobler ends, but of no nobler matter.  
Of limbs or lineaments so strong or handsome,  
Who breathes that from the grave his head may ransom  
Remember this my Liege, & them remember,  
Of whom (now head of all) you are a member,  
Con you the lessons which he gave your Brother,  
(Perhaps at parting too he gave some other)  
For rule you must a people of that bravery:  
That can nor brook all freedom, nor all slavery.  
God prosper you (for God must be the groundsel)  
And send you still an understanding Counsel,  
That they may give, and keep, with hearts unhollow  
And that you counsel may discern, and follow.  
The Giver deep, the Follower yet is deeper.  
But Cabinet of counsel is the Keeper.  
And those of you shall ever most be loved,  
Who loved your Father, & whose Faith he proved.  
His heart profound, his tongue was prompt & ready  
His head for counsels fit, not counsels heady.  
His ears to suitors open were, and heedy,  
So were his hands, but some were over greedy.  
He neither husband of his wife deceived,  
Nor of their husbands many wives bereaved.  
Nor any Fathers made, nor Mothers harmed,  
His breast no Mars unjust nor Venus warmed.  
To black revenge his edge was also blunted,  
For after human blood, he never hunted.  
And when for exercise the fields he ranged,  
Minerva seemed into Diana changed.  
His kingdom was of wits, in every knowledge  
An Academy, and his Court a College.  
Where Cynthia sometimes shone, Apollo's sister,  
Apollo self did with the Muse's glister.  
Be proof his prose, and well accented Sonnets,  
To which the bravest wits may veil their bonnets.  
Not every day, nor every year I trow it,  
Is either borne a King, or yet a Poet:  
The best of either, him but hardly matched:  
In every nest the Phoenix is not hatched.  
No King with matter fit his Muse could furnish,  
No Poet could his Kingly actions burnish.  
His Holy Soul to see the parts and factions,  
That in the Christian Corpse, made such distractions,  
Was inly vexed: for as his Pen he wreathed  
With endless bays, his sword he would have sheathed  
Within those bowels, that in part have eaten  
Thine Heritage o Christ, and all do threaten.  
Of Christendom though he abhorred the cumbers,  
A battle yet he sung in haughty numbers:  
That all may gather how that Heavenly poem,  
Was of his great intentions but the proëm.  
Lepanto, which he did so loudly warble,  
That it surmounts Messina brass, and marble  
When heaven the child of Austria so inflamed  
That half the Turkey pride, he quickly tamed.  
While he and his, of Heaven & Earth were parters,  
For Earth the victors had, & Heaven the martyrs.  
A happy man to do such acts renowned:  
But happy more to leave his acts so crowned.  
Eliza fair with hers in foreign regions:  
Who marched in the front of many legions.  
Perhaps but hardly knows of her disaster,  
But ill Report then goodway flieth faster:  
Then you my Lords of Holland look unto it,  
Let non● it tell, and punish them that do it:  
Lest when Report this in her ear hath rouned  
Your Country with her tears, and theirs be drowned:  
The Rhine with all his waters sad and sable,  
To wail her huge misfortune is not able.  
Then you great Lord, that were to me so gracious,  
In twenty weeks (a time not very spacious)  
To cause me thrice to kiss (me thrice your depter)  
That hand which bore the Lilly-bearing Sceptre  
Yet needed none, who thinks it is too silly,  
His Arm the Sceptre was, his Hand the Lily,  
Command the seas (the seas you have in keeping,  
As Admiral) to help us in our weeping.  
You of the greatest Isle, no petty pillar,  
Who bear the name of George the Dragon-killer;  
Ah! could not you, and could not all the Order?  
That Dragon-fever hunt out of that border?  
Was ever King, or Maritine, or Mercian,  
Before this heard to dye, but of a Tertian?  
Can vulgars' scape the dropsy, scape the Phthisik?  
And is there for the Crowned head no physic?  
Oh subject state of Kings to hard conditions,  
Betwixt our flatteries, and their own suspicions!  
Whose minds to practise on the flatterer spares not,  
But on their bodies the Physician dares not:  
Our breasts the Surgeon opens with their bowels,  
And mutes before, will then be sounding vowels▪  
Malignant Fever hence, and get thee further,  
To beastly men, who take delight in murder:  
Among the Turks abide, among the Tarters;  
And folk that would infest the Christian quarters  
On Infidels, or Pagans, go and glut thee,  
But if thy fellow-Canniballs rebut thee,  
Then with thee take the Plague thy cosin-fury:  
Hence and in hell yourselves for ever bury.  
But (Lord) why should we live a minute longer?  
For (save the Truth) what then a King is stronger  
The King is dead, yet this the Law denyëth,  
And saith the King of England never dyëth:  
But james is dead, and he the kingdom guided,  
The Person and the Office are divided:  
This and his virtues from his Seed to sever,  
May Fates be able never, never, never.  
O would his Spirit now my senses ravish,  
(But this desire of mine is too too lavish)  
I would inchant the world with these my Muses,  
That have no Life but what his Death infuses.  
In every Land▪ to make no long rehearsal,  
Of Peace he was a justice universal.  
Peace as a present to the Realm he breathed,  
And as a legacy the same bequeathed.  
Which his Executor will see performed,  
What though the Nations have a little stormed?  
King Charles will follow still his Father's humour,  
And stop the Rage of war, if not the Rumour.  
That Man of God, that God of man applyëd,  
His heart to peace: so lived, and so dyëd.  
FINIS.