TEARS ON THE DEATH OF EVANDER Occasioned by the Lamentable loss of the truly Noble and Generous, SIR. JOHN SVYNTON KNIGHT, Colonel of an Regiment of 2000 Nedderlanders, going for Venize, who was cast away by storm on the coast of England upon Goodwin sands the 13 of Octob. 1630. By G. LAUDER. HAGH Anno Dni. 1630. THE Sun in Thetys' arms was gone to bed, And Night's black curtains o'er this All were spread, Through which heavens glimpseing lights began t'appear, And weakly sparkle in our Hemyspheere; When Lysis, uhose free soul fare from the snaires Of Time; and worldly base entangling Cares, In quiet sleep did prove the wished joy, Of sweet repose which never dreams annoy, Whilst lulled into a silence calm and deep, Death's Sister did his senses senlesse Keep: Till rouzd with sudden sound amazed v'th fear, A voice (he known full well) did pierce his ear, And called him forth that dark and gloomy shade, To see a Ghost stand pale before his bed; A Ghost much like a Seagod, who did bear The Brave Evander's face his eyes and hair, Yet as if drenched into the fatal stood A woe full sight there droppeing droopeing stood, And having waked both Lysis ear and eye, Frist stareing smiled to see him panteing lie, At last these words did utter, which a groan Did sadly usher, and he thus went on. Lysis, whose love and faith I living found, Where mortals move, and Phoebus guilds te ground; Behold me here thy late Evanders' ghost, A shadow of that substance thou hast lost. Who now whilst Night with stars doth seed the skies, Entreats thee open thy sleep shutten eyes: It is no Daemon on his brow that bears Mischance and horror, and such Maddeing fears, Bot a good soul whom death hath late set free, In love and freyndship that appears to thee, If ever mortal anguish greeffe and fear Seized any soul which could not find a tear, Bot senseless made with too much sense of woe, Poor Lysis in that plight such pain did know, For not one sigh of breath came from his breast, And chilleing cold his members did invest, Tuo passions in his soul did keep a strife, Fear of him dead and love of him on life, Bot love at last prevailled and called again His sense and speech in these sad words to plain. Dear Ghost (said he) the object of my thought, And hath thy love from blessed Elysium brought. Thee back again; enforcing heavens decree; With ah! too soon hath robbed the world of Thee? O loyal freyndship! o hard povers of fate! O changing fortune! o wretched humane state! O flattering hopes! oh body's bot of glass! O lasteing griefs! o joys which posting pass! Evander, once my hope thy countries joy, The world's regret, and now thy freynds annoy, And art thou gone ay Me! had Death the power To bond thy Time; or haste thy fatal hover? Ere thou hadst yet half honnors race outrun Which was so bravely but by Thee begun? Thy summer seemed in rising heatte to shine, Still lengthening, bot not yet comed near that line. At which thy loungest day should make a stand, Which now hath found her loungest Night at hand. The Laurels which thy suord should have lopped down, To bind thy temples for thy merit's crown, Though they there tops both fair and high did stretch And seemed to be beyond the common reach Of valour's hand were yet too low for thee, Not fit a garland for thy locks to be. Bot now the Cypress hath usurped that right Too Soon alas! thine Obsequies to light. Thy youth which full of courage led thee on In search of brave Occasions, did it Won A reputation and a noble Name, In foreign wars, to prove o dying fame! That with thy life thy Name should buried lie And last bot like a lightning loungst the sky? No no, heavens Thee for greater things ordained, And thou shouldst have a higher sphere attained ' Thy bright Aurora augured greater heatte And lounger day before thy Sun should set, Which in his middayes' glory now gone down Like Phaeton's fall hath brought thy Night at Noon, If envious fates had not ecclypst thy light Brave soul, how hadst thou shined in Europe's sight? The actions of thy first and tender years Astonished Holland yet for strange admeires, When juliers saw thy forduard youth advances, Where leaders failld and feared the hurt of Chance, Bohemia's battles saw thee bathed in blood, Out face all fear where death and horror stood, So dear Eliza's Crown was unto Thee That thou didst seek a Sacrifice to be To her good fortune, and wouldst glad appease, Heavens frouneing brow if it thy blood could please, To settle on thy slaughtered bones a Throne For her and hers for aye to sit upon. The Russian wars, and fierce Polonian fights Saw Thee a stranger work such wondrous feats, As made thy Name adoared, thy person loved, Thy sword redoubted, and thy deeds approved, The wild Hungariam did amazed veive The terror-stricken misbelieving crew, Fly from thy sight, whole squadrons all at once, Whilst thou didst offer up the dying groans Of such as durst thy kindled wrath abide: Unto thy glory, as they fainteing died. Besieged Stade where Coesars' Eagles spread There conquering wings, and poverfull armies led All captive that the Roman power withstood, Within her starved walls where want of food, And invard famine did more bands orethrowe Then outvard force of an assaulting foe, Can give records of thy undaunted mind Who scorned within her forts to be confined; Bot bravely sallied out where dangers most And braveing Enemies did ruin boast, Yea when all hope was lost of more defence Knows with what courage and what confidence, Thou fore'dst the Enemy a treattie yield And grant thee passage free through open field. These were bot presages of greater deeds, Though none more glorious in Times Annals reads; For had thy late intentions come to end, What fortune did thy forduard arms attend? That City, Neptune's love, had wounding scene Thy sword enstale her all the Ocean's Queen, To wear a Diadem as proud as Spain Enriched with jewels of the land and Main; Bot ah! fates would it not, who what is brave As jealous of our good from us still reave. Bot let them do there worst since thou art gone In whom, true Honour and fair virtue shone: Raise whom they list, and whom they list suppress Change mirth in mourning, we'll in wretchedness. Ah! had they yet ordained Thee to die In Mars his field; where in the world's fair eye Thou might have left a mark of thy great worth, For aftertymes to set thy glory forth, Why was it not, O Greeffe! with suord in hand; In presence of tuo Armies in command? Where died in blood and sueatte, rage in thine eyes, Stern fury in thy looks amongst fainteing Cries Of bleeding wights, dismembered unto Death Who with a deep fetched sigh, sigh out there breathe That Thou didst end, and in a lawful war Thy days with glory which no Time could mar? Yet what do I (Dear Ghost) thus wish in vain! Thou hast enough, since heavens did so ordain, With that his eyes now big with tears, set There Crystal conduits and gave Greeffe free scope. The Ghost who saw his sorrove in his eyes, With pity moved did not his love despise, Bot mildly thus his passion did restrain, And gently called him to himself again. Lysis, my living freynd, and lover dead Forbear those plaints and tears in vain to shed, Since heavens Who lent me life a limit set Unto my days: and I have reached that My death is too much honoured, in the groans Of those my freynds, with whom I lived once, And that which now afflicts my grieved Ghost Is, that they waille too much what they have lost, My Time was spent, and life's short span was come To that last point where heavens would call me home, My days a web of wand'ring errors; wrought With wee land woe, me through the world have brought, Bot still with Hono'r which my lodestar was, In all my ways and actions, still my glass, For Honours love no danger I eshewed, No force I feared, though greater power pursued, Bot still in chase of it, I bold did roam Throughout the corners of all Christiandome, What charge I bore when chosen to command, And with what care performed by this right hand, Let those for whom I fought be witness all Whò Me almost unknown to charge did call, Bott that's all past, and now my soul doth rest In peace, and finds the quiet of the Blessed, I now from heavens high rounds behold this Round, On which you live, low low, scarce to be found Bot of clear eye; so small a thing it is, Compaired unto the Universe of bliss; There you like Ants do suarme, and still at jars For less than title still wage deadly wars, And glory to be great, on Earth so small, As if there were no other world at all; Poor foolles! one day will let you see what odds There is betuix Man's Empire and Gods, Bot thou my Lysis; by thy love and faith Hark I conjure thee, what Evander saith, And let the world hear it again from Thee, When Time shall give thee opportunity, Though heavens in suelling waves my grave assigned, And made my obsequies the blustering wind: The Tritons and the Nereyds of the main, To grace my funeral pomp with goodly train, And Neptune's self cheeffe mourner to deplore My Death; and bring the show to Britain's shore, I envy not there hap whom Paros stone Dot shroud in stately Tombs by Time orethrone, The Crystal tears of those my worthy freynds, Who now regrett my loss, a tribute lends. To rear a Monument of love for Me, Which will perhaps wear with Eternity In some one pairt, which Lysis if it be My Ghost shall think she owes the same to Thee. So far thou we'll live honour's lover still, Heavens shield thee with there love and men's goodwill, This said He vanished, Lysis weeping lay Until the Sun had brought about the day. Dignum Laude virum Musa vetat mori, G. LAUDER.