An April Shower Shed in abundance of TEARS,  
FOR THE DEATH AND INCOMPARABLE LOSS, OF THE RIGHT NOBLE, TRULY RELIGIOUS, AND Virtuous, RICHARD SACVILE, Baron of BUCKHURST, and Earl of DORSET.  
Who Departed this Life upon Easter day last, being the 28. th' of March, at DORSET House.  
By Henry Peacham.  
— Sublatam oculis p●●rimus invidi.  
LONDON  
Printed by Edw. Allde. 1624.   


CLaruit his armis viws DORSETIUS Heros, Quêis ornarat avos NEUSTRIA terra suos. Nunc his ad postem fixis, latet abditus astris Hoste triumphato, nescius ipse mori.    

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, RELIGIOUS, AND Nobly minded Lady, ANNE Countess Dowager of DORSET.  
MADAM:  
I Am bold; the first, to bewail in public, the Death of your dear Deceased Lord of Eternal and Blessed memory; not that he can want Mourners, whose loss concerns so deeply our Religion, King, State, yourself, your Children, and thousands of true Lovers and Friends in particular: But because I am loath (I must confess truly) to be prevented in manifesting my affection unto him dead, unto whom living I was more obliged than any other of his rank in the Land. And although I am of least ability in this kind (since the most Learned Pens and skilfullest Pencils, must fall far short of limning him to the Life, such were his excellent Parts) yet I had rather undergo any censure then be Ingrateful, or like an unconscionable Debtor, refuse satisfaction when it will be accepted for less than three in the hundred. It is too true, that the Zeal of the most, expires with their Friends lives or fortunes: unfeigned Devotion wears and waters their Tombs many years after: and so (Madam) shall I his, though I creep thereto on my knees. For if ever Mortality clad true Honour, and Honesty of Heart, she veiled either in the Person of your Noble Lord and Husband; whose Piety to GOD, Zeal to Religion, Loyalty to his Sovereign, Love to his Country, Courtesy and Affability to all; set of with the rarest endowments of Body and Mind, (like so many Diamonds in Gold) drew all Hearts to his Love, and Eyes to his Admiration. But he is gone, and we follow as fast as may be: and as in Fruit the ripest; so with us in the world, the rarest are soon gathered for Heaven.  
Immodicis brevis est aetas & rara Senectus.  
I dare not presume farther of your Honour's patience, already Exercised and tried even to the height; only I desire of the Almighty, who is hope and help of the Widow, and Father of the Fatherless, to send you Comfort from Heaven, and his Blessing upon those sweet Ladies your hopeful Children, that they may live many years to propagate your Names and happy Memories to all Posterity for ever. I humbly take leave.  
April, 18. Who is, and ever shall be devoted to your Honour, HENRY PEACHAM.   

Epitaphium verè Honoratissimi, Nobiliss: pijs ac bonis, omnibus desideratissimi, D. RICHARDI SACVILE, Baronis de Buckhurst, ac Dorsetiae Comitis, Londonijs defuncti, & Withihamis communi avorum Sarcophago in agro Sussexiensi sepulti.  

HIc situs ille tuus Comes est DORSETIA, nomen  
Qui clarum toto fecerat orbe tuum.  
Quem si Nobilit as generis, (nam Sanguine Regum  
Cretus,) si Pietas, cum genio ingenium,  
Census, honos, aut Musa potens valuisset ab umbris  
Infernis, pretio vel revocâsseprece;  
Non Caput exiguâ Sanctum latitâsset in urna,  
Nestoreos dignum vel superâsse dies.   

His Monument to the Reader.  

Who thinks that DORSET lies Interred  
Here-under, think that they have erred  
For 'tis not he, 'tis but the Case  
Wherein this precious jewel was,  
Who seeks for him must ask of FAME,  
Who registers his Honoured name;  
Or search the Hearts of Friends, where he  
Is lodged, and living like to be:  
And if not here, to Heaven ascend,  
There sure he lives world without end.  
For though with me his dust doth lie,  
Believe it, DORSET cannot Die.     

AN ELEGY. Upon the Death of the Right Honourable, RICHARD SACVILE, Baron of Buckhurst, and Earl of DORSET.  

MY LORD! (so must I call that Honoured mind  
And happy Soul of yours, which here behind,  
Hath left her earthy Pawn; e'er any knew  
Or could imagine DEATH would seek his due.)  
Oh give me leave distractedly to rue;  
The first of many, our dear miss of you;  
Of you my Dearest LORD—  
But Sorrow dulls my Style, and tears mine Ink  
Discolour weeping. DORSET dead? Me think  
Though Fame in mourning tells it, 'tis not so  
That such a Peer, but sewest days ago,  
So Healthy, Young, so useful to the State  
In these weak Times, that do importunate  
The Heavens themselves, for help of Heart, of Hand,  
Of Wisest and the ablest of our Land  
To her Support. Ah! would it were untrue,  
And that mine Eyes not needed to bedew  
With Siluer-dropping April his black Hearse,  
Sad Subject now of every Learned Verse.  
For by the Genius (which I hold Divine)  
Of each true Poet, (therefore none of mine)  
I here profess, it is no by-regard,  
Or expectation of a slight reward  
Enforces me to weep. The common loss  
Of KING, and COUNTRY, calls to bear their cross  
And so I will; know then whom we have lost,  
Even him, whom Arts and Arms may truly boast  
To be their own. We trick not his Descent  
And Images, which in our 
* The Complete Gentleman, a work of the Author, wherein he setteth down his Pedigree at large.  COMPLIMENT,  
Who list may view at large; nor say his Blood  
(Except the Royal) was as equal good  
As any else of NORMAN Race, sith none  
Can claim their Grandsire's Virtues for their own.  
No, like a Diamond he allured the sight  
T'admire his own, and not a borrowed light.  
For whatsoever could be wished, that one  
Might make Complete and Absolute alone,  
It wanted not in him; For, first his Mind  
Was best composed, Religiously inclined,  
Not with the World, to win an Airy fame  
Of Singular, or underneath the same,  
To work (as many) some malicious end  
While they the TRUTH and PIETY pretend.  
Oh no! in him this Zeal was real good  
And was the Ground, whereon the Model stood  
Of that brave structure of his Noblest mind:  
For who more Zealous, Pitiful, and kind  
To heavenly TRVTH'S Professors? ye Divines  
Of LONDON, SUSSEX, KENT, witness, my Lines  
Do attribute unto him, but his due.  
How was his Love extended unto you,  
By adding Stipends to your livings small,  
Maintaining many who had none at all?  
Your Debts oft times (when least you thought) discharging  
Your bounds, and grounds from his own means enlarging,  
Nor did this Bounty, stretch to you alone,  
But to Desert, in every meanestone,  
That (as of TITUS) I may truly say;  
From him Sad-hearted none returned away.  
And which his Bounty, yet did more endear,  
And each reward made double to appear,  
Was his Free-noble, Curteou entertain,  
Devoid of Pride, and haughte-browed Disdain,  
Who did not (monstrous) with his Honour swell,  
He knew that was but rined and outward shell  
Of Man, and best did with their humours suit  
Whose insides poor, could only beg repute  
From Plumes and Tissue: or whose Honours cost  
The setting on, and must improve them most.  
No, this as but the vinet of Bowl  
That's empty, whereuponthe thirsty Soul  
Commends, admires, the Gravers hand and wit,  
His thirst not quenched allthiss while for it.  
'Twas hence we knew him affable and mild,  
Denying not access ever to the Child.  
(Though Greatness always cannot stand extent  
But Bowe-like sometimeit must lie unbent.)  
An enemy to garish Pride and Fashion,  
The Epilepsy, of our English Nation,  
For with the plainest plain, ye saw him go  
In Civil black of Rash, of Serge, or so,  
The Livery of wise Staidness; Except when  
His Prince did call upon his Service, then  
Stout DIOMEDES in Arms, not brighter shone,  
Or man more Glorious was to look upon:  
That had Death seen him at a Courtly Tilt  
Brave mounted, Plumed, in Arms of Azure gilt  
Encountering Princely CHARLES, while splinters fly,  
And prayers of people, echo in the sky,  
He would I know have lent him longer date,  
He yet, not lost, and we been fortunate.  
What Cunning Artistes pencil may I borrow,  
Thrice-hopefull CHARLES, to limne thy grief and sorrow  
For DORSETS' loss, but there's no form can fit,  
Or be imagined to decipherit.  
" Light Cares may speak, the great amazed with wonder,  
" Themselves then utter, sooner burst a sunder.  
And hence proceeds the dulnese of each Pen  
Our hopes thus, 
* His Death immediately ensuing the Death of the worthy Prince Lodowick, Duke of Lenox, and Richmond.  stricken down and down again,  
Oh whither Heavens 'twere your immediate hand  
For his own good, (though to afflict our hand)  
Or Hells deep Hate wrought his untimely end,  
Occasioned by those roots (which God defend)  
I cannot say, but this I must profess  
The Non-pareil, Pearl, Earl of Nobleness  
Is (fairest BRITAIN) from thy bosom torn,  
And pawned by Death, though by another worn;  
Thou like one lately robbed not knowest yet,  
What thou hast lost, or how to value it.  
Believe (all-dreaded Empress) from thy KENT  
To ORKNEY, utmost of thy large extent,  
NOBILITY not bred a finer wit  
With better judgement to dispose of it.  
What various reading heigthned his Discourse  
At all occasions, putting to the worse  
A vulgar judgement by dispute, or when  
H'encountred Papist, or the Puritan.  
Who better raised in Scriptures and the Text,  
The Ancient Fathers, and our Writers next,  
Mine eyes I here a-vow did never read  
Lines sweeter, than did from his Pen proceed;  
Rare Poet sure was DORSET, therefore he  
Was great MOECENAE of all Poesy,  
What State, what Train, what Order, House kept he  
At his fair KNOWLE, 
* His House hard by Sevenoke in Kent.  a Paradise to me  
That seemed for site, a Court for greatest Prince,  
The Home of Honour, and Magnificence;  
Where every day a Christmas, seemed, that fed  
The neighbour Poor, that else had famished.  
How did his Love and Noblest Care extend  
To all his followers, at his latter end  
I need not tell, themselves will say for me,  
Men never served a better Lord than he.  
Ah dearest Lady, flower of the Stem  
Of CLIFFORD'S race, and Honours goodly Gem  
His truest Spouse, with (whom he loved so well)  
That Pearl your MARGARITE, 
* His only Children living, Margaret the eldest, a hopeful & fair young Lady, Isabella an infant.  and young ISABELLA.  
How do I sorrow for your sake, whom Cross  
(By Father, Mother, Son, now Husband's loss)  
On Cross afflicts, of worldly help bereau'n,  
Except the help (that never fails) of Heaven:  
Oh let not grief that many one hath slain,  
Wherein not any profit doth remain,  
(For Sin except,) deject your soul a whit,  
But Palme-like grow, the more oppressed by it.  
And since I now the Common loss have shown,  
Oh let me drop one tear, and show mine own,  
Who never found a mind more Nobly-free,  
Respective, Loving, Bountiful to me.  
Yea Constant, (for no PYLADES could be  
More faithful, where he did affect, than he;  
That even in Childhood, whom he chose a Friend  
His Love embraced to his latter end,  
Such was his Honoured mind; but he is dead,  
And with him Hopes of thousands buried.  
Sleep then in peace (Dear Lord) and lowly Dust,  
Till thou receiu'st thy Portion with the Just;  
For while I live, mine eyes shall never see  
A Man, a Peer, a Patron like to thee.    

A double Vision upon the Death of this Noble Lord.  

Me thought I saw by DUROVERNUM, 
* Cantuaburie, So called in old time.  where  
Along the Siluer-streaming STOVRE doth slide  
A lovely Nymph, her wiery-golden hair  
Sat rending, wailing that fair place beside,  
More beauteous Creature the world's Compass wide  
Ne had: her raiment white, her cheeks besprent  
With blubbered tears, and on a Cross she leaned.   

To whom, ah whom, shall now I make my moan?  
Or who (she said) will pity my distress?  
Sith now my nearest dearest Friend is gone,  
Who shall RELIGION (welnie Comfortless)  
Commiserate? (yet many do profess  
A seeming friendship) and her labours cherish,  
Or give me Bread, that here I may not perish?   

I find with many gracious entertain  
(In Kentish soil) yet DORUS was the man  
Whose love I had, and he my héart again,  
Won by his Brave and Royal bounty, when  
I deeply languished, that Physician  
Of life dispaired, me he then relieved,  
And gave most Comfort, when I most was grieved.   

But he is Dead; with that a sigh she fetched,  
As might have torn an heart of steel in twain,  
And said; blessed Soul (with hands on high outstretched)  
Wherever thou in Heaven dost remain,  
Enjoy thy Bliss, for hardly I again  
Thy like shall find, therewith I waked in bed,  
But River, Nymph, and all were vanished.   

The second Vision.  

I Saw a goodly Laurel, straight and Green,  
Upon whose top sweet singing Birds did build,  
Whose like PARNASSUS Bay-bound head I ween,  
Nor TEMPE, pride of THESSALY, could yield,  
Whereto repaired the Shepherd of the Field:  
But Muses most heereunder did delight,  
In Heat, their Hymns and holy things indite.   

But suddenly the envious owner came,  
And at the root did lay with all his might,  
That down it fell, together with the same,  
The Nests and tender Young, unfit for flight;  
That much my heart was grieved at the sight,  
But more, because the Muse had lost her Friend  
Whose arms from harms her state did full defend.     

To the Deceased Lord.  

AS in that Royal Chapel, where  
Seaventh HENRY lies in Westminster,  
From every Windows middle part;  
A line direct runs to his Heart. 
* So was the Plot devised, that from the Centre of every window a direct line came to the K hart, lying in his Grave.   
So all our Loves by equal line  
From far, concentre in thy Shrine.    

NOblest DORSET, dead and gone,  
My Muse with Poesy have done:  
And in his Grave, now thrown thy Pen,  
Sat down and never rise again.  
FINIS.