AN ELEGY UPON THE TRVELY LAMENTED Death of the Right Honourable Sir JULIUS CAESAR K nt. Master of the Rolls, And of S nt Katherine's: AND One of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy Counsel.  
Wept. by FRA: QVA.  
— Micat inter omnes,  
julium sidus, velut inter ignes  
Luna minores.  
LONDON, Printed for john Marriot. 1636.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, AND MOST WORTHY OF DOUBLE HONOUR, The Lady CAESAR, Wife to the Right Honourable Sir JULIUS CAESAR K nt: Late Mr. of the Rolls: AND One of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy Counsel.  
WE are all prisoners for a debt we owe to Nature, committed to the Gaol of this transitory world: Some pay sooner: Some later: All must pay. As yesterday, our Blessed Saviour paid it: To day your dear Husband paid it: A bitter example sweetly followed: He followed Him in his life: He followed Him in his death: and so close in both, that as in life, he was assuredly His by Grace, so in death he is most certainly His in Glory. Madam, my most entire affection hath performed this last service to his dear Remembrance, which I present to your Noble hands, beseeching Almighty God to comfort you, and hereafter to raise you to the same pitch of Glory where he is.  
Madam, Your La v faithful servant, FRA: QUARLES.   

TO MY HONOURABLE FRIENDS, Sir CHARLES' CaeSAR Knight, Sir JOHN CaeSAR Knight, ROBERT CaeSAR Esquire.  
You Noble Brothers,  
GIve me leave to make you Partners in my Dedication with this honourable Lady, as she is Partner in your Loss: How much I am bound to this service, I appeal to you: How much my expressions come short of his merit, I appeal to the world. His worth and my grief, require stupifaction rather than language: Leves loquuntur; ingentes stupent. He hath left you the rich Inheritance of a rare example, which if you truly follow, shall follow you to that glory which he enjoys, whose grey hairs you have brought in peace and honour to the ground.  
The servant of his memory, and your virtues, FRA: QVA.   

An Elegy.  
LEt such invoke the Muses that have Art,  
To broach their studied tears, & get by heart  
Their ill-weighed sorrows; that can screw their brains  
To any tuneing; from Threnodian strains,  
To lovesick Sonnets; and from thence, can call  
Their fancies to a lightfoot Madrigal:  
Let those invoke, whose mercenary ' Affection's  
Are dry, and cannot give, without directions  
From moist Melpomenè, but stick the Hearse  
With a fair texted lamentable verse,  
More sorry than the Makers, tricked with flowers  
Of bare Invention, which the twilight showers  
Of Nature ne'er bedewed; Let such as they  
Invoke the Muses, whilst we cut our way  
Through these our Alpine griefs, and sadly rise  
With the sharp vinegar of suffused eyes:  
Our high springtides are full, no need to borrow  
A dropt' increase the deluge of our sorrow.  
O were the trivial subject of our Tears  
A private loss, where one dull Mourner bears  
His single load, ingenious Grief might find  
A golden Mean, and means to be confined:  
A private sorrow gains a soon relief,  
And grief not Common, is a common grief:  
But where a sad calamity shall press  
The public shoulders, what, o what redress  
Can full complaints expect? What Member, first,  
Shall help to bind, when every Member's burst?  
Such are our sorrows; such disasters now  
Enforce our melting souls to overflow  
The banks of swelling Passion, which appears  
A troubled Sea of Epidemic tears.  
O that the hearts of men had equal scales,  
To weigh that loss which my sad heart bewails!  
'tis not a Father, or a Friend, or One,  
Whose death soft Nature bids us to bemoan,  
Which we lament; that sorrow would extend  
But to ourselves, and with ourselves would end:  
Such loss is load enough; but may be borne  
On well prepared shoulders, and outworn:  
But this, o this exceeds; where every breast,  
Which hates not Virtue, hath a Interest.  
The Church hath lost a Patron; and the State  
Bewails an honourable Potentate;  
The King, a Counsellor; the Court  
Of Conscience, a just judge; the greater Sort,  
A sweet familiar; what the Poor has lost,  
Reader, the Poor shall tell thee to their cost.  
He was the Cripples Staff; the blind man's Eye,  
The Lawyers Curb, the Client's Chancery.  
He prized the world, with things that had no price  
A Paul to virtue, and a Saul to vice;  
A painful Planter, for the poor to gather;  
The Widow's Husband and the Orphan's Father.  
'Tis He, 'tis He, whose honourable Dust  
Our eyes embalm, and tender to the trust  
Of thankless earth, whose relamented death  
Estates our grief, and lends a secret breath  
To our faint Quill.  
'Tis He, whose righteous Balance did while-ere  
Deal justice so, as if Astraea were  
Returned from heaven, or Satur's conquering hand  
Had new regained his long usurped Command  
From his deposed Son: His heart was Stone  
To pleading Vice, and Wax to every Groan:  
His Wisdom, Bounty, Love, and Zeal did rise,  
Like those four Springs, that watered Paradise,  
And with their fruitful Tides did overflow  
This glorious Island, on whose banks do grow  
Fair Grifit of Honour, fragrant Flowers of Peace,  
Full Crops of plenty, laden with increase.  
Who shares not in our grief? what eye forbears  
To be a willing Partner in our tears?  
What friend of Goodness will not claim a part  
In our great loss? or not entail his heart  
To plenteous Passion so, that Babes unborn  
May hold our Lordships with a Clause to mourn:  
But stay! what need, what need we press a tear,  
When every eye becomes a Volunteire?  
Thus wrapped in shades of night, in sheets of Lead,  
See, see, our noble Senator lies dead;  
Whom Art and Nature, and diviner Grace,  
Made far more honourable than his place:  
His earth-transcending thoughts, thought scorn to take  
Joy in earth's Honour, where few years could make  
So flat a Period: His aspiring mind  
Was free of heaven, disdained to be confined;  
Who finding earth accustomed to deprive  
Of Honour given (not having more to give)  
He bid Good-night, and sweetly fell asleep,  
So left the world, so left us here to weep.  
Thus died our noble Caesar, whose high story  
Of earth's Advancement proved his step to Glory;  
Our joys go with him, whilst sad we return  
To lay his Ashes in his peaceful Urn.  
Rest glorious Soul, (whose now untwisted Cable  
Has passed the Needle's eye) whilst we bedable  
Our cheeks in Brine, that even almost repine  
At those eternal joys which now are thine;  
O pardon those, whose floods of nature would  
Even waft thee from thy Glory, if they could,  
And land thee in this Vale of Tears, to taste  
That bitter Potion that thy soul has past.  
But we have done; our whining breath shall cease  
Longer to vi'late thy invi'late peace.  
Now blessed Saint, enjoy the free Reward  
Of all thy works; Possess those joys prepared  
For thy fair Soul; put on th'eternal Wreath  
Of glory, promised to thy faithful death,  
replete thyself with everlasting Manna,  
And let thy voice exchange her late Hosanna  
For joyful Allelujahs, now a Guest  
Called to the Lambs perpetual Marriage feast.  
FINIS.