Epithalamium UPON THE ALL-DESIRED NUPTIALS of FREDRICK the fift, Prince Palatine of Rhine, chief Elector, Duke of Bavier, and Arch-Sewer to the Roman EMPIRE. AND ELIZABETH, The only daughter of JAMES, by the grace of God, King of great Britain, France and Ireland, Defender of the FAITH, etc.  
Written by AUGUSTINE TAYLOR.  Illi poena datur, qui semper amat, nec amatur. 
LONDON, Printed for Samuel Rand, and are to be sold by Edward Merchant, at his shop in Paul's Churchyard, over against the Cross. 1613.   

TO THE HONO●… GENTLEMAN, SIR Thomas Gerrard of Brinne, Knight Baronet, and one of his majesties justices for the County of Lancaster, AUGUSTINE TAYLOR wisheth all prosperity in Happiness.  
Worthy Sir,  
WHEN all the excellent admired wits of this so capable Age, in the spring of thick furnitured inventions, bestow pains to give my Patrons a perfect blazon, I willing to thrust my dutiful love into the Press, longing to see the shape of affection in Print; Credo ut est dementia, Seeing so many swelling Muses, and of such apprehension, that read theirs and mine next together, and you will say, my ill work makes their good labours to appear better than (indeed) they are.  sementem feceris, ita & meats: Apply not that Rule to me, but right worthy Sir, of what I offer willingly, vouch to accept courteously, as a Monument of my love, which time hath borne to the generous family of the Gerrard's, and my affection to your worthy self. Knowing you to come from the best worth of that Airy, and one of his majesties respected, grace my ill-tempered Muse: and having so worthy a refuge, you shall hereafter see it start out of Cinders (unus dies non sat estad parandam eruditionem) and live an age that erewhile waxed old with a summers day. Vouch to allow of this, till time present you with some greater token of my love: I commit your deserving worthiness to wished continuance.  
Yours in love and duty, AUGUSTINE TAYLOR  
Volenti nihil est grave.   

Facile est imperare volenti.  

O Would to God I had the Sun-hatched wing,  
A quill so worth to tell of banqueting:  
Mine is so parched in cinders of my wants,  
Desert craves Vowels, Art gives Consonants.  
One sense is sleeping, and that sense is muffled,  
This sense is studying, that and all are ruffled:  
Amazed, wakened, called, incomposed,  
Moved, affected, gathered, indisclosed.  
The perfect blazon true fame shall support,  
Will tell how far my Art is here too short:  
Were I but seated on the Muse's mountain,  
To quaff my quart of that ripe dropping fountain,  
Where Tully once won that immortal praise,  
From that Parnassus fetched his Roman phrase:  
Under that Helicon my Muse should sing,  
Not altogether praise of England's King,  
But in my notes Fames whispering breath should bleed,  
Deserving praises to his worthy seed.  
You now must think I felt my wit but poor,  
I napped an hour, and meant to write no more.  
Now apparitions, now good, and then bad,  
I'll tell thee England of a dream I had.  
Suppose I sat upon the Cliffs of Dover,  
(From flowery Kent) the Ocean to look over.  
When in a morning old Aurora's hue  
Had clad the heavens in their ancient blue.  
Night went so fast, and day appeared so plain,  
The eyes diseased of the Northern wain:  
Artipholax blustered in his muffled bed,  
Pale Luna to the Western confines fled;  
White teams of mist ran stealing down the rivers,  
Eclipsed mansions now were crazed in shivers,  
My greedy slumber show'd my eyes, me thought  
Strange novelties that cheerful day had brought.  
The first I gazed at, seemed a rock of stone,  
Which Sea-gods (sometime) used to sit upon,  
Encompassed round with seas on every side,  
Framed like a seat, cast by the surly tide;  
Whereon the fairest Lady was reposed,  
That ever Nature whilom had disclosed,  
Crowned in all glory, made so fine and denty,  
I saw one beauty, and in that one plenty.  
If ever eye was summoned to a feast,  
My eyes were feasted, and my feast was best:  
I thought Marpessa in that princely Chair  
Had there reposed herself to take the air,  
And sadly suited in a solemn cheer,  
Did mean to stay her Lord and Lover there.  
And Ida's slow, in needy speed dispatching,  
He yet was absent, and she yet was watching.  
O how I cursed him, (angry at delay)  
Hardhearted man to be so long away.  
The day waxed elder, and the morn show'd clearer,  
The heavens pitiful, sent the Sun to cheer her.  
Phoebus' appeared, clothed in his fairest array,  
As if prepared to suit a glorious day.  
His radiant splendours scatter in the skies,  
Her fair perfections sparkle in mine eyes.  
I was opinionate the world was done,  
I thought the Gods had sent another Sun.  
Then it was so, by ucnturing, I came  
Some paces nearer to this princely Dame.  
When I perceived she was a mortal creature,  
Composed in the perfectest mould of Nature,  
And in her hand she held a little frame,  
With this device erected in her name.   
DELPHEBA.  
A branch in March, that died to live in April.  
Motto. Mors emit vitam.  

Life weeps for death, death crowns a new life blest;  
Thus, friends weep most, to know their friends at rest.  
In this fair creature seated thus alone,  
A thousand beauties were combined in one:  
Her golden Tresses hanged uncurled and ruffled,  
In a rich Nightgown she was sadly muffled.  
O had I seen her suited in those rays,  
Which Courtly custom observes nowadays,  
I eould have teld ye nearer her great merit,  
But ignorance must now a part inherit.  
Your thoughts must censure, she was more than fair,  
(And being more, I cannot more declare)  
And fit to add a glory to the sky,  
A mate (indeed) for majesty to buy,  
Crowned with all graces, and to name in general,  
One beauty matchless, and in that one several.  
O had you seen her, how all beauties moved her,  
You would have praised her, if you had not loved her.  
Thus long I viewed her, ravished more & more,  
I turned my eyes to glance upon the shore,  
Where I espied a stranger sadly standing,  
Waiting for shipping, as men do for landing.  
Upon delpheba's seat his eyes were gazing,  
I saw a scutcheon by the suns bright blazing;  
Telling his name, and over that was planted  
A fair devise which no perfection wanted.   
TORBINIUS.  
A male Confessor to a female Priest.  
Motto Palam, voluntate.  

Great men are often actors of oppression,  
And she's the cause that I must make confession.  
His eyes gazed at Delpheba as before,  
(So shipwrecked seamen use to do at shore)  
Afflicted, troubled, feared, and tormented,  
Distempered, blubbered, sad, and discontented,  
Complaining, sorrowing, wishing, nothing gaining,  
Sighing, bewailing, craving, not obtaining,  
Seeking for passage to Delphebas resting,  
Vowing, affecting, calling, and protesting,  
Unto the Powers Divine he plants prefers,  
He had but one life and that was hers.  
To rail on Nature than he doth begin,  
That she (unkind) ordained him not to swim:  
To break his passions Phoebus looked more cheerly,  
And smiled as if he loved a lover dearly,  
And half resolved to let Torbinius pass,  
From him to her, he shows a bridge of glass:  
Composed in all parts pleasant to behold,  
Framed by Divine Art, wonders manifold,  
Appeared to gaze on, yet it seemed so brittle,  
The passage dangerous and the safety little;  
But love so forward in his own attempts,  
And mixes sour harms with frail sweet contents,  
Determines now, as men for women would do,  
To win his love, or try what venturing could do;  
Enters the bridge with this rash resolution,  
To die for love, confirms the old conclusion,  
And his boiled humour in this sort doth cherish,  
To pass the bridge, or in the midst to perish:  
And being distant from the sandy side,  
Some measured paces, Neptune sends the tide,  
And summons fenny subjects to new broils,  
Collecting surges to maintain new spoils.  
The hovering winds tumbled from Aeolus womb,  
And in the Ocean 'gan to dig their Tomb.  
The Titan Eastern gates, percullized, pale,  
Erst calms, now storms, for gusts a bitter gale.  
Nereus' warned the Sea-gods to these wars,  
And ruled as General in these upstart jars.  
Torbinius being on the bridge of glass,  
Looked down and saw th'impatient billows pass,  
And with his dull ears, hard the deaf winds mumble,  
And with his dim eyes saw the surges tumble.  
One wave did caper, and that billow wondered,  
This surge was angry, and that tempest thundered,  
Aspiring, threatening death, or future ill,  
Shaping, presenting accidents to kill.  
A hurrying mist comes sudden stealing in,  
Nor he, nor she, saw neither her nor him:  
In this strange temper passionately distracted,  
Torbinius now a sour part sadly acted;  
And all his griefs sprung, as it seemed to me,  
From the sick confines of perplexity.  
A thicke-lined mist continued between them two,  
(Love wrapped in wrinkles knows no work to do.)  
Thus Fortune makes, & thus mad Fortune mars,  
Love is still Soldier at such civil wars.  
Sighing, lamenting, these bad broils to be in,  
That he should die, and not his Lady see him,  
When only for her sake he ventured thus,  
(Love sees no dangers that seem timorus.)  

Torbinius.  Then to himself (I thought) he did reply,  
And said; How luckless and accursed am I,  
Covered with fortunes foul dissembling fame,  
To die for her that knows not who I am?  
Oh might I die my Lady's face before,  
I would say Fortune were a noble Whore,  
In her fair sight to end Torbinius date,  
O then my death were not unfortunate,  
Then she might justly say; here ended he,  
That lived, and loved, and died to honour me:  
But Gods, & Seas, & Winds, contemn my plaints,  
And their harsh Language trips on Consonants:  
Then thus resolved, succeed what ill can prove,  
And if I die, I die for her I love.  
I left him thus, and turned my greedy eyes  
Upon the rock where fair Delpheba lies,  
Who now in black appeared to me all covered,  
About the which sad Melancholy hovered.  
Then to Delpheba there (me thought) resorted,  
Nymphs and Sea-gods, by their love transported,  
To comfort her that seemed so much lamenting,  
And know the sad cause of her discontenting.  

Delpheba.  To whom she answered, I have lost a friend,  
Which winged Fame can near too much commend.  
O would to God I could Olympus raise,  
And there set Trophies to his endless praise:  
And for his death, I chose this place to moon,  
" The tears are truest that are shed alone."  
A dying life weeps for a living death,  
A tale unseemly for a true friends breath.  
And as it is, it may be something better,  
Fortune's a strumpet, and she is my debtor,  
Promising best, when she performed the worst:  
Things that sound harshli'st, I have had those first.  
The Gods and Nymphs began to tune their throats,  
To keep a consort with her cheerless notes.  
In this Diapason deep, sad harmony,  
Dull senses strive for sorrows victory,  
Chimes iterating on this black-mouthed din;  
I than perceived Torbinius coming in,  
Seeing Delpheba in such passions suited,  
In mourning weeds such ill cheer prosecuted,  
Attires himself in sorrows for her sake,  

Torbinius.  The Counter-tennor of her part to take.  
Unto the fairest my service I commend,  
'tis only thou my love did apprehend,  
All dangers passed compared to this prize,  
Seems like a dark way to a Paradise.  
And on all dangers what's he would not venture,  
Those all being past, might to thy presence enter?  
And am I happy to be comen thus near thee?  
And art thou kind? or can my coming cheer thee?  
I'll wear what thou wears, what thou loves I'll keep  
I'll laugh when thou smiles, when thou sighs I'll weep.  
What most shall grieve thee, it shall most torment me,  
What best shall please thee, that shall best content me.  
If Nature's pride be but so kind as fair,  
All storms are past, I do not care for Care.  
I love thee now when sad laments increase,  
To have thy love when passions turn to peace.  
Expecting Summer when cold March is past,  
I'll wait ten months to have a May at last.  
I'll reap no Harvest but where thou hast sown,  
My love in thy love shall exceed thy own.  
And but in thee, no hope, no hap, no health,  
And but in thee no will, no wish, no wealth.  
For what thou mourns, I wail, thy part I take;  
Now blessed be all women for thy sake.  
In thee I love, in thee I only live,  
'Tis I that begs, and it is thou can give.  
Nor do I crave thee more than may beseem thee,  
Thou art my best hap, and I most esteem thee.  
Make me a servant at thy sacred shrine;  
This life is that life, let that life be mine.  
What good, what ill, what life, what all to thee,  
That good, that ill, that life, that all to me.  
Comforts attend thee, all good hap befriend thee,  
Duties commend thee, wished power defend thee.  
Make me thy servant, smile on my request,  
delpheba's Scholar I am now professed.  
At Luna's full the skies seem in their state,  
At Prince's births the earth looks fortunate.  
The one decays when in her chiefest prime,  
The other dies when in his hopeful'st time.  
My tears are falling for a friend that loved me,  
He's dead, he's gone, & thus his death hath moved me  
His death is living, and my life is dying,  
My life is creeping, and his death is flying.  
My loss, his gain: his wealth my woe comprised,  
Are two contraries strangely exercised.  
My plaints and tears, and sorrows, still augmented,  
Complaining, blubbered, lasting more tormented.  
Much pitied cheerenesse, much lamented nearness,  
unharboured, fearless, unfrequented nearness,  
Desolate, distressed, frustrate, un-respected,  
Incommitate, oppressed, complicate, neglected:  
And of all these ills there is but one mother,  
Pale Death, leaves our life this gift, and no other.  
The earth and Mortals must submit their Powers,  
To serve a Will above this will of ours.  
Of what earth can do I may justly vaunt,  
What heavens will have I must needly grant.  
O death, o death, thy spoils I cannot mend,  
Yet I'll perform the duty of a friend:  
Some friends live yet, 'tis you appears to me  
Will be associate in my misery.  
You, you, Torbinius, for your great desert,  
Shall have the best place in my conquered heart:  
My love, shall your love pay with wished reward,  
And with Delpheba be in best regard:  
Expecting sorrows will be sooner passed,  
And joy (though long) yet will be here at last:  
The skies look cheerly, that erewhile looked strangely,  
The seas are smiling that but now were angry,  
I think the Gods (together) have decreed  
To change our muffled melancholy weed,  
And for our late lamented Funerals,  
Now to erect contented Nuptials;  
In pledge of love I greet thee with a kiss,  
I own thee more, suppose, by giving this.  
Now let me crave you to decide this thought  
And be not partial; which of these two ought  
To be lamented more? her tears are sown,  
For her friend's harvest that pale death hath mown:  
His tears are spent for her calamities,  
That seems a mother of sad miseries.  
She weeps for him that never can do better,  
He weeps for her that yet is nature's debtor:  
Then rightly scanned if judgement rightly do,  
'Twill say her tears, no wise work takes them too:  
Whether she weep for friend sake, or her own,  
'Tis yet a question, and it is not known,  
If for her own sake (I must needs be plain)  
She thought by his life to reap future gain;  
This wailing no man rightly can commend,  
For thus she proves a very unkind friend.  
If she lament for his sake, wise men saith,  
She shows th'imbecility of her faith.  
And by that weakness it appears to me  
She thinks herself in better case than he:  
She ought not t'weepe that he hath run so fast,  
But at her slow pace that must go at last.  
But now (methinks) Delphebas wondrous wise,  
To make a Summer of her Winter's eyes:  
All friendly duties are discharged duly,  
Old Nature's love is paid by wisdom truly.  
The Sun, and Air, & hovering Winds do mutter,  
Conceiving more joy, then dumb sense can utter:  
The Sea-gods whisper jump in all opinions,  
To order peace through their untiled Dominions,  
And took their leave, all Tempests now are gone,  
Torbinius and Delpheba now alone,  
They joined hands and then (me thought) did pass  
Back to the shore where great attending was,  
And being landed dangers all bereft them,  
My dream was ended and in joy I left them.   

Ex aspectis nascitur amor.  
When Lordly Phoebus left his Eastern Isle,  
And with his splendour that Titanian smile,  
Came like a Prince from th'oriental gate,  
So richly suited in his robes of State.  
The cheerless earth shook off her dewy tresses,  
And from dark curtains now her shades digresses.  
I looked about me, Dover was not near me,  
That now contents me, which but then did fear me.  
I than perceived 'twas on the bank of Thames,  
That I retained th'invention of my dreams:  
And as the pleasant River fast did glide,  
With prattling murmur by the Kentish side,  
I laid me down near to a Willow root,  
Whose branches far had overgrown the foot;  
The searching Sun not in a day obtained,  
To see the stock whereby she was maintained.  
'Twas public known a fairer tree than this,  
ne'er neighboured near the banks of Thamesis.  
I there reposed upon this dewy brim.  
And, as I thought, the Tide came stealing in.  
Thames that e'er while gazed upon Phoebus' prime,  
Turned now again to watch for his decline:  
Night went, day came, all joys on tiptoes shiver,  
A snow white Swan came playing up the River:  
Ruffling his plumes and in such joy did swim,  
You would have sworn the Tide much favoured him.  
His so fair breast dinted the furrowing Isis,  
Who saith he saw a worthier bird than this is?  
Both Kent and Essex gathered near to see,  
Where the first landing of this Swan might be:  
Fair Middlesex pulled down her mask and Fan,  
To see the Tide bring in this stranger Swan.  
O how it joyed me to hear music greet him  
In several tunes, and other Swans did meet him;  
Their Princely salutations sure were such,  
As London never saw of mirth so much.  
Now, in the end, where this fair Swan took landing,  
Let none decide but those of understanding.   

Quisque potest rebus succurrere, nemo diebus.  

To Frederick. Omnia fert tempus.  When thou (great Prince) from Rhenus' native clime  
(Richer than Tagus, fair as Florentine,)  
Pulled up thy Ensigns, clad thy rattling Sails,  
The wind, thy viage, and the Tide prevails,  
To bring thee to our Eastern tumbling Thames,  
The Ocean's message to great Britain's JAMES:  
And may that hour in happy times to come  
Be called thy landing in Elysium:  
Happy thy birth, more fortunate thy life,  
Prosperous thy voyage, virtuous thy wife:  
Virtue, Virginity, Honour, Nature's pride,  
Thou art her Husband, and She is thy Bride,  
And consecrated shall that day be thought:  
The hour and Isis that thee hither brought,  
Shall be erected in great Fame's Register,  
And thy reward is proved a Prince's Sister.  
Fame cannot choose but imp her pinioned wing,  
And in loud Music for thy welcome sing:  
Feast thee, attend thee, and in more esteem  
Than Cleopatra the Egyptian Queen  
Feasted Mark Anthony, nor can thou say,  
Thou came in Autumn, it was rather May;  
Only crosses of lamented Funerals,  
Chanced in the Frontiers of thy Nuptials.  

Vxor bona, optima possessio.  O worthy FREDRICK, it was Lordly done,  
That thou thyself in person hither come.  
It shows thy mind is Noble, and indeed,  
Sprung from the airy where true Eagles breed.  
Eagles in Cages, are but Kings in Towers,  
And but enjoy the name of Princely powers.  
King's are earth's Gods, and Gods lived not at home,  
But had a mind in foreign Climes to room.  
'Tis registered not many Ages since,  
Solon of Athens was to choose a Prince:  
Being demanded how he meant to know,  
A man well worthy of a Crown (or no)  
Answered: If this choice be to me assig'nd,  
I'll choose a Prince, and only by the mind:  
If inward Noble, I heard wise men tell,  
he's worth a Crown, and 'twill seem passing well.  
By this I noted, how thou truly merits  
The perfect beauty that thou now inherits,  
And sure she thinks thee a right worthy Prince,  
That would thy travels (for her sake) convince.  
If all that travelled might enjoy like store,  
The lame would run, that scarce could go before.  
Who would not travel, and to them own duties,  
When each eye finds perfections in their beauties?  
Live long, great Prince, and be thy chosen prize  
A fair terrestrial happy Paradise.  

To Germany.  In time hereafter, yet remember Thame,  
How once she welcomed a young Prince of Rhine.  
Amicos novos parans, ne obliviscaris veterum.   

Virtus in se habet omnia bona.  

To Elizab.  Fair Princess, virtuous; what to good belongs  
Thou art the mother to, Applause so throngs,  
T'attend on thee, and 'mongst the rest my part,  
It is thy merits makes my love and Art,  
Upreared on tiptoes, and yet would aspire  
To give thee what is due, and my desire,  
Tells but thy name, and it is all I can,  
Those do no more, that profess what I am:  
Nor can, nor need, for all remembreth  
That thou art only that Elizabeth,  
Which foreign Echoes in loud notes doth ring,  
To be the daughter of great Britain's King.  
Nor is it I that labours in thy praise,  
I know thy name's thy Trumpet, and can raise  
Itself to''th' height of honour; why I writ  
To tell my duty, and this Epithet,  
Is stuffed full of Affection: what if poor?  
The gifts are great when givers have no more:  
And should indeed be thought our Alexander,  
Macedo's son: the Eastern great Commander,  
Was named in Cottages by th'low'st degree;  
Then of a Miller: o good God said he,  
There's not a Miller now but knows my name,  
Meaning indeed Report adds life to Fame;  
Fame's like the Sun, and not disdains to view  
Both Courts and Cottages, neither doth rue  
Of their great courtesies: mark well each seat,  
And great men proud, makes them unseemly great.  
A woman silent, great by birth before,  
So richly dressed, Fame shapeth more and more.  
Eliza, England truly boasts of thee  
To be the Treasurer of each Treasury,  
That ever graced a woman: must we leave thee?  
I'll now trust Fortune; fort did not deceive me.  
I ever thought so fair a flower as this,  
Should grace some other place than Thamesis.  
And yet fair Princess, virtuous I mean,  
Remember Thames when thou art set on Rhine.  
How gladly thundered she loud Epithets,  
Professed peals, all to her Nuptial Rites?  
Did she not summon gazers to thy Revels,  
And what was knotty, with her tide she levels?  
Dis-gorged Canon's fire in several shapes,  
Enemies suffer when true Christians 'scapes.  
Meteors i'th' air, she did her own self choke,  
All London thought Thames would dissolve to smoke,  
And all the Revels this fair Flood did make,  
Worthy Eliza, was but for thy sake.  
When thou wast married, she by chance heard tell,  
And did but this because she loves thee well.  
At thy depart, she'll follow thee and weep,  
And then she'll turn thy worthy stock to seek,  
And finding them, she'll leave her sobbing moan,  
Only she'll each day see where thou hast gone.  
Well may she boast she was of able power,  
To grace fair Rhenus with an English flower.  
And when these two meet in great Oceans,  
they'll know each other by their native Swans.  
So by this marriage, Echo understands,  
'Twill make acquainted both the Seas and Lands.  
A happy time, a good world may it be,  
After young Fredrick came to match with thee.  
O noted hour, blessed be the God above,  
Thou but leaves England to enjoy thy love;  
And for thy absence Britain in a mends  
Hath gained great store of true Christian friends.  
Live, live, fair Princess, may thy seed, thy fame,  
In cinders, ashes keep alive thy name.  
Foelicitas est voluptas, quam paenitudo nulla sequitur.   

Creator per creaturas cognoscendus.  
Heu, some will say when they have lost a friend  
And make his funeral,  they see his end;  
A number now are buried in conceit  
When they're (indeed) not sick, yet tears will wait.  
There is a death in absence some suppose,  
Who thinks there is? for I am none of those:  
Is England loath to lose so fair a creature  
As art thyself Eliza? o, Dame Nature  
Cast thee not in her mould of best perfection,  
Ever to live a Virgin, heavens direction  
Smiled at thy birth and meant to make a mother,  
That when thou dies thou may leave such another.  
Virginity dies a Traitor, her possessions  
Like traitors Earldoms make such large digressions  
They leave no Heirs at all, by this I see  
A Virgin cannot leave posterity.  

To Elizab.  As thou art honoured for a Virgin's life,  
Thou still shalt live, because a happy wife.  
I heard it said, the first time Nestor smiled,  
Was when he saw a woman great with child;  
And being asked why he smiled (and blest her,)  
Said he, the next age will remember Nestor.  
And thou fair Princess in the age to come,  
Shall live by Fame when Nature's life hath done:  
And death hath truly paid her Fame to time  
Shall build their blazons to the seed of thine.  
Fama velox est, crescitque eundo.    

To the Reader.  
Love, like, leave, look at other ripe inventions:  
And see how far mine differs from the rest:  
My dull conceit conceives some apprehensions,  
These are indifferent, those are of the best.  
Their's good, mine worse, good may worse smother,  
The best appears best, when 'tis by the worst:  
How can that be? yes; set by either other,  
And that which looks best men will choose that first.  
Mine's poorly suited, yet my Patron's name's  
So seated in the forehead of my Verse,  
'Twill move the Reader to bestow some pains,  
And iterate that which I do rehearse:  
And when thou finds my Poems barely dressed,  
Smile to thyself (and say) he did his best.  
Augustine Taylor.  
Vbi timor, ibi pudor.   

Laus in prima sonat, virtus in fine coronat.  
FAme's yet an Infant, Echoes of report,  
Now imps her pinions, and in scattering sort  
Applauds what good's in acting, general praise  
Crowns the beginning, and the end to raise,  
virtue's about to give a Laurel wreath  
To worthy Fredrick and Elizabeth:  
When Time the merits of your time hath gathered,  
You shall appear young, when your time is withered.  
Praemia victorum pendent a fine laborum.  
FINIS.