PRINCE HENRIES OBSEQVIES OR MOURNFUL ELEGIES UPON HIS DEATH: With A supposed Inter-locution between the Ghost of Prince Henry and Great Britain. By George wither.  
LONDON, Printed by Ed: Allde, for Arthur johnson, at the white Horse near unto the great North door of Saint Paul 1612   

TO THE WHOLE WORLD IN GENERAL AND MORE PERTICVlarly to the Isles of great Britain and Ireland. etc.  
Big-swollen with sighs, & almost drowned with tears  
My Muse out of a dying trance up-reares;  
Who yet not able to express her moans,  
In steed of better utterance, here groans.  
And lest my close-breast should her health impair,  
Is come amongst you, for to take the air,  
I need not name the griefs, that on her seize,  
theyare known by this, beyond th' Antipodes.  
But to your view some heavy rounds she brings,  
That you may bear the burden, when she sings:  
And that's but Woe: which you so high should strain,  
That heavens vault might Echoed back again,  
Then, though I have not strived to seem witty,  
Yet read, and reading note, and noting pity.  
What though there's others show, in this more Art?  
I have as true; as sorrowful a heart:  
What though Opinion give me not a Name,  
And I was ne'er beholding yet to Fame?  
Fate would (perhaps) my Muse, as yet unknown,  
Should first in sorrows livery be shown.  
Then, be the witness of my discontent,  
And see, if griefs have made me Eloquent:  
For here I mourn, for your our public loss;  
And do my penance, at the Weeping Crosse.  
The most sorrowful G. W.   

DEath (that by stealth did wound Prince H: heart)  
Is now ta'en Captive, and doth act the part  
Of one o'ercome, by being too too fierce,  
And lies himself dead under Henry's hearse:  
He therefore now in Heavenly tunes doth Sing,  
Hell, where's thy triumph? Death, where is thy Sting?   

Faults escaped.  
Elegy 16 read Henry dead? line 14 read be in heart, Eleg. 23. line 13 r carries him. El. 2●. l. 1. r my tongue El. 28. l. 14. r hadadrimmon, in the second page of the Iterlocution. li. 5. r with still. line. 8. r vinnaugh. Eleg: 29. line 5 read walks.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT Lord Sidney of Penshurst, Viscount Lisle, Lord Chamberlain to the Queen's Majesty, and Lord Governor of Vlushing, and the Castle of Ramekins.  
George Whither presents these Elegiak-sonnets, and wisheth double Comfort after his twofold sorrow.  
Anagrams on the name of Sir William Sidney Knight, deceased.  
Gulielmus Sidneius  
En vilis, gelidus sum.  
* But*  
Ei' nilluge, sidus sum.  

BEside our great and Universal care,  
(Wherein you one of our chief sharers are)  
To add more grief unto your griefs begun,  
Whilst we a Father lost, you lost a Son,  
Whose hapelesse want had more apparent been,  
But darkened by the Other 'twas unseen,  
Which well perceiving, loath indeed was I,  
The Memory of one so dear should die:  
And thereupon I the occasion took  
For to present your Honour with this Book,  
(Unfeigned, and true mournful Elegies,  
And for our HENRY, my last Obsequies)  
That he, which did your Sons late death obscure,  
Might be the Mean to make his fame endure:  
But this may but renew your former woe:  
Indeed and I, might well have doubted so,  
Had not I known, that Virtue which did place you  
Above the common sort, did also grace you  
With gifts of Mind, to make you more excel,  
And far more able, Passions rage to quell:  
You can, and may with moderation moan,  
For all your comfort is not lost with one,  
Children you have, whose Virtues may renew;  
The comfort of decaying Hopes in you.  
Praised be God, for such great blessngs giving,  
And happy you, to have such comforts living.  
Nor do I think it can be rightly said,  
You are unhappy in this One that's dead:  
For notwithstanding his first Anagram,  
Frights, with 
* The English ●f his Anagrams.  Behold, now cold, and vile I am:  
Yet in his last, he seems more cheerful far,  
And joys, with 
* The English ●f his Anagrams.  Soft, Mourn not, I am a Star,  
Oh great preferment: what could he aspire  
That was more high, or you could more desire?  
Well, since his soul in heaven such glory hath,  
My Love bequeathes his Grave, this Epitaph.   

Here under lies a SIDNEY: And what than?  
Dost think here lies but relics of a man?  
Know; 
epitaph.  'tis a Cabinet did once include,  
WIT, BEAUTY, SWEETNESS, COVRT'SEY, FORTITUDE.   

So let him rest, to Memory still dear,  
Till his Redeemer in the Clouds appear  
The while, accept his Will, who meaning plain,  
Doth neither write for praise, nor hope of Gain:  
And now your Tears, and private Grief, forbear,  
And turn again, to this our Public care.   
Your Honour's true honourer George wither.   
PRINCE HENRIES OBSEQVIES, OR Mournful Elegies upon his death: With A supposed inter-locution between the Ghost of Prince Henry and Great Britain.  


Eleg. 1.  
NOw that beloved Henry's glass is run,  
And the last duties to his body shown,  
Now that his sad-sad Obsequies be done,  
And public sorrows well-nigh overblown:  
Now give me leave to leave all joys at one,  
For a dull Melancholy loneliness;  
To pine myself with a selfe-pining moan,  
And fat my grief with solitariness.  
For if it be a comfort in distress,  
(As some think) to have sharers in our woes,  
Then I desire to be comfortless.  
My Soul in public grief no pleasure knows.  
Yea, I could wish, and for that wish would die,  
That there were none had cause to grieve, but I.   

Eleg. 2.  
For were there none had cause to grieve but I,  
Twouled from my Sorrows, many sorrows take;  
And I should moan but for one's misery,  
Where now for thousands, my poor heart doth ache.  
Bide from me joy then, that still from me bid'st,  
Be present Care, that ever present art.  
Hide from me Comfort, that at all times hidest,  
For I will grieve, with a true-greeving heart.  
I'll glut myself with Sorrow for the nonce,  
What though my Muse against it once did say  
Oh bear with my unbridled Passion once,  
I hope it shall not yet from virtue stray,  
Since grief▪ for such a loss, at such a season;  
May be past measure, but not out of Reason.   

Eleg. 3.  
Why should I for th'infernal Furies hallo?  
Call upon darkness, and the lonely night?  
Or summon up Minerva, or Apollo:  
To help me doleful Elegies indite?  
Here needs no mention of the fears of Styx,  
Of black Cocytus, or such feigned stuff:  
Those may paint out their griefs, with forced tricks,  
That have not in them real cause enough;  
I need it not, yet for no private Cross,  
Droops my sad soul, nor do I mourn for fashion,  
For why? a general a public loss.  
Kindles within me, a right woeful Passion.  
Then (oh alas) what need hath he to borrow  
Tht's pintched already with a feeling sorrow▪   

Eleg. 4.  
First, for thy loss, poor world-divided I'll,  
My eyes pay griefs drink-offering of tears:  
And I set by all other thoughts a while,  
To feed my mind the better on thy cares.  
I saw, how happy thou wert but of late  
In thy sweet Henry's hopes, yea I saw too,  
How thou didst glory in thy blessed state:  
Which thou indeed hadst cause enough to do.  
But, when I saw thee place all thy delight  
Upon his worth; and then, when thou didst place it,  
(And thy joy almost mounted to her height)  
His hapless end so suddenly deface it;  
Me thought, I felt it go so near thy heart,  
Mine akeed too, with a sympathising smart.   

Eleg. 5.  
For thee, great james, my spouts of sorrow run,  
For thee my Muse a heavy song doth sing;  
That hast lost more, in losing of thy Son,  
Then the Greek monarch conquered Persian King.  
Needs must the pains, that do disturb the head,  
Disease the body throughout every part;  
And therefore I might have been lopped as dead,  
If I had had no feeling of this smart;  
But oh I grieve: and yet I grieve the less,  
Thy Kingly Gift so well prevailed to make him  
Fit for a Crown of endless happiness;  
And that it was jehovah's hand did take him.  
Who was himself a book for Kings to poor on:  
And might have been thy 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉   

Eleg: 6.  
For our fair Queen, my grief is no less moving,  
There's none could ere more justly boast of child.  
For he was kind, most dutiful, and loving,  
Most full of manly courage, and yet mild.  
Me thinks I see what heavy discontent,  
Beclowdes her brow, and over-shades her eyen:  
Yea I do feel her loving heart lament,  
An earnest thought conveys the grief to mine.  
I see she notes the sadness of the Court,  
Thinks how that here, or there, she saw him last:  
Remembers his sweet speech, his graceful sport,  
And such like things to make her Passions last:  
But what mean I? Let grief my speeches smother,  
No tongue can tell the Sorrows of the Mother.   

Eleg. 7.  
Nor thine sweet Charles, nor thine Elizabeth,  
Though one of you have gained a Princedom by't:  
The grief he hath to have it by the death  
Of his sole brother, makes his heart deny't.  
Yet let not sorrows black obscuring cloud  
Quite cover and eclipse all comforts light:  
Though one fair star above the Sphere doth shroud  
Let not the earth be left in darkness quite.  
Thou Charles art now our Hope, God grant it be  
More certain than our last; we trust it will:  
Yet we shall have a loving fear of thee;  
The burned child we see, e'er dreads fire still.  
But God loves his; And Rome although thou threat'st  
He's like enough for to be Charles the great'st.   

Eleg: 8.  
Then droop not Charles to make our griefs the more;  
God that to scourge us, took away thy brother,  
To comfort us again, kept thee in store:  
And now I think on't, Fate could do no other.  
Thy Father both a Sun, and Phoenix is,  
Prince Henry was a Sun and Phoenix too,  
And if his Orb had been as high as his,  
His beams had shone as bright's his father's do.  
Nature saw this and took him quite away,  
And now dost thou to be a Phoenix try;  
Well, so thou mayst (no doubt) another day,  
But then thy father (Charles) or thou must die.  
For 'twas decreed when first the world begun,  
Earth should have but one Phoenix, heaven one Sun.   

Eleg: 9  
But shall I not bemoan the sad Elector?  
Yes Frederick, I needs must grieve for thee:  
Thou wooest with woe now, but our best protector  
Gives joyful ends where hard beginnings be.  
Had we no shows to welcome thee to Court,  
No solemn sight, but a sad Funeral?  
Is all our former Masking and our sport,  
Transformed to sighs? are all things tragical!  
Hadst thou been here at Summer; or at Spring,  
Thou shouldst not then have seen us drooping thus,  
But now 'tis Autumn, that spoils every thing:  
Vulgarly termed the Fall o'th' leaf, with us.  
And not amiss; for well may't be the Fall,  
That brings down blossoms, Fruit, leaves, tree & all.   

Eleg. 10.  
Then, Stranger Prince, if thou neglected seem,  
And hast not entertainment to thy state:  
Our loves yet do not therefore miss-esteeme;  
But lay the fault upon unhappy Fate.  
Thou found'st us glad of thy arrival here,  
And saw'st him, whom we loved, (poor wretched Elves)  
Say: didst thou ere of one more worthy hear?  
No, no, and therefore now we hate ourselves.  
We being then of such a gembereft,  
Bear with our passions, and since one is gone,  
And thoumust have the half of what is left;  
Oh think on us for good; when you are gone,  
And as thou now dost bear one half of's name;  
Help bear our grief, and share thou all his fame.   

Eleg. 11.  
See, see, fair Princess, I but named thee yet,  
Meaning thy woes within my breast to smother:  
But on my thoughts they do so lively beat,  
As if I heard thee sighing, Oh my Brother:  
methinks I hear thee calling on his name,  
With plaining on his too ungentle Fate:  
And sure, the Sisters were well worthy blame,  
To show such spite to one that none did hate.  
I know thou sometime musest on his face,  
(Fair as a woman's; but more manly fair)  
Sometime upon his shape, his speech, and pace,  
A thousand ways thy griefs themselves repair.  
And oh! no marvel, since your sure-pure loves  
Were nearer dearer than the Turtle Doves.   

Eleg. 12.  
How often, oh how often did he vow  
To grace thy joyful look-tfor Nuptials:  
But oh how woeful, oh how woeful now  
Will they be made through thy sad Funerals!  
All pleasing parleys that betwixt you two,  
Public, or private, have exchanged been,  
All thou hast heard him promise for to do,  
Or by him in his life performed seen,  
Calls on remembrance: the sweet name of Sister  
So oft pronounced by him seems to take place,  
Of Queen and Empress: now my thoughts do whisper,  
Those titles one day shall thy virtues grace.  
If I speak true, for his sweet sake that's dead,  
Seek how to raise dejected Britain's head.   

Eleg. 13.  
Seek how to raise dejected Britain's head,  
So she shall study how to raise up thine:  
And now leave off thy tears in vain to shed,  
For why? to spare them I have poured out mine.  
Pity thyself, and us, and mournful Rhine,  
That hides his fair bank under floods of grief,  
Thy Prince, thy Duke, thy brave Count Palatine:  
'tis time his sorrows should have some relief.  
He's come to be another brother to thee,  
And help thy father to another son:  
He vows thee all the service love can do thee;  
And though acquaintance hath with grief begun,  
'tis but to make you have the better taste  
Of the true bliss you shall enjoy at last.   

Elegi. 14.  
Thy brother's well and would not change estates,  
With any Prince that reigns beneath the Sky:  
No, not with all the world's great Potentates,  
His Plumes have borne him to eternity.  
He reigns o'er Saturn now, 
saturn ruled ●n the hour of his dearth.  that reigned o'er him;  
He fears no Planets dangerous aspect:  
But doth above their constellations climb,  
And earthly joys, and sorrows both neglect.  
We saw he had his Spring amongst us here,  
He saw his Summer, but he skipped it over:  
And Autumn now hath ta'en away our dear.  
The reason's this, which we may plain discover,  
He shall escape, (for so jehovah wills)  
The stormy Winter of ensuing ills.   

Elegi. 15.  
I grieve to see the woeful face o'th' Court,  
And for each grieved member of the land;  
I grieve for those that make these griefs their sport,  
And cannot their own evil understand.  
I also grieve, to see how vices swarm,  
And Virtue as despised, grow out of date:  
How they receive most hurt, that do least harm,  
And how poor honest Truth incurreth hate.  
But more, much more, I grieve that we do miss  
The joy we lately had; and that he's gone,  
Whose living presence might have helped all this:  
His everlasting Absence makes me moon.  
Yea most I grieve, that Britain's hope is fled,  
And that her darling, brave Prince henry's dead.   

Elegi. 16.  
Prince Henri's dead! what voice is that we hear?  
Am I awake, or dream I, tell me whether?  
If this be true; if this be true, my dear,  
Why do I stay behind thee, to do either?  
Alas my Fate compels me, I must bide  
To share the mischiefs of this present age,  
I am ordained to live, till I have tried  
The very worst, and utmost of their rage.  
But then why mourn I not to open view,  
In sable robes according to the Rites?  
Why is my hat, without a branch of yeugh?  
Alas my mind, no complement delights,  
Because my grief that Ceremony loathes,  
Had rather be sad in heart, then seem in clothes.   

Eleg. 17  
Thrice happy had I been, if I had kept  
Within the circuit of some little village,  
In ignorance of Courts and Princes slept,  
Manuring of an honest halfe-plough tillage:  
Or else I would I were as young again,  
As when Eliza our last Phoenix died:  
My childish years had not conceived as then,  
What 'twas to lose a Prince so dignifide.  
But now I know: and what now dothed avail?  
Alas, whilst others merry, seel no pain,  
I melancholy, sit alone and wail:  
Thus sweetest profit, yields the bitter'st gain.  
Why? 'cause it came by the forbidden tree:  
And good things prove not, that ill gotten be.   

Eleg. 18.  
When as the first sad rumour filled my ear  
Of Henry's sickness: an amazing terror  
Struck through my body, with a shuddering fear,  
Which I expounded but my frailties error.  
For though a quicke-misdoubting of the worst,  
Seemed to foretell my soul, what would ensue:  
God will forbid, thought I, that such a cursed  
Or ill-presaging thought should fall out true:  
It cannot sink into imagination,  
That He, whose future glories we may see  
To be at least all Europe's expectation,  
Should in the prime of age despoiled be;  
For if a hope so likely nought avail us,  
It is no wonder if all other fail us.   

Eleg. 19  
Again, when one had forced unto my ear,  
My Prince was dead: although he much protested,  
I could not with belief his sad news hear:  
But would have sworn, and sworn again, he jested.  
At such a word, me thought, the town should sink,  
The earth should down unto the Centre cleave,  
Swallowing all in her hell-gaping chink,  
And not so much as Sea or Island leave.  
Some Comet, or some monstrous blazing-Starre,  
Should have appeared, or some strange prodigy,  
Death might have shownt ' us thoughht had been a far  
That he intended some such tyranny.  
But God, (it seemeth) did thereof dislike,  
To show that he will on a sudden strike.   

Eleg: 20.  
Thus unbelieving; I did oft inquire  
Of one, of two, of three, and so of many:  
And still I heard what I did least desire,  
Yet grounded Hope, would give no faith to any.  
Then at the last my heart began to fear,  
But as I credence to my fears was giving  
A voice of comfort I began to hear:  
Which to my fruitless joy said henry's living,  
At that same word, my Hope that was forsaking  
My heart, and yielding wholly to despair;  
revived straight, and better courage taking,  
Her crazed parts, so strongly did repair,  
I thought she would have held it out, but vain:  
For oh, ere long, she lost it quite again.   

Elegi. 21.  
But now wy tongue can never make relation,  
What I sustained in my last fought field;  
My mind assailed with a threefold passion,  
Hope, Fear, Despair, could unto neither yield.  
Fear wiled me, for to view the skies black colour,  
Hope said; Upon his hopeful virtues look:  
Despair show'd me an universal dolour,  
Yet fruitless Doubt, my heart's possessiion took.  
But when I saw the Hearse, than I believed,  
And taking breath, thus fell to vowelling,  
Beside, to show I had not causeless grieved,  
I saw a note of his emboweling.  
There 'twas subscribed, they found he had no gall,  
And like enough, for he was sweetness all.   

Eleg. 21.  
Oh cruel, and insatiable Death!  
Would none suffice, would none suffice but he?  
What pleasure was it more to stop his breath,  
Then for to choke, or kill, or poison me?  
My life for his, with thrice three million more,  
We would have given as a ransom to thee;  
But since thou in his loss hast made us poor,  
Fowl Tyrant, it shall never honour do thee:  
For thou hast shown thyself a spiteful fiend,  
Yea Death thou didst envy his happy state,  
And therefore thoughtst to bring it to an end;  
But see, see whereto God hath turned thy hate.  
Thou meanest to mar the bliss he had before:  
And by thy spite: hast made it ten times more.   

Eleg. 23.  
'tis true I know, Death with an equal spurn,  
The lofty turret, and low Cottage beats:  
And takes impartial each one in his turn,  
Yea though he bribe's, prays, promises or threats.  
Neither Man, bruit, plant, sex, age nor degree  
Prevails against his dead-sure striking hand:  
For then, ere we would thus despoiled be,  
All these conjoined his fury should withstand.  
But oh! unseen he strikes at unaware,  
Disguised like a murdering jesuit:  
Friends cannot stop him that in presence are;  
And which is worse, when he hath done his spite,  
He carries them, so far away from hence,  
None lives, that's able for to fetch him thence.   

Eleg. 24.  
Nor would we now, because we do believe  
His God, to whom indeed he did belong;  
To crown him, where he hath no cause to grieve:  
took him from death, that sought to do him wrong.  
But were this dear beloved Prince of ours  
Living in any corner of this All,  
Though kept by Rome's, and Mahomet's chief powers;  
They should not long detain him there in thrall:  
We would rake Europe rather, plain the East,  
Dispeople the whole Earth before the doom:  
Stamp half to powder, and fire all the rest;  
But for to help up proud aspiring Rome,  
Spite of her powder, with our countermines,  
Blow her above the Alps, or Apennineses.   

Elegi. 15.  
But what? shall we go now dispute with God,  
And in our heart upraid him that's so just?  
Let's pray him rather, to withdraw his rod,  
Lest in his wrath he bruise us unto dust.  
Why should we lay his death to Fate, or times?  
I know there hath no second causes been,  
But our high-flying-crying-dying crimes,  
Nay, I can name the chiefest murdering sin:  
And this it was, how ere it hath been hid.  
Trust not (saith David) trust not in a Prince:  
Yet we hope't less, in God I'll swear we did,  
In jealousy he therefore took him hence.  
Thus we abuse good things, and through our blindness  
Have hurt ourselves, and killed our Prince with kindness.   

Elegi. 26.  
Let all the world come now and share our lot,  
Come Europe, Asia, Africa, come all:  
Mourn English, Irish, British, and mourn Scot,  
For his, (no I mistake it) for our fall.  
The prop of Virtue and mankind's delight,  
Hath fled the earth and quite forsaken us:  
We had but of his excellence a sight,  
To make our longings like to Tantalus.  
What seek you in a Man that he enjoyed not?  
Were't either gift of body or of spirit;  
Nay, which is more, what had he, he employed not  
To help his Country, and her love to merit?  
But see what high preferment Virtues bring,  
He's of a servant now become a King.   

Eleg: 27.  
But soft, I mean not here to blaze his praise,  
It is a work too mighty, and requires  
Many a Pen, and many years of days:  
My humble quill, to no such task aspires,  
Only I mourn, with deep-deep-sighing groans,  
Yet could I wish the other might be done;  
Though all the Muses were employed at once,  
And write as long as Helicon would run,  
But oh, I fear the Spring's already dry,  
Or else why flags my lazy Muse so low?  
Why vent I such dull-sprighted Poesy,  
Surely 'tis sunk; I lie, it is not so:  
For how ist likely that should want supplies,  
When all we feed it with our weeping eyes.   

Eleg. 28  
May not I liken London now to Troy,  
As she was that same day she lost her Hector?  
When proud Achilles spoiled her of her joy  
(And triumphed on her losses) being victor?  
May not I liken Henry to that Greek,  
That having a whole world unto his share,  
Intended other worlds to go and seek,  
Oh no; I may not, they unworthy are.  
Say, whereto London? whereto then shall I  
Compare that sweet departed Prince, and thee?  
Of him the King bewailed by jeremy,  
And sad Megiddon shall thy pattern be.  
Megiddon said I? rather no Gehinnon,  
For thy greefe's more then that of Hadadrinon.   

Eleg. 29.  
You that beheld it, 
josias.  when the mornfull train  
Past by the wall of his forsaken Park,  
Did not the very grove seem to complain,  
With a still murmur, and to look more dark?  
Did not those pleasant walls (oh pleasing then  
Whilst there he (healthful) used to resort)  
Look like the shades of Death, near some soul den?  
And that place there, where once he kept his Court,  
Did it not at his parting seem to sink?  
And all forsake it like a cave of sprights?  
Did not the earth beneath his Chariot shrink,  
As grieved for the loss of our delights?  
Yea his dumb Steed, that erst for none would tarry,  
Paced slow, as if he scarce himself could carry.   

Eleg. 30.  
But oh! when it approached the'mpaled Court,  
Where Mars himself enuid'e his future glory,  
And whither he in arms did oft resort,  
My heart conceived a right tragic story.  
Wither great Prince, oh whither dost thou go!  
(methought the very place thus seemed to say)  
Why in black robes art thou attended so?  
Do not, (oh do not) make such haste away.  
But art thou Captive, and in triumph too?  
Oh me! and worse too, liveles, breathless, dead.  
How could the monster death this mischief do?  
Surely the coward took thee in thy bed,  
For whilst that thou wert armed within my list,  
He dared not meet thee like a Martialist.   

Eleg. 31.  
Alas, who now shall grace my tournaments:  
Or honour me with deeds of chivalry?  
What shall become of all my merriments,  
My Ceremonies, shows of Heraldry  
And other Rites? who, who shall now adorn  
Thy Sister's Nuptials with so sweet a presence?  
Will't thou forsake us, leave us quite forlorn;  
And of all joy at once make a defeasance?  
Was this the time picked out by destiny?  
Farewell dear Prince then, since thou wilt be gone,  
In spite of death go live eternally,  
Exempt from sorrow, whilst we mortals moon:  
But this ill hap shall teach me for to fear  
When we are joyfull'st, there's most sorrow near.   

Elig. 32  
Then, as he passed along you might espy  
How the grieved vulgar that shed many a tear,  
Cast after, an unwilling parting eye,  
As loath to lose the sight they held so dear;  
When they had lost the figure of thy face  
Then they beheld his robes; his Chariot then;  
Which being hid, their look aimed at the place  
Still longing to behold him once again,  
But when he was quite past, and they could find  
No object to employ their sight upon,  
Sorrow became more busy with the mind,  
And drew an Army of sad passions on;  
Which made them so particularly moon,  
Each amongst thousands seemed as if alone.   

Eleg: 33.  
And well might we of weakest substance melt,  
With tender passion for his timeless end,  
Since (as it seemed) the purer bodies felt  
Some grief, for this their sweet departed friend;  
The Sun wrapped up in clouds of mournful black,  
Frowned as displeased, with such a heinous deed,  
And would have stayed, or turned his horses back,  
If Nature had not forced him on with speed:  
Yea and the Heavens wept a pearly dew,  
Like very tears, not so as if it reigned.  
His grandsire's tombs as if the stones did rue  
Our woeful losses; were with moisture stained:  
Yea (either 'twas my easy mind's belief)  
Or all things were disposed unto grief.   

Eleg. 34  
Black was Whitehall. The windows that did shine,  
And double glazed were with beauties bright,  
Which Sunlike erst did dim the gazer's eyen,  
As if that from within them came the light.  
Those to my thinking seemed nothing fair,  
And were obscured with woe, as they had been  
Hung all with sack or sable-cloth of hair,  
Grief was without, and so't appeared within,  
Great was the multitude, yet quiet though  
As if they were attentive unto sorrow:  
The very winds did then forbear to blow,  
The time of night her stillness seemed to borrow,  
Yea all the troop past slow, as loath to rend  
The earth that should embrace their Lord and friend.   

Eleg. 35.  
Me thought ere while I saw Prince Henry's arms,  
Advanced above the Capitol of Rome,  
And his keine blade, in spite of steel or charms,  
Give many mighty enemies their doom,  
Yea I had many Hopes, but now I see  
they are ordained to be another's task:  
Yet of the Steward's line a branch shall be  
T'advance beyond the Alps his plumed cask,  
Then I perhaps, that now tune doleful lays:  
Amongst their zealous triumphs may presume  
For to indite some petty captains praise,  
Mean while I will some other work assume,  
Or rather since my hopefullest patron's dead,  
Go to some desert and there hide my head.   

Eleg. 36.  
Had he been but my Prince and wanted all  
Those ornaments of Virtue that so graced him,  
My love and life had both been at his call,  
For that his Fortune had above us placed him:  
But his rare hopefulnes, his flying Fame,  
His knowledge, and his honest policy,  
His courage much admired, his very name,  
His public love, and private curiesie:  
Joined with religious fiermnes, might have moved  
Pale Envy to have praised him, and sure he,  
Had he been of mean birth; had been beloved:  
For trust me, his sweet parts so ravished me,  
That (if I err, yet pardon me therefore)  
I loved him as my Prince: as Henry more.   

Eleg. 37.  
Me thought his Royal person did foretell,  
A Kingly stateliness, from all pride clear:  
His look magistick, seemed to compel  
All men to love him rather than to fear.  
And yet though he were every good man's joy,  
And the alone comfort of his own,  
His very name with terror did annoy,  
His foreign foes so far as he was known.  
Hell drooped for fear, the turkey Moon looked pale,  
Spain trembled, and the most tempestuous sea  
(Where Behemoth the Babylonish Whale,  
Keeps all his bloody and imperious plea)  
Was swollen with rage, for fear he'd stop the tide,  
Of her o'erdaring and insulting pride.   

Elegi. 38.  
For amongst divers Virtues rare to find,  
Though many I observed, I marked none more  
Than in Religion his firm constant mind;  
Which I notched deeply on Remembrance score.  
And that made Romists for his fortunes sorry:  
When therefore they shall hear of this ill hap,  
Those Mints of mischieses will extremely glory,  
And it may be 'twas by a Popish trap.  
Yet boast not Babel; thou insultst in vain,  
Thou hast not yet obtained the victory;  
We have a Prince still, and our King doth reign,  
So shall his seed, and their posterity.  
For know; God that that loves his, & their good tenders  
Will never leave his faith, without defenders.   

Eleg. 39  
Amidst our sacred sports, that very season,  
Whilst for our Country and beloved james:  
Preserved from that hellbred powder-treason;  
We rung and sung with shouts, and joyful flames:  
Me thought upon the sudden I espied  
Rome's damned fiends, an antic dance begin:  
The Furies led it that our bliss enui'de,  
And at our rites the hellhounds seemed to grin  
How now thought I! more plots! and with that thought  
Prince Henry; dead, I plainly heard one cry:  
O Lord (quoth I) now they have that they sought,  
Yet let not our gladst-day, our sadst-day die.  
God seemed to hear, for he to ease our sorrow,  
reviv'd that day, to die again the morrow.   

Eleg. 40.  
But Britain, Britain, tell me, O tell me this,  
What was the reason thy chief curse befell  
So just upon the time of thy chief bliss?  
Dost thou not know it? hear me then, I'll tell:  
Thou wert not halfe-halfe thankful for his care  
And mercy that so well preserved thee,  
His own he never did so often spare:  
Yea he thy Lord, himself hath served thee,  
Yet Laodicea thou, nor hot nor cold  
Secure, and careless dost not yet repent,  
Thou wilt be ever overdaring bold:  
Till thou hast vengeance, upon vengeance hent,  
But (oh) see how Hypocrisy doth reign:  
I villain, that am worst, do first complain.   

Eleg. 41.  
A foul consuming Pestilence did waste,  
And lately spoiled thee England to thy terror;  
But now alas, a greater plague thou hast,  
Because in time thou couldst not see thy error.  
Hard Frosts thy fields and Gardens have deflowered,  
Hot Summer hath thy fruits Consumption been,  
Fire many places of thee hath devoured,  
And all forewarnings to repent thy sin.  
Yet still thou didst deferr't and careless sleep,  
Which heaven perceiving with black clouds did frown,  
And into floods for very anger weep,  
Yea the salt Sea, a part of thee did drown.  
She drowned a part (but oh that part was small)  
No tears more salt, have overwhelmed us all.   

Elegi. 42.  
Say why was Henry's Hearse so glorious?  
And his sad Funeral so full of state?  
Why went he to his Tomb as one victorious:  
Seeming as blithe, as when he lived of late?  
What needed all that Ceremonious show?  
And that dead-living Image which they bore?  
Could not Remembrance make us smart enough,  
Unless we did a fresh renew it there?  
What was it, but some antic curious rite,  
Only to feed the vain beholders eyes  
To make men in their sorrows more delight,  
Or may we rather on it moralise?  
Yes, yes, it show'd that though he wanted breath,  
Yet he should ride in triumph over death.   

Eleg. 43.  
How welcome now would our dear Henry be,  
After these griefs were he no more than strayed;  
And thus deemed dead, but fie what Fantasy,  
Feeds my vain thought on? Fate hath that denayed.  
But since he's gone, we now can call to mind,  
His latest words, and whereto they did tend:  
Yea now our blunt capacities can find,  
They plainly did prognosticate his end.  
Beside, we find out Prophecies of old,  
And would persuade ourselves 'twas know of yore  
By skilful wizards: and by them foretold,  
But then why found we not so much before?  
Oh mark this ever, we ne'er know our state,  
Nor see our loss before it be too late.   

Eleg. 44.  
From passion thus, to passion could I run,  
Till I had overrun a world of words,  
My Muse might she be heard would near have done,  
The subject, matter infruit affords.  
But there's a mean in all; with too much grieving  
We must not of God's providence despair  
Like cursed Pagans, or men unbelieving,  
'tis true, the Hopes that we have lost were fair:  
But we beheld him with an outward eye,  
And though he in our sight most worthy seemed,  
Yet God saw more, whose secrets none can spy,  
And finds another whom we less esteemed:  
So Jesse's eldest Sons had most renown,  
But little David did obtain the Crown.   

Eleg. 45.  
Let us our trust alone in God repose,  
Since Princes fail, and maugre Turk or Pope,  
He will provide one that shall quail our foes,  
We saw he did it, when we had less hope:  
Let's place our joys in him and weep for sin,  
Yea let's in him amend it, and foresee,  
(If loss of earthly Hope hath grievous been)  
How great the loss of heavens true joys may be:  
This if we do God will stretch forth his hand,  
To stop these plagues he did intend to bring,  
And power such blessings on this mournful Land,  
We shall for IO, Haleluiah sing,  
And our dear JAMES, if we herein persever,  
Shall have a Son to grace his throne for ever.    

AN EPITAPH UPON THE MOST HOPEFUL AND ALL-VERTVOUS, Henry, Prince of Wales.  

STay travailer, and read; didst never hear  
In all thy journeys any news nor tales,  
Of a great Heros, to the world once dear,  
They called him Henry the brave Prince of Wales?   

Look here, within this little place he lies,  
e'en he that was the Universal Hope:  
And almost made this I'll Idolatrize,  
See, he's contented with a little scope.   

And as the Dane that on Southampton strand, 
Canutus.   
His Courtiers idle flatteries did chide,  
(Who termed him both the God of sea and land)  
By showing he could not command the Tide:   

So this, to mock vain Hopes, in him began  
Died; and here lies, to show he was a man.    

A SUPPOSED INTER-LOCUTION BETWEEN the Spirit of Prince Henry, and great Britain.  Bri. 
Awake brave Prince, thou dost thy country wrong  
Shake off thy slumber, thou hast slept too long,  
Open thy eyelids and raise up thy head,  
Thy Country and thy friends suppose thee dead.  
Look up, look up, the days are grown more short,  
Thy Officers prepare to leave thy Court.  
The stains of sorrow are in every face,  
And Charles is called upon to take thy Place.  
Awake I say in time, awake the rather,  
Lest Melancholy hurt thy Royal Father.  
Thy weeping Mother wails, and wrings her hands,  
Thy Brother, and thy Sister mourning stands;  
The want ' of that sweet company of thine,  
Inly ●orments the loving Prince of Rhine:  
The Beauties of the Court are sullied o'er,  
They seem not cheerful as they did before.  
The heavy Clergy, in their Pulpits mourn,  
And thy Attendants look like men forlorn.  
Once more (I say) sweet Prince once more arise,  
See how the tears have drown my watery eyes,  
All my sweet tunes and former signs of gladness  
Are turned to Elegies and Songs of sadness.  
The Trumpet which still groans makes no rebound,  
And Dump is all the cheerful Drum can sound:  
Thy mournful Wales with doleful rumours rings,  
And Oh Guay Vrimaugh, oh guay urimaugh sings:  
Yea Ireland too, as justly sad as we  
Cries loud Oh hone, oh hone, my Cram a cree.  
But more Rome's Locusts do begin to swarm,  
their courage now with stronger Hopes they arm,  
And taking hold of this thy Trans-mutation,  
Thy plot again to sue for toleration.  
Yea Hell to double this, our sorrows weight  
Is new contriving of old Eighty-eight.  
Come then and stand against it to defend us:  
Or else her guile, her plots, or force will end us.  
This last-last time sweet Prince I bid thee rise,  
My Britain's droop already: each man flies,  
And if thou save us not from our great foes,  
They quickly will effect our overthrows.  
Oh yet he moves not up his living head,  
And now I sear indeed he's dead.  Sp. 
he's dead.  Brit. 
What voice was that, which from the vaulted roof,  
Of my last words did make so plain a proof?  
What was it seemed to speak above me so,  
And says he's dead? waste Echo, yea or no.  Sp. 
no.  Brit. 
What is it some disposed to flout my moan,  
Appear: Hast thou a body, or hast none?  Sp. 
none.  Brit. 
Sure some illusion, oh what art? come hither  
My Prince's ghost, or fiend, or neither.  Sp. 
neither.  Brit. 
Indeed his Ghost in heaven rests I know,  
Art thou some Angel for him, is it so?  Sp. 
so.  Brit. 
Do not my Real griefs with visions feed,  
In earnest speak, art so indeed?  Sp. 
indeed.  Brit. 
What power sent thee now into my Coast,  
Was it my Darling Henry's Ghost?  Sp.'s' 
Ghost.  Brit. 
thouart welcome then, thy presence ' grateful is:  
But tell me, lives he happily in bliss:  Sp. 
ies.  Brit. 
If so much of thee may be understood,  
Is the intent of this thy coming good?  Sparke 
good.  Brit. 
Say, hath he there the Fame that here he had,  
Or doth the place unto his glory add?  Sp. 
add.  Brit. 
May I demand what thy good errants be?  
To whom is that he told to thee?  Sp. 
to thee.  Brit. 
Oh doth he mind me yet, sweet Spirit say,  
What is thy message? I'll obey:  Sp. 
Obey.  Brit. 
I will not to my power one tittle miss,  
Do but command, and say do this:  Sp. 
do this.  Brit. 
But stay, it seems that thou hast made thy choice,  
To speak with Echoes most unperfect voice:  
In Plainer-wise declare why thou art sent,  
That I may hear with more content.  Sp. 
content.  The Spirit leaves his Echo and speaks on. Spirit. 
THen hear me Britain, hear me and believe  
Thy Henry's there now where he cannot grieve.  
He is not subject to the sly invasion  
Of any human, or corrupted Passion.  
For then; (although he sorrow now forbears)  
He would have wept himself, to see thy tears.  
But he; (as good Saints are) of joys partaker,  
Is jealous of the glory of his maker:  
And though the Saints of Rome may take it to them,  
(Much help to their damnation it will do them)  
He will not on his Masters right presume  
Nor his smal'st due unto himself assume.  
And therefore Britain, in the name of God,  
And on the pain of his revengeful rod;  
He here conjures thee in thy tribulation,  
To make to God alone thy invocation:  
Who took him from thee, that but late was living,  
For too much trust, unto his weakness giving.  
Yet callest thou on thy Prince still; as if he,  
Could either Saviour or Redeemer be:  
Thou tell'st him of the wicked Whore of Rome,  
As if that he were judge to give her doom.  
But thou mightst see, were not thy sight so dim  
Thou mak'st meanwhile another Whore of him:  
For what ist for a Creatures aid to cry,  
But spirits whoredom? (that's Idolatry)  
Their most unpleasing breath that so invoke,  
The passage of jehovah's mercies choke:  
And therefore if thy sorrows shall have end,  
To God thou must thy whole devotions bend.  
Then will thy King, that he leave off to Moon  
God hath ta'en His, yet left him more than one.  
And that he hath not so severely done,  
As when he craved the Hebrews only son,  
Because, beside this little blessed store,  
There's yet a possibility of more.  
Go tell the Queen his mother that's lamenting,  
There is no cause of that her discontenting.  
And say there is another in his place,  
Shall do his loving Sisters nuptials grace.  
Inform the Palatine, his Nymph of Thame  
Shall give his glorious Rhine a treble fame,  
But unto Charles, to whom he leaves his place,  
Let this related be in any case.  
Tell him he may a full possession take  
Of what his brother did so late forsake,  
But bid him look what to his place is due,  
And every vice in general eschew:  
Let him consider why he was his Brother,  
And placed above so many thousand other.  
Great honours have great burdens: if y'are high,  
The stricter's your account, and the more nigh:  
Let him shun flatterers at any hand,  
And ever firmly in Religion stand.  
Gird on his sword, call for jehovah's might,  
Keep a good Conscience, fight the Lambs great fight,  
For when his Father shall surrender make,  
The Faith's protection he must undertake.  
Then Charles take heed, for thou shalt hear afar  
Some cry peace, peace, that have their hearts on war.  
Let Policy Religion obey,  
But let not Policy, Religion sway:  
Shut from thy counsels such as have professed  
The worship of that Antichristian beast.  
For howsoe'er they daubed with colours trim,  
Their hands do bear his mark, their heart's on him,  
And though they seem to seek the Commons Weal,  
'tis but the Monsters deadly wound to heal.  
Banish all Romish Statists, do not sup,  
Of that pide-painted Drabs infectious Cup,  
Yea use thy utmost strength, and all thy power  
To scatter them that would build Babel's tower,  
Thou must sometime be judge of equity;  
And oft survey e'en thine own family:  
That at thy table none partaker be,  
That will not at Christ's board partake with thee:  
The Lords great day is near, 'tis near at hand,  
Unto thy combat see thou bravely stand.  
For him that overcomes, Christ keeps a Crown,  
And the great'st Conquest hath the great'st renown.  
Be merciful, and yet in mercy just:  
Chase from thy Court both wantonness and lust:  
Disguised fashions from the Land casheare,  
Women may women; and men men appear.  
The wide-wide mouth of the blasphemer tears  
His passage unto God, through all the Spheres,  
Provoking him, to turn his peaceful word  
Into a bloody double-edged sword:  
But cut his tongue, the Clapper of damnation,  
He may fright others with his Vlulation.  
The Drunkard, and Adulterer, from whence  
Proceeds the cause of dearth and pestilence,  
Punish with loss of substance, and of limb,  
He rather maimed unto Heaven may climb  
Then tumble whole to Hell, and by his sin,  
Endanger the whole state he liveth in:  
Down, down with pride, and overthrow Ambition;  
Grace true devotion, root out superstition,  
Love them that love the Truth, and Virtue graces,  
Let Honesty, not wealth, obtain great places,  
Begin but such a course, and so persever,  
Thou shalt have love here, and true bliss for ever:  
Thus much for thy new Prince; now this to thee,  
Britain; It shall thy charge and duty be,  
To tell him now what thou hast heard me say,  
And when soever he commands, obey:  
So if thou wilt in mind this counsel bear;  
Unto thy state have due regard and care,  
And without stay unto amendment high,  
Thou shalt be dear to those, to whom I fly.  Brit. 
Oh stay, and do not leave me yet alone.  Spi. 
My errant's at an end, I must be gone.  Brit. 
Go then, but let me ask one word before.  Spi. 
My speech now fails, I may discourse no more.  Brit. 
Yet let me crave thus much, if so I may,  
By Echo thou reply to what I say.  Spi. 
Say.  Brit. 
First tell me, for his sake thou countest most dear,  
Is Babbles fall and Jacob's rising near?  Spi. 
Near.  Brit. 
Canst thou declare what day that work shall end,  
Or rather must we yet attend?  Spi. 
Attend.  Brit. 
Some land must yield a Prince, that blow to strike,  
May I be that same land or no, is't like?  Spi. 
Like.  Brit. 
Then therefore 'tis that Rome bear us such spite:  
Is she not not plotting now, to wrong our right:  Sp. 
right  Brit. 
But from her mischiefs and her hands impure  
Cant'st thou our safe deliverance assure?  Spi. 
sure.  Brit. 
Then notwithstanding this late loss befell,  
And we feared much, I trust 'tis well.  Spi. 
'tis well.  Brit. 
Then fly thou to thy place, if this be true,  
Thou God be praised, and Griefs adieu.  Spi. 
Adieu.   

A Sonnet of Death, composed in Latin Rhymes, and Paraphrastically translated into the same kind of verse, both, by the former Author.  

Heûs' heûs, Mors percutit, & importuné,  
Quam nu nquam praeterit ullus impuné.  
Abite Medici, non est sanabile  
Hoc Vulnus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; sed incurabile.   

Hark, hark, Death knocks us up, with importunity,  
there's none shall ever make boast of impunity.  
The Doctor toils in vain, man's life's not durable,  
No medicine can prevail, this wound's incurable:   

Quid picti dominûm prosunt favores?  
Ficti quid Hominum iwant amores?  
Nec mundi vanit as, nec Pompa Curiae,  
Potest resistere Mortis iniuriae.   

What will the countenance of Lords, or Noblemen  
Or idle people's love, help or avail thee then?  
Nor worlds bravery, nor yet Court vanity,  
Can stay this Monster's hand, foe to humanity.   

Non Cur at splendidum, nec Venerabile;  
Nec pectus candidum quamvis amabile:  
Decumbunt Principes iniquo vulnere,  
Heu par cit nemini, quin stravit pulvere.   

He knows no reverence, nor cares for any state,  
Sweet beauties move him not, though ne'er so delicate,  
Princes must sto open to him, he rides on martially,  
And spares not any man, but strikes impartially.   

Mercede divitis nil morat Cupidi,  
Nec prece pauperit (si or at) miseri,  
Et frustra fallere tentas ingenio.  
Surda Rethorici Mors est eloquio.   

The rich-man's money-bagges are no persuasion,  
The beggars woeful cry, stirs up no passion,  
He'll not beguiled be, by any fallacy,  
Nor yield to Rhetoric, Wit, Art, nor Policy.   

Aspectu Pallida, vultu terribilis;  
Est tamen valida, Mors invincibilis:  
Et sum as tibias (necest formalis)  
Vir omnis sequitur, si sit mortalis.   

His looks both pale and wan, yet doth it terrify,  
He masters any man (alas what remedy)  
He's nothing curious which way the measures be,  
But all dance after him, that hear his melody.   

At oh! oh horrida, laetans necando,  
Ruit incognita; non scimus quando:  
Et statim perdîtur, haec mundigloria  
Vita sic fragilis, sic transitoria.   

But woe! of all the rest this seems most terrible,  
He comes when we know least, and then, invisible,  
Then quite there endeth, all worldly prosperity,  
Such is this life's estate, such his severity.   

Ergo vos incolae, terrarum timidi,  
Este solicits, vos, oh vos miseri!  
Sic quamuis subita, haec écarnalibus,  
Reddet vos similes, dijs immortalibus.   

Then oh you wretched men, since this is evident,  
See you more careful be, oh be more provident,  
And when he takes this life, full of incertainty;  
●ou shall live ever more to all eternity.   
FINIS.