DEATH REPEALED BY A THANKFUL MEMORIAL Sent from  in OXFORD, CELEBRATING THE NOBLE DESERTS OF the Right Honourable, PAUL, Late Lord VIS-COUNT BAYNING of SUDBURY. Who changed his Earthly Honours june the 11. 1638.  
OXFORD, Printed by Leonard Lichfield Printer to the University, for Francis Bowman. M. D.C.XXXVIII.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY PENELOPE DOWAGER of the late VIS-COUNT BAYNING.  

GREAT Lady, Humble partners of like grief  
In bringing Comfort may deserve belief,  
Because they Feel, and Feign not: Thus we say  
Unto Ourselves, Lord Bayning, though away,  
Is still of Christ-Church; somewhat out of sight,  
As when he travelled, or did bid good night,  
And was not seen long after; now he stands  
Removed in Worlds, as heretofore in Lands;  
But is not Lost. The spite of Death can never  
Divide the Christian, though the Man it sever.   

The like we say to You: He's still at home,  
Though out of reach; as in some upper room,  
Or study: for His Place is very high,  
His Thought is Vision; now most properly  
Returned he's Yours as sure, as e'er hath been  
The jewel in Your Cask, safe though unseen.   

You know that Friends have Ears as well as Eyes,  
We Hear, he's well and Living, that Well dies.    


ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD VISCOUNT BAYNING.  

THough after Death, Thanks lessen into Praise,  
And Worthies be not crowned with gold, but bays;  
Shall we not thank? To praise Thee all agree;  
We Debtors must out do it, hearty.  
Deserved Nobility of True Descent,  
Though not so Old in Thee grew Ancient:  
We number not the Tree of Branched Birth,  
But Genealogy of Virtue, spreading forth  
To many births in value. Piety,  
True Valour, Bounty, Meekness, Modesty,  
These noble offsprings swell Thy Name as much,  
As Richards, Edward's, three, four, twenty such:  
For in thy Person's lineage surnamed are  
The great, the good, the wise, the just, the fair.  
One of these styles innobles a whole stem;  
If all be found in One, what race like Him!  
Long stairs of birth, unless they likewise grow  
To higher virtue, must descend more low.  
When water comes through numerous veins of lead,  
'Tis water still; Thy blood from One pipes head  
Grew Aquavitae straight, with spirits filled,  
As not traduced, but raised, sublimed, distilled.  
Nobility fare spread, I may behold,  
Like the expanded sky, or dissolved gold,  
Much rarified; I see't contracted here  
Into a star, the strength of all the sphere;  
Extracted like th' Exlixir from the Mine,  
And heightened so, that 'tis too soon divine.   

Divinity continues not beneath;  
Alas nor He: But though He pass by death,  
He that for many lived, gains many lives  
After he's dead: Each friend, and servant strives  
To give him breath in praise; this Hospital,  
That Prison, College, Church, must needs recall  
To mind their Patron; whose rich legacies  
In foreign lands, and under other skies  
To them assigned, show that his heart did even  
In France love England, as in England Heaven.  
Heaven well perceived this double pious love,  
Both to his Country here, and that above:  
Therefore the day, that saw Him landed here,  
Hath seen him landed in his Haven there;  
The selfsame day (but two years interposed)  
Saw Sun and Him round shining twice and closed.   

No Citizen so covetous could be  
Of getting wealth, as of bestowing, He;  
His Body, and Estate went as they came,  
Stripped of Appendix Both, and left the same  
But in th' Original; Necessity  
Devested one, the other Charity.  
It cost him more to clothe his soul in death,  
Then e'er to clothe his flesh for short-lived breath;  
And whereas Laws exact from Niggard's dead  
A Portion for the Poor, they now are said  
To moderate His bounty: never such  
Was known but once, that men should give too much:  
A Tabernacle than was built, and now  
The like in heaven is purchased: Learn you how;  
Partly by building Men, and partly by  
Erecting walls, by newfound Chemistry,  
Turning of Gold to Stones. Our Christ-Church Pile,  
Great henry's monument, shall grow a while  
With Bayning's Treasure; who away hath took,  
Like those at Westminster, to fill a nook  
'Mongst beds of Kings. Thus speak, speak while we may  
For Stones will speak when We are hushed in Clay.   
W. STRODE D.D. Canon of Ch. ●.   


In obitum Illustrissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING  
QVid voveat dulci nutricula majus Alumno,  
Quam bona Fortunae, Corporis, atque Animi?  
En haec Heroe hoc simul omnia; quid petat ultra?  
Quid potius? Coelum: quod novus hospes habet.   

The same Englished.  
Can Nurse choose in her sweet babe more to find,  
Then goods of Fortune, Body, and of Mind?  
Lo here at once all this: what greater bliss  
Canst hope or wish? Heaven; why there he is.   
ROB. BURTON. of Ch. Ch.   

On the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  

SO when an hasty vigour doth disclose  
An early flame in the more forward Rose,  
That Rareness doth destroy it: Wonders own  
This to themselves still, that they cannot grow.  
Such Ripeness was His Fate: Thus to appear  
At first, was not hereafter to stay here.  
Who thither first steps, whither others tend,  
When He sets forth is at the journey's end.   

But as Short things most vigour have, and we  
Find Force the Recompense of Brevity;  
So was it here: compactedness gave Strength,  
The Life was Close, though not spun out at Length.  
Nothing lay idle in't: Experience Rules,  
Men strengthened Books, & Cities seasoned Schools.   

Nor did he issue forth to come Home thence  
(As some) less Man, than they go out from hence:  
Who think new Air new Vices may create,  
And stamp Sin Lawful in Another State;  
Who make Exotic Customs Native Arts,  
And Lose Italian Vices English Parts:  
He naturalised Perfections only; gained  
A round and solid mind, severely trained,  
And managed his desires; brought oft checked Sense  
Unto the sway of, Reason coming thence  
His own acquaintance, mortgaged unto none,  
But was himself His own possession.  
Thus stars by journeying still, gain, and dispense,  
Drawing at once, and shedding influence:  
Thus Spheres by Regular Motion do increase  
Their Tunes, and bring their Discords into Peace.   

Hence knew He his own value, ne'er put forth  
Honour for Merit; Power instead of Worth:  
Nor, when He poized himself, would He prevail  
By Wealth, and make his Manors turn the scale.  
Desert was only balanced; nor could we  
Say my Lord's Rents were only Weight, not He:  
Only one slight he had; from being Small  
Unto himself, He came Great unto all:  
But Great by no man's Ruin: For who will  
Say that his Seat e'er made the next Seat ill?  
No Neighb'ring-village was unpeopled here  
'Cause it durst bound a Noble Eye too near.  
Who could  say my Lord, and the next Marsh  
Made frequent Herriots? or that any harsh  
Oppressive usage made Young Lives soon fall?  
Or who could His seven thou and bad Air call?  
He blessings shed: Men knew not to whom more,  
The Sun, or Him, they might impute their store.  
No rude exaction, or licentious times  
Made his Revenues Others, or His Crimes:  
Nor are his Legacies poore-mens' present tears,  
Or do they for the future raise their fears.  
No such contrivance here as to profess  
Bounty, and with Large Miseries feed the Less;  
Fat some with their own alms; bestow, and pill;  
And Common Hunger's with Great Famines fill,  
Making an Hundred Wretches endow Ten,  
Taking the Field, and giving a Sheafe then:  
As Robbers, whom they spoil, perhaps will lend  
Small sums to help them to their journey's end.  
All was untainted here, and th' Author such,  
That every gift from Him grew twice as much.   

We, who erewhile did boast his presence, do  
Now boast a second grace, his bounty too;  
Bounty, was judgement here: for he bestows  
Not who disperseth, but who gives and knows.  
And what more wise design, then to renew,  
And dress the breast, from which he knowledge drew!  
Thus pious men, ere their departure, first  
Would crown the fountain which had quenched their thirst.  
Hence strive we all his memory to engross,  
Our Common Love before, but now Our Loss.   
W. CARTWRIGHT of Ch. Ch.   

Upon the Death of the Right Honourable, the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  

O Had He been at Rome again, for there  
The Mercy of his Sickness did him spare;  
Acknowledging this Law, that 'tis but just  
The place which gave him breath, should make him dust:  
That as we have a Native soil, so we  
Ought not to bear Foreign Mortality.  
Though He was only distant then from's grave  
Some store of Miles, not Years, and we can have  
No worse than Absence, whether in the Tomb  
He lie, or in a Climate live from home:  
Yet had He been, though from ourselves, removed  
To any distance, if from death bestowed,  
We would have buried Envy, been content  
His presence was to any people lent,  
Been glad some time was still to come, though small,  
And could not long rejourne his funeral.   

Death now came Hasty on him, and so quick,  
He searce had leave or time for to grow sick,  
But died almost in Health, and you may please  
To call his very life his chief disease.  
The Urn may triumph that the fatal dart  
Hath won the spoil alone, without the Art  
Or learned help of Physic, not a Grain  
Or curious scruple from the Doctortane  
Made up a skilful wound, but he did dye  
By the rude stroke of plain Mortality:  
Which was not give●…●…en his hair turned frost,  
And wore the colour which his Ashes must;  
When all his Youth and Beauty were so spent,  
That Age had made him his own Monument;  
When it might be Humanity to kill,  
And the most deadly Drug might prove goodwill:  
But in a Spring of fresh and active Blood,  
When there was nothing old in Him, but Good;  
He had Grey virtues, and by view of's mind  
Not years, he was so soon to heaven designed.  
He who saw that, could see He lived his Age  
Of fourscore, made his Race a Pilgrimage.   

And still he lives, and from his latest night  
Breaks out unto the world a glorious light,  
Getting this conquest over death, that He  
Was snatched away in's Liberality,  
In's Piety to build, and care to frame  
Such sumptuous Trophies as will save his name.  
Had he one vacant hour from Bounty spent,  
And in that hour unto his grave been sent;  
IT had been less glory to his Fall, to dye  
Just in the sleeping of his Charity:  
But to be caught in Good, in Virtue struck,  
Made him Triumphant ere He earth forsaken.  
So did the stout Athenian stand in Death,  
Rearing his Statue while he lost his Breath.   
I. MAPPLET of Ch. Ch.   

To the memory of the Honourable Lord BAYNING.  

Forbear ye whining Wits to rail at Fate  
In viler terms than Scolds at Billingsgate:  
Nor brand poor Death with base Epithets  
Than Textor has when of the Devil he writes:  
All such ill-sounding Dirges ye can have  
Are but as Mandrakes planted on his grave.  
Your tears are now ridiculous; were I  
A Poet, I would write Death's Elegy.  
She here was just, and courteous; Suppole  
We should in january see a Rose  
Full blown, would we not pull't, and think it worth  
Myriads of those that May or june brings forth?  
This early fruitful Flower being ripe i'th' Spring  
Was a fit Present for our Sovereign's King.  
Should she have left it for the Summer's Fly,  
Or Autumn's Worm, it had been ill housewifery:  
She cropped it suddenly, and was as nice  
In killing Him, as Priests a Sacrifice.  
Lest any bruise should happen, 'twas her strife  
To cut, and not saw off his thread of life.  
She knew he was prepared, and therefore sent  
No Gout to tell him that he must repent.  
A tedious sickness had his Friends more grieved;  
He than had longer died, not longer lived.  
We judge a Keeper dull and hard of heart,  
That wounds the timorous Dear in every part.  
He doth in Skill and Courtesy excel,  
That kills not hurts, and makes his Prey die Well.  
Death's quicker blow did then no injury,  
But that it hindered Doctors of a Fee.  
There's none will curse a wind cause it doth send  
Their ship too soon unto the journey's end.  
Do any travelers think their Horse's sin,  
Unless they bring them Late unto their Inn?  
He now a Voyage took; He that did go  
To France and Rome, must needs see Heaven too.  
What would you say of him that went about  
To see all England, and left London out!  
'Twas for His Glory that He died so soon;  
Should He have lingered till his afternoon,  
We had suspected Him of grosser blood;  
By short continuance we judge things Good:  
A fine pure silken vesture cannot wear  
So long as garments weaved of hemp or hair.  
By this his early fall He did present  
The Gods with a perfume of sweeter sent.  
Tapers that burn and languish till they come  
To th'socket, leave ill odours in the room.  
Lords count it a disparagement, if they  
Should not have suits which seem new every day.  
Had it not injured his high Soul to wear  
His Body till the flesh had looked threadbare?  
Seeing he died so Young, it may be said  
That he's transplanted rather then decayed:  
By his fresh looks, and his fair youthful chin  
We may believe he's made a Cherubin.  
Those than that wet his Hearse, and vainly Cry,  
Not Mourn, but Pine at His Eternity.  
Envy that here still followed Him, is made  
After His death, the shadow of His shade.   

Whilst others studied how to lose their time,  
Thinking that Logic would their Birth beslime,  
As if it were Gentile not to Dispute;  
It was his chief ambition to confute;  
Who not alone aimed to deserve his Grace,  
But seemed by pains to wish a Students place.  
Though Heralds did to Him great Names afford,  
He heard Sir BAYNING sooner than My Lord.  
Lest the proud noise of Titles might begin  
Thoughts that might swell His Plenty into sin,  
Arts and Religion gnarded them; He knew  
His Fortunes were but Crimes, without these two;  
And in a noble scorn disdained to spell  
The Lord i'th' Scutcheon more than Chronicle.  
His Pride was to be Eloquent, and Able  
As is Our Dorset at the Council-table.  
He knew unless a bright Retinue come  
Of Virtues too, Man's but a glorious Tomb,  
Carved over with names of Honour, which may win  
The eyes applause, but is but Stench within.   

Did you but read his Will you'd think that He  
Had been a Reverend Bishop; Lords there be  
That falling in their youth bequeath alone  
Their Bodies to our Churches, not a Stone,  
Unless for their Gwn Tomb; 'twas His high care  
They should his Lands as well as Carcase share.   

As if he meant each place his Heir should be,  
He blessed the Prisons with his Charity.  
jails are now Hospitals; to some 'twill be  
Not to be bailed or freed, a courtesy.  
His Gifts will still the Newgate Cries; we shall  
Hear the caged Birds hereafter sing, not ball.   

Much do we owe to him besides that Plate,  
Which is when full of fragments full of State:  
The Knife and Voider's such that to a Guest  
Taking away is as a second feast.   

But the Example of his Life will be  
To after times the richest Legacy.   
R. WEST of Ch. Ch.   

To the Lady BAYNING.  

PArdon our Bold Tears, Madam, that we do  
Presume to join ourselves Mourners with You.  
Grief is no Herald; there's no Rule in Moans,  
We never stand on Titles in our Groans.  
Manners and Compliment we prise the less,  
Where a Confused sad Grief is the best dress:  
Yet we do hope You will no Censure make,  
And Tears swollen up with Grief for Pride mistake;  
Nor call our sighs to th'Court of Honour, we  
Do not lament for the Brave Company.  
Where our own loss prompts us, you need not fear  
Rivals in plaints, as jealous of each Tear.  
We all enjoyed so much of Him, we dare  
Allow You but a Part, and Common share:  
His Goodness was so much diffused, we do  
Think we might love him without wrong to You.   

May we not think him now but crossed the Seas,  
And count His Death 'mong other Voyages?  
Sure, as no Land he here did travel o'er  
But what in's Study He had passed before,  
And first knew France and Spain in England, ere  
He was a Witness of their Actions there;  
So was his pure Refined soul we know  
So well acquainted with the place it now  
More fully dwells in, it may be truly said  
He had been much in Heavn'n ere he was Dead.   

But this doth only cheat our Grief, the main  
Comfort's our Hope to see him here again,  
In that brave offspring which your Blood yet keeps  
Alive in memory of Him that sleeps.  
Which when you shall give Birth to, He being gone  
We all will count his Resurrection.   
ROB. MEADE Ch. Ch.   

On the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  
When Titles fall, and Death ambitious how  
To raise his Triumph, makes some great one bow,  
Not Cadmus' teeth could half so soon infuse  
A soul, as can Their dust inspire a Muse;  
Whiles death enlivens death, and most wits have  
Their Resurrection from another's Grave:  
Nor were the wonder strange thus to behold  
Our Ice inflamed, our Heat spring out of Cold,  
Did all like BAYNING dye; did every Lord  
More grief for Virtue lost, than State afford,  
How might bad verses be excused, when we  
Found all writ truth, no other Poetry;  
When height of Fancy left Expression weak,  
Not able to Begin, much less to Speak  
And tell to th'full, that hence what's e'er called verse,  
Will be but Tribute due to this Man's hearse?  
Such was thy worth; whose dawning proved that Light  
Which aged beams send forth, to Thine true night:  
Whose Pastime spent in Oxford (for what more  
Is it for Noblemen to turn Books over?)  
Proved Serious Play: True Honour does know how  
To Rise to Virtue, not make Virtue Bow.  
This Gained Him Reverence, Young: Receiving, He  
Gave to th'University a degree:  
Thus Blossomed in his Bud, thus early wise  
Grown now the joy, not Envy of men's eyes:  
Travel's His Choice, not Refuge; unlike those  
Who what they want at Home, Abroad disclose,  
Passing this Country to shun that; thus round  
Spend all their Own to outrun Foreign ground.  
Lustre went with Him, and whiles He did pass,  
That place was thought worth seeing where He was.  
Rome entertained Him, which you then might call  
The world's Head justly, when the Cardinal  
Enriched by's Presents, found his Honour more  
By what He added to his Princely store.  
Thus big with foreign Praises, he's come home,  
But all was only here to find a Tomb:  
Where we must let him rest, thus good, thus young;  
For too much grief would do His Virtue's wrong;  
Whose Morn though clouded, see's His hastened years  
Extended to their full in his Friends Tears.  
H. GRESLEY of Ch. Ch.   

On the Death of the Lord BAYNING.  

'TIs not ambition draws my juycelesse pen  
Thus to distil a Poem; 'mongst such Men,  
Or rather Gods of Poetry 'tis Pride  
To come behind, Duty to be descried  
I'th' list of Them; beside I think't not fit  
To raise a fire where floods of tears should meet;  
And Poëtry's a fire: but my Muse fears  
A kindling from this urn, lest drowned with tears  
It quickly turn to ashes, and there be  
Not a spark left to weep an elegy.   

Yet this, Great BAYNING'S dead! That's all I have  
Or can speak: Silence best becomes the Grave.  
Yet this again, Whilst with us here He strived  
To outdo Goodness, Bounty, All, He lived  
His Character; who in his carriage than  
Showed of himself that, which no Poet can:  
Who with his rarest art, and choicest quill  
Must serve here only to express him ill.  
He was so pure, so spotless, so refined,  
I took Him for some Angel, Soul, or Mind,  
And think it no hyperbole to call  
As others From, To heaven this Angels Fall.  
I dare not write an Epitaph, for fear  
The Urn devour my Verse, being so near.  
Yet thus much to their Honours at the Court,  
(Two losses being known) I dare report,  
(And 'tis no treason, these great names being read,  
Herbert, and Bayning,) That all Virtues dead.   
T. D. of Ch. Ch.   

Upon the Death of the Lord BAYNING.  
MOst sacred hearse, let it no sin appear,  
If I upon thy Urn do weep one tear!  
I must vent out my sighs, it cannot be  
A loss to us, to th' University,  
Nay the whole Nation too, should slightly pass  
With this memorial only, that He was:  
Whilst virtue shall be talked of, till we shall  
See nought that's good, thy memory cannot fall.  
If e'er we shall of some Utopian hair  
That never knew rash boldness, or cold fear,  
No riot, no injustice, no excess,  
Nor want, but all things in just perfectness,  
Actions so ruled by prudence, and so all  
As if his Virtues too were Natural:  
Then we shall think on BAYNING, swear that He,  
That wrote it, meant it for His History,  
Proper to Him: Whose Life was such, we can  
Scarce judge by which He greater Glory won,  
His Actions, or His Studies: what the Sage  
Appropriate to the Wrinkle, and Old Age,  
Knowledge, He compassed in His Smother Days,  
And did Green Passions up to Wisdom raise.  
Learning He thought no Burden, or to know  
In Theoric Virtues which He meant to show;  
Nor took't a Blemish to Nobility,  
To have a scholar's merited Degree,  
Esteemed it not sufficient to hear  
Complete at home, and move but in one Sphere:  
This Nation's too Contract; He does go o'er  
Laden with Virtues to a Foreign Shore,  
Not to exchange for Vice, or leave behind  
To them the qualities of His Virtuous Mind;  
As if He could no Traveller appear,  
If He returned the same man He was here:  
But He adds to it all the good France can  
Call Proper Hers, all the Italian,  
Which without Stay so easily He could,  
As if He were by Inspiration good.  
To them He seemed a Native, they would sweat  
He never was in any part but there:  
He was so perfect without travel, we  
In Him both Kingdom's Virtue here did see.  
Thus fully furnished with all nature's dowry,  
With Art, Experience, and Uertue's Power.  
We saw him flourishing, but nature here  
Gins her bounty quite exhaust to fear;  
And being of her lavish store now dry,  
She cuts Him down full in Felicity.  
Thus the best Fruits just ripe are cropped, although  
Without corruption they might longer grow.  
But let this serve to stop our flowing tears,  
That he died Full: Age is not Numerous years;  
Nor are they only Old that longest live,  
Perfection and Virtue Fullness give.  
THO. ISHAM of Ch. Ch.   

Upon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  

TO weep one Great and Good, t'adorn his Hearse  
Whose Life was above Chronicle, or Verse,  
Requireth those, whose fancies could create  
A subject like to Him, as Good, and Great.  
These Lines (alas!) they are not meant to give  
Life to that Name, by which themselves must live:  
That Name, Which doth employ each tongue, each Quill  
To sing His Praises, writ his Chronicle.  
BAYNING! Whose very sound perfumes the Air,  
Commands a Reverence, and a listening ear.   

Books were a Guide t' his Youth, and Company;  
He thought of them with greater Charity  
Than those, who think them fit to entertain  
Only the hours of a hot Sun, or Raine.  
When He perused great Acts of History,  
His large thoughts did suggest them Prophecy,  
And Types of Him: when He the Virtue's read,  
And saw himself transcribed, and copied,  
He with a modesty admired to find  
Men so familiar with His Thoughts and Mind.   

Seasoned, and ballasted with these, He then,  
Leaving our Athens, went to study Men.  
Not like to those who travel to bring home  
A Fashion, or to say they have seen Rome;  
But to observe each State and Policy,  
T'enrich his Mind, more than Geography.   

And now returned home, when he begun  
To practise here each Observation,  
While we behold Europe's Epitome  
Of Men in Him, of States in's Family,  
While Charles expects his aid, the Realm no less,  
Death stops his Glory, and our Happiness,  
But Good Men have lived long when  Fates come:  
Their Age by Virtues, not by Years we sum,   
SAM JACKSON of Ch. C   

Upon the Death of the honourable Lord Viscount BAYNING.  
GReat Lord of Ghosts, we sigh not out Thy Fall,  
As only Thine, But th' Muse's Funeral:  
We weep our College second Ruins; and  
May Question chief Death's erroneous Hand,  
That yet we boast Intents alone, an Heap,  
And Breaches, only not entitled cheap,  
That Those who entering Srangers, here would look,  
Do Pass ours, as a College but mistook:  
Yet Orphan-like weare not bereft of All,  
The same that wail, share too Thy hastened Fall;  
Thy Piles bequeathed yet, which shall firm and safe  
With Wolsey's stand thy larger Epitaph.  
But we not miss His Gifts alone, nor weep  
Mercy and Bounty only fallen asleep;  
We boast no Scutcheons, nor admire Thy Blood,  
(Great Soul) but best descent by Learning Good,  
Though Noble, mourning not the Loss of Thee,  
As of a man but University:  
Who graced our Schools with a Degree; All Parts  
Arrived, A Breathing System of the Arts.  
Not like our Silken Heirs, who only bound  
Their knowledge in the Sphere of Hawk or Hound,  
And, there confined, limit their scant disourse,  
Know more the Vaulting then the Muse's Horse:  
Who if They rescue Time from Cards or Dice  
To Lance or Sharpes, or some such manly Prize,  
Advance Their Lineage, raise Their Stock, if They  
But more severely lose the Precious Day.  
He could unriddle each Schoole-knot, untie  
All, but Death's sad contrived Fallacy:  
For th' Stroke was Project Here, no Siege, no Art  
Of lingering Death, or Preface to His Dart;  
No tedious knotty Gout, or feverish Drought  
But all as Soft and Peaceful as His Youth:  
He only slept in Hast, as if to Die  
Had no Departure been, but Ecstasy:  
So gliding we descry a starry Ball,  
Which f●om it's Sphere doth rather Shoot, then Fal.  
Yet Thy short Thread we'll not revile, nor vex  
'Cause The art not imaged in the Nobler Sex;  
For such Transcriptions we'll not anxious be,  
Where we discover full Maturity:  
Ripened for Death Thou art Deceased, not Killed,  
Nor is Thy great Name Perished, but Fulfilled.  
For what can add unto the justest Height,  
Who Hopes increase to glory's perfect Weight,  
To Him that had surveyed all Foreign parts,  
Extracting not Their Vices, but Their Arts?  
Th' Italian Brain, not Heat, was skilled from Rhine  
In Their exactest Manners, not Their Vine.  
Their Deepest Mysteries did only reach,  
And Had more Languages, than others teach?  
All Worth His Eye He viewed, that such a Fall  
Might share a sorrow Epidemical,  
FRAN. POWELL of Ch. Ch.   

Upon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  

DEath's Chambers are enriched, and we may say  
He did not Kill, but Stole This Prize away.  
For th'now pale Mansion, where his Soul abode  
Does make the Coffin precious by its Load:  
Yet that was but His Dross; search, you will find  
Him at Fifteen a Sophy; 's Nonage Mind  
Made the Schools boast Him Graduate; and's Wit  
Writ Him th' revived refined Stagerite.  
And lest the Sophisters might err in this,  
Granted Platonic Metempseuchosis;  
And did conclude, Maugre their Brains and Books,  
Arts do not always lie in ill-faced looks;  
And th'totred Gown no longer now should be  
Held for an Emblem of Philosophy.  
He did adorn the Scarlet which he wore;  
And made them Robes which were but Cloth before:  
Titles were truths in him; Young, Fair, Rich, Learned  
No compliments, but Purchase, truly earned:  
No Would-be-Wits maintained He at His Board,  
Nought was in him suspicious but The Lord:  
Yet no Brains clothed, or Fancy fed Him; He  
Rich in Estate, as Ingenuity:  
And might have (without doubt of missing it,)  
Petitioned for th' Monopoly of Wit:   

To this vast mass of Wealth He had assigned  
As ample thoughts; no narrow, griping Mind,  
Mansions by Industry composed, not Hands  
He fed on; and devoured His Books, not Lands.  
To whose large Gifts we of this place must owe;  
Since that He thought His Own He did bestow.  
Thy Volumes named Our Library, and We  
As well for Stones as Books indebted be.  
For though no Founder of the place, yet must  
We say, thou rays'dst our Buildings out o'th' Dust;  
Thou didst bequeath 'em Their Nativity;  
And they do Glory Their New-Birth from Thee.  
Thus liv'st Thou, Maugre Fate; Thy better Parts  
Survive thus in our Memories, and Hearts:  
Nor needest Thou claim statued Antiquity;  
Virtue Perpetuates Thy Nobility.  
Since we may Date, from thy Departure hence,  
The Dearth of Merit and Benevolence.   
Tho. NORGATE of Ch. Ch.   

On the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  

SO sets the Sun, when straight there doth ensue  
On the forsaken plants a Pensive Dew:  
And so they hang their heads as we, the fall  
O'th' Sun and BAYNING are Griefs General.   

There were some comfort yet in Tears could we  
But mourn our Loss in worthy lines, like Thee;  
Can we, by what we writ, to celebrate  
Thy Name to Life, rescue Our Own from fate.  
But we (alas) o'ercome with Lustre, do  
Only a proud and solemn weakness show.  
And some who knew Thee better sure will raise  
A Loving well-meant Libel from our praise.   

To speak one Good as Noble, Rich as Free,  
Were but to cloud Thy worth, and conceal Thee:  
To write Thy painful Study's, Learning's store  
Were wrong, these had been virtues in the Poor.  
So many numerous Paths of Praise we find,  
Tread which we will we leave the Best behind:  
We cannot Praise, nor Thank enough, the store  
Of Gifts thou hast bequeathed us makes us Poor.  
Yet when our Ruins shall be raised (which we  
May Hope for now, thriving so well by Thee)  
Each Stone Thy Bounty lays there shall become  
A better Monument than a Costly Tomb.   
R. DAY of Ch. Ch.   

Illustrissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING fato immaturo functi P. M. S.  
SIc dum secundus Penelope Canitur Hymenaeus,  
Emensosque iam errores iteratae quasi Nuptiae coronant,  
Redux Maritus Evanescit;  
Vxorque, Virum Saevas narrantem Vias  
Dum per Oscula liberare gestit,  
Quaerit quem labris premat:  
Ita vel Coniugis vice Coniugis Vmbram accepisse putemus,  
Vel si Coniugem, ideò tantum ut bis vidua esset.  
Gaudemus tamen quod Mitior Pelagi Deus  
Amplexandum nobis paulisper Corpus indulserit;  
Multumque Vndis debemus,  
Quod non inane Sepulchrum, & solum titulum lugeamus.  
Te sub undis labente  
Novum stupescens Terra sensisset Diem:  
Nam debitos Phaebo sinus, & facilem thorum  
Delusa Thetis Occidenti praebuisset Tibi,  
Pulsusque Titan etiam noctu sydera fugasset.  
At O Natura!  
Fatisve subij cis exemplaria Tua?  
Mortique ius facis in Archetypos vultu●…  
Molimini certè tuo tam elaborato,  
Hoc saltem indere debuisses, non potuisse Senesere.  
Quis iam,  
Quis, precor, Aromatum vice Opera disperget?  
Novumque Aulicos luxum edocebit,  
Boni Nominis Vnguentum?  
Quem non unius Artis Praesidem,  
Ita Philosophantem audivimus,  
Quasi Vicecomitis Praerogatiuâ etiam literis imperaret.  
Hoc Tu testeris, Roma,  
Quae, accedente ipso, Bodleianan in Vaticanâ senseris,  
Mobilemque Oxoniam obstupueris.  
Sed quàm improvidus noster dolor,  
Qui eodem flumine iam rogum deflet Tuum,  
Quo olim discessum?  
 non solenniori pompâ stipatus sis moriens,  
Quàm itinerans olim processeras!  
Parcas tamen  
Cum eò dignior evadas quia non velut Defunctus lugearis,  
Credimus enim Tepostrevisum Orbem Nostrum  
jam tantùm Polos Peragrare,  
Et nunc etiam iterfacere;  
Non tam Mortem obiens, quam Legationem.  
F. PALMER ex Aed. Ch.   

In obitum Illustrissimi Vice-comitis BAYNING.  

ERgone tam subitâ potuit vice lenior Aura  
Turbinis isse vias, & ruptâ Flaminis irâ  
In rapidos crevisse Imbres, & Grandinis instar,  
Praecipitasse Ictus? vel, quas modò Straverat undas,  
Insanire jubet? Nostri haec Emblemata Morbi  
Praeripiunt Loeto lacrymas: dum fortior Aetas  
(Furtivos simulans risus, & picta futuri  
Gaudia sola Mali,) Fato contermina, ocellos  
Vix aptos lugere, docet; fluctusque serenâ  
Mente rotat: tantos (placidae Fastidia vitae)  
Eructat teneros gemitus, adeoque fatigat  
Corpus, ut Ipsa salus sit tantùm Aenigma malorum.   

Sic Tumidum in sudo Neptunum vidimus: uno  
Saltant Corda joco, quo consternata recumbunt:  
Sic tremulam innocuâ cingit vertigine flammam,  
Dum quo Musca prius lusit, iam conditur Igne.   

Quid tamen (in Metâ labor est) torquemur euntes?  
Instruimusque●…ovas diris Ambagibus Vrnas?  
Mortuus est:— utinam sacrum fas dicere Nomen!  
Siste tamen Gemitus, fas est & dicere Nomen,  
Syllaba si gemitu magè flebilis impleat Aures;  
Si quicquam emittas praeter suspiria, Bayning  
Qui recitare potest, Luctus sacrata reponit  
juramenta sui, Nostraeque est Persidus Irae.  
Sic geminus, Monumenta viri, Monumenta revuisi  
Nominis, Horror habet; nisi quae meliore quiescant  
Vxoris tumulata sinu; nisi Praescius Infans  
justior erumpat Tumuli vindicta Paterni.   

Quid minuam, Narrando, Virum? faecundaque certen  
Gramina nativis pinxisse coloribus? Illi  
Debetur tantum vitae descriptio, cuius  
Vita minus Meritis redolet, quam Funus Odore:  
Cuius Fama levis (patitur dum fata sepulchrum)  
Interitu brevior, Tumuloque angustior ipso est.   

jam morbo praerepta suo pia Fragmina vocis  
Exaudire iuvat, sacro quae Prodiga Luxa  
Muner a donârunt; Nudi ut ditescere possint:  
Quae miranda magis, Plenas has Divitis ora  
Degustâre Manus; hinc & Collegia crescunt.   

Inter vivaces Tua vita repullulet urnas,  
Turgeat atque nou● fama Angustata sepulchro:   

Cum tamen obductâ iaceas caligine, reddant  
Non aliam Tibi fata Fugam, quam Nubila Soli.   
R. LUTE ex Aede Ch.   

In obitum Illustrissimi Vice-comitis BAYNING.  
ERgo Hominum Mores tantum est vidisse periclun?  
Vivere dum didicit sic didicitne Mori?  
jam poterat CAROLO partemfecisse Senatûs,  
Vel juvenis Pectus iam Synodale gerens.  
jamque Vias poter at monstrasse, Artesque nocendi,  
Tristius & quicquid Roma recondit opus.  
Sed tantum poterat: vetuisti caetera, Fatum:  
Non erat haec cultro victima digna Tuo.  
Insidiosa Manus nunquam sua Munera struxit:  
Pars vel simplicitas Muneris ipsa fuit.  
Te testor tam digna Domus, quae Nomina iactas  
Cui geminum ornatum, Semet, Opesque dedit.  
Incola sic Homines auxit, sic Tecta Patronus,  
Nunc Vno plusquam Nomine noster Amor.  
O Impar, sed Grata Aedes! utinamque decorem  
Tu poteras Illi, quem dedit Ille Tibi.  
IO. GIARE ex Aed. Ch.   

PVllos, quisquis es, induas colores,  
Orna funereâ caput Cupresso;  
Ite hinc deliciae, Venus, Cupido;  
Nostrae deliciae dolor, querelae.  
Heu gentis periit decus Britannae,  
Lumenque, & columen novem sororum,  
In flore heu periit peremptus Aevi.  
Vixisti juvenis diu, Senectam  
Virtutes faciunt, brevi Tabellâ  
Depictum videas ferum Gygantem.  
At mores sileo, silere praestat,  
Quam praeconia frigidè referre.  
Ite meae Lachrymae, tanquàm de Nube procellae,  
Cum nimis ingenti pondere pressa ruit.  
Proh dolor! heu periit, per luctûs edere Nomen  
Vix possum, in primo Veris honore sui.  
Non tamen hoc credam, iuvat usque favere dolori,  
Sed nequeo, hoc dolor est, non doluisse satis.  
Moestum Phoebe canas; lugete, haud ludite Musae,  
Namque est conveniens luctibus iste labor.  
Huic sacram lauri tumulo deferte Tributum,  
Vos aluit, quamvis vester Alumnus erat.  
Addere nil cupimus, cui nil queat altius addi:  
Si nil diminuam, carmina nostra placent.  
Te nimis indigno dum flemus carmine, duplex  
Exoritur ●uctus, Carminis, atque Tui.  
I. FELL ex Aed. Ch.   

In Obitum Clarissimi, Ornatssimique Vicecomitis BAYNING.  

HOspes Deorum, naenias si quis Tibi  
Facilesque luctu palpebras effunderet,  
Nec pauciores laudibus Lacrymas Tuis  
Semper fluentes, & tamen semper novas,  
Multum litabit Funeri, minimum Tibi.   

Si, quos Poetae vix satis Calamis pios  
Mittant liquores, hauriant suum licet  
Helicona studiis; si, quot attulerint tuo  
Onus feretro, Chartulae innumeras atrae  
Lachrymas refundant; his amicae Coniugis  
Fratrum, & nepotum atque omnium quot sunt Tui  
Addam Lachrymulas, ut dolor siet unicus,  
Vtque tot ocellis unicam Lacrymam, struat,  
Quam Charus esses dixerit, Quantus nequit.   

Si quis, tacendo quos Tibi numeres Avos,  
A Te relatum stemma nobile computet  
Seriemque laudum censeat, Merita & necis,  
Pietate posthumâ colentis Numina,  
Donata Templis si quis, & Musis pium  
Vectigal audit, quaeque perpetuum in Decus  
Loquax Sepulchrum jactet, huic adhuc lates:   

Aut si quis ultrà, praeter has dotes Tuas  
Sacramque famam, vel parùm referat Tui,  
Quam non modestè flere, dum memorat, licet.  
Quantas iuventus nobilis, & aetas sagax  
Vtriusque Terrae literas excoxerat!  
Oxonia quantum debet & Conatibus  
Tuisque meritis! Ast adhuc nimium lates:  
Majora dictis Nomen ipsum praedicat;  
Sed quisquis istud noveris, taceas precor,  
Ne Fama, tanti dum subit Cineres viri,  
Non posterorum Cultum, at Invidiam trahat.   
RICARDUS GODFREY ex Aed. Ch.   

In Obitum Clarissimi Uicecomitis BAYNING.  
MVndi, Doctus opes, suasque spernens,  
Uisens una hominum docensque mores;  
Passim barbariem, virosque brutos  
Conspectu cicurans, domansque terras;  
Magnus Moribus, inde major Arte:  
Sub quo Regna velint coire pace,  
Praesentemque colunt, timent futurum,  
Legati decus Hic tulit Viator,  
Flammas Italiae Alpium pruinis,  
Gallam luxuriem mari Britanno  
Restinguens, redit Innocens, & Anglus.  
Virtutes numerans, tuamque vitam  
Certans per tua computare facta,  
Haud credet juvenem fuisse mundus.  
Nunc ecce ad Tumulum frequens Viator  
Devoto pede confluit, nec unus  
Dat suspiria Lachrymasque Princeps,  
Cui multum sterilem exprobrat senectam,  
Et serum meritum sagax juventa:  
Nunc florum vice laudibus Sepulchrum  
Spargens & titulis, utrinque civem  
Certat scribere, vendicatque funus  
Passim terra tuum: Quirinus effert  
Inter Papirios, & Africanos:  
Hinc Princeps juvenum, senumque Princeps,  
Et non Foemineus Quirinus audis.  
Hinc & Gallus eris, sed ille castus,  
Et non Mente magis nitens Lacernâ:  
Sic tu, dum numerus videris, exis  
Multorum Invidia, Vnius Triumphus.  
Hoc jactat nimium Britanna tellus,  
Orbi vixerat, at Mihi recessit.  
THOMAS BENSON ex Aed. Ch.   

In Obitum Illustrissimi Vice-Comitis BAYNING.  
MOx ergò exilium, Redux, sub ipso  
Amplexu Patriae datur? scelusque  
Tantum admisit Amor, quod aus●… nusquàm  
Gens est extera? Quaequè Te recepit  
Non Adventitium, sed Inquilinum:  
Gallia, perque vices Paterna Terra  
Facta est Roma Tibi: Omnibus probatum  
Virtus Te dedit, Omniumquè civem:  
Certè hoc Numinis est colitàm ubiquè,  
Dum cunabula nactus es Sepulchrum  
Motus Aethereossecutus, in Te  
Sacro circuitu reductus, exis  
Exemplar Superum, sedes perennis  
Vitae Emblema Necisquè. Sic in ortus  
Festinare suos, retroque labi,  
Quicquid Fata jubent perire, fas est.  
Sic & quod maneat perenne, eodem  
juxtà desinit incipitque cursu,  
Vitâ hac nulla prior, beatiorque  
Quam quae est Spharica, seque claudit ipsam.  
ROEBRTUS SHARPE ex Aed. Ch.   

In Obitum Clarissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING.  
OBitum nunc lugeamus an Discessum nescimus,  
Has etenim exequias olim & Discessus habuit,  
Cum Amentium ritu opes projecimus in Mare  
Gemmamque Thetidis Gazâ magis pretiosan  
Suspiriis mox nostris, & Lachrymarum fluctibus revehendam.  
Ostendi voluerunt Terris Fata, donari nimium esse iudicarunt,  
Magis Orbis Spectatorem quàm Spectaculum,  
Solis instar in transitu solo fruendum;  
Hunc Reliquae etiam Gentes damna inter sua  
Per vices numerarunt.  
Atque utinam nunc velpascisceremur istis  
Iniquis Legibus potirè,  
Posset ut iterum discedere  
 secundâ frueremur vel iacturâ!  
Religionem & Mores non tam perlustrare visus quàm instituere:  
Non extra Patriam Legen licentiam pecccandi quaesivit,  
Et magna scelerum Exempla:  
Istâ Pietate Hospitia quasi Templa pererrans,  
 qui devotis passibus Itinera metiuntur  
Numini dedicata, non Amicae,  
Propè fuit ut ab eo exigerentur miracula;  
Atque adeo haec miracula praestitit,  
 Virtutis patiens, non Voluptatis  
Palladem Iunoni conciliaret, Literis Divitias,  
Innocentiam Potestati;  
Et vel post mortem Lyceum Coleret.  
Haud tamen illud Poetas fecisse pecuniae reos, & Heli●…na in Tagum vertisse  
Effecit, ut Damnum Tui non jugeamus,  
Quodque unum restat, non iactemus.  
Sole haec tristis Gloria nos manet, habuisse  
Olim Incolam, sempèr Patronum:  
Brevi fulgore aliis Cometa illuxisti,  
Nobis mansurum Sydus,  
Orbis idem spectaculum & stupor:  
Solum hìc Te fastus arguit, quod orbem  
Videris & contempseris;  
Perlustrato Terrarum Orbe alium modò quaeris, quasi illum moderaturus:  
Velut Cretensis jupiter in astra evadis  
Nota Peregrints, Historia, sacra Tuis Fabula.  
SAMVEL EVERARD. ex Aed. Ch.   

In Obitum Clarissimi Vicecomitis BAYNING.  
I Wenis moritur qui vixit Nestor,  
Vnius aetatis compendium  
Non vidit, qui ultrae  
Tertia historiam fecit.  
Corpore venustus, ut cui non defuit  
Dignum suis moribus Sacrarium.  
Tam Nobilis, ac si nullo caruerat a Virtutibus ornamento  
Tam bonus, ac si nullum habuerat a Parentibus.  
Italiam vidit, vidit Galliam,  
una non potuit capere Regio:  
Italiam deseruit, deseruit Galliam,  
Nulla potuit Regie mereri.  
Illic cepit, quò nos nec pervenire solemus;  
dubium an cunis Infantiam debuerit, an Lyceo.  
Artes nil tandem pulchri iactitant,  
Nisi quod Ipse didicit.  
Paucissimis vix potuit eliquari vitiis  
Cadaver visus antequam moreretur,  
Aliquando peccavit ne videretur Deus,  
Laudandus etiam quod peccavit.  
Vxorem duxit, ut & illum ornaret sexum;  
Vxorem invenit, quae ornaret & nostrum.  
Amaretalem satis non potuit,  
Si non Amore obiisset.  
Divitias numeravit, sed quas dederat;  
Opum non habuit, sed Munerum Aerarium.  
An dedit? en tandem sibi nec Ipsum reliquit:  
Quem, cum deesset qui caperet, cepit Sepulchrun:  
Gemmas recondi Nimium sic Pretium facit.   


He that attempts to mourn thy noble Hearse,  
Must teach his grief the Piety of Verse,  
And all his tears in chaste expressions paint,  
That every line may Canonize a Saint:  
He ought to Preach in Numbers, as if Fate  
Had destined Him for Bishop Laureate.  
Who then shall weep thy loss, whose Acts we see ,  
Fare purer than our vestal fancies be?  
W'admire those deeds which from Thee slightly  
Thy Recreation fills the Chronicle:  
And Poets should be set to curb the times,  
Can their Wits be so Pious as Thy Crimes.  
Thou didst engross all goodness so, that We  
Scarce thought one Hero dead, while we saw Thee.  
We missed not Cato, Tully was not dumb,  
Thou couldst (like him) but speak, and overcome.  
What Stratagem has Fate? thy fading breath  
Summons sage Brutus to a Second Death.  
Souls treasured up in Thee rush forth, and now  
Some fall, that fell two thousand years ago.   

Here prune your manners, you that only are  
The walking Arras of the Court, who share (face)  
Yourselves (like Hangins decked with some strange  
T'attend the King only to trim the place.  
Whose weak Gentility does fall, and rise  
As Periwigs and Satins take their price:  
Whose carriage one may tract, & find which Oath  
Your Worships swore in silk, and which in cloth.  
If you could learn this ripeness, it would teach  
To court a Mistress in an unbought speech;  
And your own Language might have power to move  
A frozen coyness to a free Court-Love:  
And make her y●e such charming pleasures hear,  
That her Soul know no residence but ear.   

But I do blast thy Hearse, and these weak Lays  
Do only usher Some to sing Thy Praise,  
As scattered beams their dawning lustre broach,  
Only to tell the world the Sun's approach.  
As if the Priest should butcher a cheap Lamb,  
To fit the Altar for an Hecatomb.  
He that will speak Thee fully, must have parts  
Like to Thine Own, and hunt Thee through all Arts:  
His able years must bud up, till he find,  
What mysteries enriched thy well-fraught mind;  
Who didst so wade through Natural things, that we  
May shake off Nature now, and study Thee.   

Hadst thou bred low-pitch●t ve●…ues, had thy Vein  
Stooped to the shallow ebb of vulgar strain,  
Each busy Muse had striven to find a room,  
Where crowds of Epitaphs might load thy Tomb,  
But now we fear to write, we dare no● stay  
To bring ou● twilight Glances to thy Day:  
Such is Thy Virtue's flight, thou soar'st so high,  
Thy weakest Acts ask our Hyperbole;  
And all th' elaborate Accents we can lend,  
Can scarce deserve Thee where thou dost offend.  
Hence forth we'll prise our Muse at lower rate,  
And what we can't express, we'll imitate,  
We'll Print Thee in our manners so, that than  
Who finds Thee not in Records, may in Men.   

They only, here, find their expressions safe,  
Who Act their Verse, and Live an Epitaph.   
MARTIN LLEWELLIN. of Ch. Ch.   

Upon the Death of the Right Honourable Lord Vicecount BAYNING.  
FOrgive me, His dear Monument, that I  
Usurp the Title of an Elegy;  
And like a wand'ring Passenger do crave  
My unknown tears may glaze his Epitaph!  
Whoever heard his Travels, but did cease  
To think Rome false, or France with a disease?  
So fare from an outlandish Taint, that He  
Returned a chaster Mind from Italy.  
Learn here you wild Apostates that deface  
Your Native Souls, and mould 'em to the Place;  
So that each Country gives you a new Birth,  
Antaeus like reviving from the Earth:  
BAYNING did scorn to change himself but then  
When farthest off, He was an Englishman:  
Our Laws still kept Him Company: for they  
Were the Geography, and rule of is way:  
So that to foreign parts He did appear  
Rather Ambassador, than Sojourner.  
Why did He scape His Travels thus, O why  
Did he fall down with such Tranquillity?  
Horror becomes a Young man's Death, to lie  
Bedewed with Blood is a brave obsequy.  
Surfeits, Consumptions are but Female Knives,  
Nor do they snatch, but steal away our Lives.  
Fates did not know thy Spirit, when they sent  
So weak a dart to blast thy Monument:  
Thy Genius was too mighty to endure  
That extreme cowardice, to die Secure.  
But since it did our great Commander please,  
Thus to inflict the Death of a disease;  
In earnest of our Loves, O let it be  
Our wish to fall Secure, because like Thee.  
For Thy sake then may Fevers be our Meat,  
And it prove a Surfeit henceforth but to Eat:  
None can desire to live, unless he be  
Seduced perhaps t'enjoy Thy Legacy.  
'Tis Thy own freeness bribe's us now to live,  
Since it were ingratitude not to survive.  
Our Buildings by Thy Piety shall stand  
No Ruins now, but Trophies of Thy Hand:  
The Rooms shall be Thy Piles, we will prefer  
Their beauteous Order to thy Character:  
When Printed on the doors with loaded eyes  
The Passenger may read HERE BAYNING LIES.  
H. RAMSAY of Ch. Ch.   

On the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  
SInce Sadness crowns Your hearse, & Mourners  
Bestow with sighs, & tears, a Method too  
Of grieving for your death, that we may see do  
A good Contrivance though in Misery:  
Since among all that mourn, none Order lack,  
The Wits in Rhyme, Your other Friends in Black.  
Pardon my grief, that dares assume that Dress,  
For scattered in wild Fancles 'twould seem less:  
Yet do I not presume my verse may give  
Aught, that may cause Your memory to live:  
I leave that great employment to the Pen  
Of Abler fancies, more Discerning Men;  
That can Distinguish virtues, and best know  
Which from Complexion, which from Breeding flow,  
Which are Innate, and which Infused, that can  
But with one glance decipher a whole man.  
'Tis fancy ' enough in me, if I can weep  
Your Body, not as Dead, but fallen a sleep.  
Since no Continued grief, or lingering pain  
No Trick o'th' State, nor sad stroke hath it slain:  
It goes fresh to the grave, before the sins  
Have seasoned it, that Age, and Business brings:  
Where let it sleep secure, hence coming fit  
T'embalme and keep the Odours, not they It.  
The groans, and sighs, that parting now it wears,  
The Marble shall supply with frequent Tears.  
H. BENET of Ch. Ch.   

On the death of the Honourable Lord Vis-count BAYNING.  

HEnce from This Tomb, you that have only chose  
To Mourn for Ribbons, & the sadder ,  
That Buy your Grief from th' Shop; & desperate lie  
For a new Cloak till the next Lord shall Die;  
You that shed only wine, and think when all  
The Banquet's past, there's no more Funeral:  
You that sell Tears, and only Weep for Gain,  
I dare not say you Mourn, but fill the Train:  
Nor must we Grieve His Titles loss, and tell  
The vainer World, that 'twas a Great Man Fell:  
'tis not enough that we His Birth rehearse;  
And only Writ His Arms instead of Verse,  
Or Steal Notes from His Scutcheon; perhaps we  
Might Mourn Him thus in perfect Heraldry:  
But 'tis a Strain too low, nor wilt suffice  
For Epitaph, that Here His Lordship Lies:  
Thus I could be content to Weep His Fame,  
Where nothing else was great, besides the Name;  
Whence Learning felt an Exile; where That Word  
Of Virtue sounded Lower than my Lord:  
He whom we sadly Mourn (hear this all You  
Wrapped up in Chains) was Rich in Learning too.  
A College was His Home; He did not here  
Sat still a while, and only change His Air,  
As some, who journey hither, and are grown  
But to this Art of wearing a silk Gown;  
Who, 'mongst Their other loss of Time, do still  
Count the halfe-year thus spent against Their Will;  
Who fain would cross the Seas, & think, that They  
Have Travelled thus far only out o'th' way:  
Nor did he count a Lord in a Degree  
A Learned Monster of Nobility,  
As if some Envious Fate strove to Maintain  
That only Ignorance should wear a Chain.  
Gold was not all His Treasury; We may  
Reckon His Wealth in more than shining Clay;  
Sum up His Stock of Arts and Knowledge; you  
That prise th'Estate count in His Study too;  
This is the Style of Honour, which we boast  
In Him, whose Fame doth still Survive His Ghost.  
Nor quarrel We with Fate, for we should wrong  
His Virtues now, to grieve that He Died Young:  
One of His worth is always full of Years;  
He Died too soon by nothing but our Tears,  
Ripe Early, and prepared for Heaven, He  
Had all of Age, but the Infirmity:  
He was Religious and Stayed, as One  
Whom Four-score years thrust to Devotion:  
One of That flowing Charity, as if still  
In every Gift He did intent a Will:  
How He Bequeathed His Alms! to all so free,  
What ever He Bestowed, was Legacy.  
Thus He had Many Heirs; and the blessed Poor  
Did only Multiply His Successor.   

But I'll not sum His Virtues; H'embraced more  
Than all Philosophy did Talk before;  
They only did Dispute His Life, and might,  
Had They known Him, been better Skilled to Write.   
W. TOWERS of Ch. Ch.   

Upon the Death of the Lord Viscount BAYNING.  
Wert Thou an ancient Corpse, of a grey head,  
So spent, as to be thought run out, not dead;  
Hadst Thou endured long gowtes, or longer rage  
Of Aches, and at last died of long age;  
At such a funeral our Tears were lost,  
Where the grave makes not, but receives a Ghost.  
Thou, when not ripe enough to live, didst fall,  
Even when thy Lady might Thee Lady call;  
And like an early spring didst show to th' eye,  
Signs of a fruitful Autumn, and then dye.  
Yet though Thou didst a Blossom, we were those  
Who could foresee Thee blown, and judge Thee Rose.  
Thy after life was wrapped up in this bud,  
As in a sprout a fair flower's understood.  
And as when men file rocks for jewels, th'Ore  
Shows sparks, which would be stones two Ages more:  
So we might say, had this young Diamond grown,  
That which now twinkled, then had lightning thrown:  
And as rich Exudations sweat from th' Tree,  
Are first soft gums, not touched, would Amber be:  
Or as in th'indies men find wealthy Mould,  
Which the next generation digs up gold.  
So Thou lackest but Concoction, seven years more  
Had made those virtues true Mine, which died Ore.  
Nay thou wert Bullion now, and we had seen,  
Hadst Thou lived longer, Mass had Medals been.  
Thy forwardness lacked only stamp, and rate;  
Thou wert true silver, but uncoyned by th'State.  
Which did perceive thy title was as good  
To honours, by thy Hopefulness, as blood.  
And hadst Thou stayed but to be called to th'Board,  
The Worthy Man had taken place o'th' Lord.  
Then had we seen from Letters 'mongst us sown  
Thy Prince had Embassyes and Counsels mown.  
When that, which Thou Philosophy took'st in,  
Had come forth great Example, and Life been.  
Thy virtues were not less, because yet green,  
They might more seasoned, but not more have been:  
Broader they might have been, & shown more swelled,  
Yet had the Leaf not more than th'Ingot held.  
As from a clue Workmen large hangings call,  
Yet all the silk in th' Arras, was i'th' Ball.  
In short lives, great parts hasten, and come quick,  
And where they want room to be vast, are thick.  
Even thy raw promises were perfect, lacked  
Time but to make them aged, not exact.  
Vntraveld Thou wert Learned, yet the Book  
In Thee fresh learning from thy Travels took.  
Thou cam'st home sober from light Nations, France  
Taught Thee to sit in Council, not to dance.  
Italian Policy Thou brought'st away,  
Yet wert not made more able to betray:  
Their Plots had been made Service, and that skill  
Had been taught to Preserve, which used to Kill.  
Thy Merit, not thy Bowl, had made Thee Great;  
No Office had fallen to Thee by thy Meat.  
Thou didst return so innocent, we could call  
Nothing Italian but thy Funeral:  
That was so sudden, no successors pill  
Did Pope with more haste, than thy surfeit kill.  
Prophets translated were so ravished, bate  
The sense oth'pang, thy death was change, not fate.  
Hadst Thou bequeathed us nought, thy name had still  
Been Legacy, t'have been o'th' house was Will:  
And we in thy dear loss think weare bereft  
Of more, then if Thou hadst us whole heirs left.  
Now since, like Wolsey, thou'rt expired, and gone,  
We only can pay Reverence to thy Stone;  
Which equal to His will this glory win,  
Thou helpest to Finish what He did Begin.  
JASPER MAIN of Ch. Ch.   

PENELOPE, Multùm Deflendi Domini, VICECOMITIS BAYNING, Relictae Fidelissimae  
Haec sacro-  
VIvida quae Castos Tibi Flamma accendit Ocellos,  
Accendit illa Conjugis Pectus Tui:  
Et quos Ipsa geris radiantes or be Genarum,  
Hos Ille Flores Moribus gessit suis:  
Quique Tibi Cander totos illuminat Artus,  
Diem per Animum Lucidi sparsit Viri.  
Sic Artus excudit Amor, sic pingit Ocellos,  
Sic spectatintus, & simul scribit Genas:  
Sic Te Te exhausit Coniux, Te Teimbibit Vnam,  
Partemque quivis Actus emisit Tui.  
Archetypa Amissam plorabis maesta Tabellam,  
Excripta tanquam posset & Imago Mori?  
Quantus erat Coniux, certè Tuus integer Ille;  
 Quanta Imago, est Corporis tota est sui.  
In Te dicatur tantùm hinc Redijsse Maritus;  
 Vmbra nocte Corpus, unde exît, petit.  
Si Vultus, si Verba ejus, si Basia quaeraes;  
Te Cerne, Te Affare, & Tibi signes Labra.  
In Te splendet adhuc, & adhuc in Te sonat Ille,  
Amatque vel adhuc, Ipsa si Teipsam Ames.  
Cuncta tamen maestum, dices, habet ista Sepulchrum:  
Annon Sepulchrum Pectus est istud Tuum?  
Sic, quod Tudefles, in Te spectamus. Amoris  
Solamen hoc est grande; dum Quaerit, Frui.  
GVIL. CARTWRIGHT ex Aed. Ch.   

Illustrissimo Domino Vicecomiti BAYNING  

QVuantusque restat Posteris, Hic est Ille  
Alterius Orbis Fama, sed Stupor Nostri:  
Vindex Potentum, Purpuram Scholis donans:  
Opumque vindex, Seque nec Opibus tradens:  
Censum Domare gnarus, & Frui Partis  
Impertiendo: Gentium videns Ritus,  
Uitiis Sequester: Pervigil sui Custos:  
Peregrè profectus, & tamen Domi semper,  
Interque Mores Exteros Suis vivens:  
Revehens Amorem, quem extulit, Foris Conjux:  
Non Circinalis iunctior Pedi Pes est:  
Dominus, & Omnes allevans, Gravis Nulli:  
Satur viarum Raptus, & satur Dotum,  
Aetate justâ vegetus, at magis Mente:  
Non plura Merito, at Gloriae dari possent.   

Cunctis Dolorem Mortuus facit, Viv●…  
Fecit nec Vni. Levior incubes, Tellus:  
Non Ipse Quenquam, Tuque nec Premas Ipsu●….   
Sic Parentat GUIL. STOTEVILE ex Aed. Ch.   

To the Right Virtuous, and my much Honoured the Lady PENELOPE BAYNING.  
Most Honoured Madam,  
TO All, that hath been said, I Echo am,  
Though with an hoarser Voice return the same:  
But His was Clean, and Fair as his Intent,  
And His Performances His Compliment;  
Who had more Virtue then derived from th'womb,  
And more Perfections than are writ on's Tomb;  
Honour, such as the King could not bestow,  
Unless his Great Example made him so;  
Who brought from Rome, as did his Prince from Spain,  
Religion, and His very self again;  
Here lies That Lord All This: who had been more,  
Had time but lent concoction to his Ore.  
Be witness o my Grief then (for I may  
Now challenge something in Him being Clay)  
What Thoughts, what Spirits, what Intents, what Seeds  
What Acts, what Counsels, what Designs, what Deeds  
Are blasted in His fall! But lest I may  
Increase your Night by telling what great Day  
Would hence have risen, let me only bear  
Sad witness, that All, which you have read here,  
Is modest, and His own: and though we find  
His ' State was Vast, 'twas Narrow'r than His Mind:  
Look then into His Will, not Testament,  
And judge not what He Did, but what He Meant.  
RICH: CHAWORTH of Ch. Ch.   
FINIS