RAGLANDS' NIOBE: OR, ELIZA'S ELEGY: Addressed to the unexpiring memory of the most noble Lady, ELIZABETH HERBERT, wife to the truly honourable, EDWARD SUMMERSAULT Lord HERBERT, etc.  
By RI. BRATHWAIT, Esq.  
— Surrepta, refulsit in orbe  
Clarior—  
Imprinted by F. K. for Robert Bostocke, at the King's head in Saint Paul's Churchyard. 1635.   

TO THE HONOURABLE, EDWARD SUMMERSAULT, Lord HERBERT, my most noble and accomplished Lord;  
Treasures of Comforts, after these Tributes of tears.  

PEruse your own, my Lord, and be content;  
Concluding hence, on earth nought permanent:  
But if in this inferior Globe of ours  
Ought constant be, it is my Zeal to yours.   
NIOBAEUS.   

ELISABETH HERBERT.  
Anag. Hear a blessed birth.  

Hear, here blessed birth, with thy divinest ears  
Thy true-devoted Servants funeral tears;  
That it may appear; our Muse hath done thee right  
In throbbing to this Age thy last good night.    

RAGLANDS' NIOBE: Or, ELIZA'S Elegy.  

STil-silent Night unveil thy sable eyes,  
And eye the loss of this unequalled prize  
Our Family bemoans: resolve to tears,  
And sympathise with every one that bears  
A share in these sad rites. When Stars do fall,  
Thou makest that Astrolabe thy Funeral:  
Straight thou immasks thy face, contracts thy blood,  
And shrowds thy virgin beauty in a cloud.   

Hear me, Latona! of all stars that were  
Or ever shone in this inferior Spheere,  
The truly purest and refinedst One  
Is from our Orb, to gain more glory, gone.  
Why should not we then imitators be  
Of that compassion we conceive in thee?  
Admit these Halcyon days give Her increase  
Of honour, glory, beauty, plenty, peace,  
With that blessed confluence of heavenly store,  
Which crownes pure souls when they arrive a shore.  
We that are Mortals ever have more sense  
Of our own want, than others affluence.  
Tell me thou State-surrounded STRAND, canst find  
Through all thy Prospects a selecter mind  
Clothed in a choicer dress! Pray, look about,  
Thou canst not choose but see some face peep out  
T'attract the forced Spectator; but that skin  
Is it so sleek as't has no stains within?  
Is it a native tincture? does it woo  
The gazer without art? or if it do,  
Is it accomplished with some better part  
To polish nature with diviner art?  
Has it adorning graces to make good  
The splendour of her beauty or her blood?  
Can it converse with fashion, and appear  
Discreet in her election what to wear?  
Can it send out her eyes, and not be ta'en,  
Or to take Others make it not her aim?  
Can it discourse without affected state,  
Or hearken Lightness with a blushing hate?  
Can it distinguish times and persons too?  
Reserve a state without a seeming show?  
Can it pursue the Object it affects  
With more divine than sensual respects?  
Can it esteem of beauty as it is?  
Imparadise her thoughts in future bliss?   

Canst find me this rare Phoenix? I much doubt,  
Thou losest time in seeking of her out.  
Two Phoenixes at once were never seen,  
It is enough, that such an One hath been.  
Thou hast indeed, a choice variety  
Of mortal beauties to surprise the eye  
Of a Zenocrates; but so divine  
Would not suit well with fashions of the time.  
Complete and complemental are two things,  
Which different constructions ever brings:  
For what's an outward dress, or seeming fair,  
A vading breath resolving into air?  
What's permanent is good, nor can it be  
So styled, that's short of this eternity.   

But thou hadst One in that Elysian grove!  
A precious Sprig of virtue, beauty, love;  
Yea, such a Seat, as no diviner grace  
But in her Saintly bosom had a place.  
One richly stored with all the gifts of nature,  
Of graceful presence and attractive feature;  
And what was richer fare than all the rest,  
An heavenly fancy in an holy breast.  
For show me One within this Orb of ours,  
That was so young in years and old in hours.  
So sweetly humble and compassionate,  
So well composed i'th' posture of her state;  
So loyal in her love, so firm to those  
Who in her Honour did their hopes repose.   

And now, me thinks, in this high overflow  
Of boundless sorrow, I am fixed on you,  
You sad Attendants, whom she used to cheer  
With pleasing language, while she breathed here.  
The loss you feel is poised above compare,  
Yet, as I live, I love to bear a share  
In such depressive burdens: for these be,  
As I am yours, reflecting upon me.  
Let's then a mutual sorrow entertain,  
And moisten this dry earth that wanteth rain,  
With our distreaming tears: for heavens have kept,  
Thus long their Conduits shut, and have not wept,  
That with profuser treasures they might store  
Our native Mother, and wet eyes deplore  
This sad Occasion: Sad, indeed, to us  
Who eye the Countenance of that heavy house,  
Where every Habit, Object as we pass,  
Proclaim thus much, time is not as it was.  
While every silent accent seems to breathe  
The last farewell of our Elizabeth.  
Divine Elysian Lady! O that eyes  
Made Niobe's, could rescue such a prize!   

There is no mortal could so highly err  
As did our last years weak Astronomer,  
Who found no Eclipse in our Zodiac here,  
Nor any darkness in this Hemispheere.  
I have found One, (I'm sure) and more than I,  
With a great inundation in each eye;  
So as, that part which we call Crystalline  
Is now dissolved to a Sea of brine.   

Tears be those Treasures which we mortals use  
To pay to such we loved: nor can we choose  
To do less to this Shrine, the scattered dust  
Of that diviner part, which 'mongst the just  
Holds her eternal Annual: tell me where  
I may my Object take without a tear.  
No where, O no where! though all humane state  
Be by injunction subject unto fate,  
Which solely makes distinction 'twixt the good,  
And those who with foul actions stain pure blood:  
For these make State a Subterfuge to guilt,  
Ttriumphing in those conduits they have spilt  
Through their profuser bounty: whereas those  
Who are to none but vice professed foes,  
Live in their dissolution, and receive  
A lasting odour from a dying grave.  
Yet when such glorious Lights their splendour lose,  
Not to themselves but to our earthly house,  
As those fair structures have their glory lost,  
Which by their breathing beauty shined most,  
Who can dispense with grief, surcease to moan,  
Unless he be a Stoic or a stone?   

I must confess, the Thracians did express  
An Emblem of our humane wretchedness;  
Who in a various strain of moan and mirth,  
Wept when men came, joyed when they went from earth.  
Which temper, sure, in earthly walls enclosed,  
Seems in my judgement preciously composed,  
And such as we should imitate: yet when  
Like men, we think how we conversed with them  
Who now are closed from our longing eyes,  
How much we their society did prize,  
What choice delight we took in their resort,  
How much their fame improved our report,  
How short quicke-vading minutes dropped away,  
How th' closing Evening crowned the cheerful day,  
What sweet Communion of Comforts too  
Which friend on friend did mutually bestow,  
With what a rare Confection of relief  
In the communicating of their grief,  
One drained from another; and that one  
Divorced now from his sight, dislodged and gone;  
He fare transcends the mould of humane state,  
Who scorns in this to be effeminate.   

Deaths Lachrymae, indeed, is such a song,  
So short's the Scene of grief, it lasts not long:  
Yet where impressive virtues did appear,  
They have an Anniversall every year.  
And such were thine, blessed Saint, whose light shall give  
Direction unto others how to live.   

Is't irreligious then to shed a tear  
For one, where such choice virtues lodged were?  
A Gardiner would discontented seem  
If that prime flower he held in most esteem,  
Should be mel-dewed or cropped before the time;  
Can we do less for her, who in her prime  
Was cropped by th' hand of D●●eh? much wonder I  
At popular amazement, who descry  
A strange distraction in perplexed eyes,  
When they contemplate vulgar rarities:  
And such as from mere natural causes spring,  
As when they see the Sunbeams wrestling  
With interposed shades: this eclypsed light  
Darts an astonishment unto their sight.  
Good God (thus will they say) that which did show  
Such beauteous rays, how is it darkened now?  
Where is that beaming glory which revived  
Th' inferior Orb? how is it now deprived  
Of his late full-spread vigour? how 'tis spent  
Which gave to all things life and nourishment?   

Draw nearer wondering Mortals, and see here  
A glorious Light reft from our Hemispheere!  
One, upon whose clear brow no Cloud e'er sat,  
Nor e'er eyed Object that she aimed at  
But what she might affect: nor personate  
An unbeseeming introduced state:  
Nor gloze in painted goodness: nor express  
More than her Soul did inwardly profess:  
Nor feed her fancy with conceits of time,  
But closed her Life's Act with a Scene divine.  
And this same taking beauty now is gone,  
Reft from our sight! which while we think upon,  
'Tis not sufficient to bemoan her death,  
But to observe how sweetly virtue's breath  
In her expired Corpse; and that her Fate,  
Blessed Fate! h'as left what we're to imitate.  
" Death from oblivion will exempt no blood,  
" Unless that Highness be recorded good.  
For Monumental structures may be said  
E●ected more for th' living than the dead.  
These have their date and period, and must turn  
To dust, like mouldered ashes in an Urn.  
Where virtue scorns such confines, being known  
To lean on no supportance, but her own.   

Nor do I muse why thou shouldst virtuous be,  
Being derived from such a Family,  
Whose Actions stream in goodness; they who gave  
First life to thee, no less Memorials have  
In Times deserving Annals: DORMERS name  
Retein's i'th' accent a sufficient fame  
To second our assertion: and to show  
Thy Mother's house was corresponding too  
In lineal acts of goodness, and what might  
Give to a noble line a living light,  
I'll only name Him, whom ne'er age could tax,  
The all-approved-loved MULLINAX.  
Dear to his own, to strangers debonair,  
Dear to the Muses, who Jove's darlings are,  
Firm where he doth profess, entire to such  
Who know, but make no boast of knowing much:  
And to sum all in one, such a right Lord  
He scorns nought more than slighting of his word.   

Derived from these; that runs through all thy veins,  
Which by descent peculiar title claims  
In thine now after thee: to whom I mean  
In this expiring Ode t'address my Scene.   

Blessed Babes! Sweet Graces! for you are but three;  
And may you be, as your House shows to me,  
Still gracious; my suit shall be but one,  
That you may represent Her that is gone  
In your surviving virtues. First, to you  
Right Noble Sir, let it be your task to show  
His name, and nature 
* From HENRY now Earl of WORSTER, his Grandfather.  whence you took your name,  
Believe your Servant, 'twil improve your fame,  
And make you live, beloved; I do not care  
For guilded honour, 'tis a vading air  
That's soon dispersed; a painted Trophy torn  
From tainted Heraldry, displayed in scorn.  
" Goodness  greatness with a graceful dress,  
" And shines most glorious when it shows nought less.  
So pleasing's humble Honour to each eye  
It wins affection in the Slander by;  
Let but your Infant Honour think of this,  
Summer shall rise in love and set in bliss.   

Now, to you Noble Ladies, who may see  
Store of examples to endoctrine ye,  
Some to deprave; but in your tender breast  
Such numerous seeds of native goodness rest,  
Which freely ripened as they are begun,  
May in due time to their perfection come.  
With an exacter Pattern none can store you,  
Then Her example who is gone before you:  
Let her Life be the Line to regulate  
Your actions by; the posture of her state  
Your constantest Model; her sweet moderation,  
In her discourse, employment, recreation,  
Your clearest mirror: for ye cannot err  
In any these by imitating her.  
Confirm your Mother's Anagram on Earth,  
With this Emphatic Mott: HERE A BLESSED BIRTH.   

These Observations, I may safely vow,  
Will multiply more honours upon you,  
More real honours, than these who incline  
To the fantastic fashions of our time:  
For these are but admired for one day,  
And strait their melting varnish drops away:  
Whereas your grounded Colours died in grain  
Shall represent a State admits no stain.  
Retaining these, Sweet Ladies, you'll become  
Exemplar Paragons in Albion.   

NOW I approach, my dear sad Lord to you,  
Who having taken your late last adieu  
Of your unequalled Spouse, are full of grief,  
To which divinest comforts breath relief.  
Excuse me, Honoured Lord, that you are placed  
In this sad Scene of serious Sorrow, last;  
'Twas my desire, that you should first digest  
These grounded griefs wherewith you are depressed  
Before revival of them; alas you know  
I own as much to you as I do owe  
To the whole world (without private aim  
To me or mine) Save to my sovereign.  
Yea, should you flow in tears, as you do flow,  
You should not find your poor MUSAEUS slow  
In the like tribute: be it only yours  
To yield your will unto th' Superior powers.  
she's reft from you ('tis true) but she is given  
By your division to be spoused in heaven.  
Nor had she left her Mate, her choice dear Love,  
But only for His love she had above:  
In whose translation there appeared here  
A civil Combat 'twixt two Months i'th' year,  
So as, none could definitively say  
She died the first of June or last of May.  
Both wrestled like two Champions for the wall,  
Which might give convoy to her Nuptial.  
A solemn sacred Nuptial! Where heavens King  
Becomes the Bridegroom: and where Angels sing  
Their Epithalamies; and Saintly Quires  
With choicest airs accomplish their desires.   

" Close then with your dear servant; heavens appeased,  
You from your tears, she from her griefs released:  
Which done, your late ELIZA's Elegy  
Will wipe all tears from RAGLANDS' Niobe.   
Niobem mutamur in ipsam.   

Epitaph.  

PUre Shrinel to which that treasure is confined, 
Obiit lun. 1. Anno Dom. 1635.   
Till it be reunited to her mind,  
Where every grain rose to so high a rate,  
It passed th' inferior Orb to estimate.  
Nor had we lost the richesse of this Mine,  
Had it not been too precious for the time.  
Nor by enjoyment of it so long blessed,  
But for His Sake by whom it was possessed.  
Who, as his virtues style him man of men,  
Only deserved to wear so rich a gem:  
For whose content heavens might have pleased to spare  
And crowned the joys of such a peerless Pair.   

But Stars shine clearest in their proper Spheere,  
So she more glorious than she showed here.  
o were Earth numerous in such a birth,  
It might be justly styled Heaven on Earth!   GENTIS HONOUR, VIRTUTIS AMOR, SPECTABILIS UXOR, CONDITA SUNT TUMULO, NON MORITURA, TVO 
Finis.   


LEt it not distaste my Lord, that I have here  
Annexed th' Elegiac raptures of my Dear:  
'Tis said that Polo the Tragedlan.  
When he on Stage to force some passion came,  
Had his Son's ashes in an Urn enshrined  
To work more deep impressions in his mind.  
The Emblem's good: this Funeral pile of ours  
Struck passion in each line addressed to yours.