MAVSOLEVM OR, THE CHOISEST FLOWRES of the Epitaphs, written on the Death of the neuer-too-much lamented PRINCE HENRIE.
Cosa bella mortal passa, e non dura.
EDINBVRGH Printed by Andro Hart. ANNO DOM. 1613.
MAVSOLEVM▪ OR, THE CHOISEST FLOWRES OF the Epitaphs, written on the Death of the neuer-too-much lamented PRINCE HENRY.
EPIT. 1
LOe here intomb'd a peerelesse Prince doth lie,
In flowre and strength of age surprys'd by Death,
On whom, while he on Earth drew vitall breath,
The hope of many Kingdomes did relie;
Not without cause: for Heauens most liberally
To him all Princely Vertues did bequeath,
Which to the worthiest Princes here beneath
Before had bene allotted seuerally.
But when the world of all his Vertues rare
The wished fruit to gather did expect,
And that he should such
glorious workes effect,
As with the worthiest Fame might him compare
Untimely death then from vs did him take,
Our losse, and griefe, Heauens gaine, and joy to make.
W. Q.
2
OCcidit ante diem juvenum flos, gloria stirpis
Regalis, Patriae spes, columenq suae.
Occidit ante diem patri, populisque Britannis
Flendus, & his junctis foedere, amore, sacris.
Occidit ante diem, gesturus Principe digna,
Accelerasset et ni fera Parca necem.
Occidit ante diem, virtutis & ubere fructu,
Et mundum exemplo funere destituens.
Occidit ante diem, si vota & commoda spectes
Publica, vel vitam si brevitate notes.
Sin vitam spe
[...]tes partam illi morte perennem,
Haud jam, par Superis, occidit ante diem
Walter Quin.
3
STay Passenger, see where enclosed lyes,
The Paragon of Princes, fairest Frame,
Time, Nature, Place could show to mortall eyes,
In Worth, Wit, Vertue; wonder vnto Fame.
At least that part the Earth of him could claime,
This Marble holds
hard like the Destinies:
[...]o
[...] as to his braue Spirit, and glorious Name,
The one the World, the other fills the Skyes.
Th'immortall
Amaranthus, princelie
Rose,
Sad
Violet, and that sweet flowre that beares
In sanguine spots the tenor of our woes,
Spred on this stone, and wash it with thy teares.
Then goe and tell from
Gades vnto
Inde,
Thou saw where Earths perfections were confinde.
W. D.
4
A Passing glance, a lightning long the skies
That vsh'ring thunder dies straight to our sight,
A sparke, of contraries that doth arise
Then's drown'd in the huge deepes of Day and Night:
Is this small small cald life, held in such price
Of blinded Wights, who ne're judge ought aright.
Of
Parthian shaft so swift is not the flight,
As lyfe, that wastes it selfe, and liuing dies.
Ah, what is humane Greatnesse, Valour, Wit?
What fading Beautie, Riches, Honour, Praise?
To what doth serue in golden thrones to sit,
Thrall Earths vaste Round, triumphall Arches raise?
That all's a Dreame learne in this Princes fall,
In whom sade Death naught mortall was at all.
W. D.
5
OF JET,
Or
PORPHERIE,
Or that white stone
PAROS affoordes alone,
Or these in
AZVRE dye,
which seeme to scorne the
SKYE:
Here
Memphis Wonders doe not set,
Nor
ARTEMISIA'S huge frame,
that keepes so long her Louers Name:
mak no great marble
Atlas tremble with gold
To please a vulgar eye that doth beholde.
Phoebus, the Muses, Loue, hath raised of their teares
A Chrystal tombe to him where through his worth appear
W. Drummond.
6
FAire
Britaines Prince in th' Aprill of his yeares,
The Heauen [enamour'd with his springing grace]
Rest to her selfe, for to enriche the Spheares,
And shine next
Cynthia in the starrie chase.
And well enjoy he might so high a place;
For frowning
Neptunes liquid field of feares,
And this poore mote of dust that all vpbeares,
To his great mind seem'd too too small a space:
Yet it his coarse doth keepe; [deare pledge] ou'r which
Affections flammes huge
Pyramides doth raise,
All grauen with golden letters of his praise.
But
ah depriued of a gemme so riche!
Great
Britaine now but great to all appeares,
In her great losse, and
Oceans of teares.
Ignoto.
7
Ciò ch' il Pianéta che distíngue L'hore
Alluma e cínge, e cio ch' il gran Mar laua,
Tutto quel è la sepoltura cava,
Del magnanimo
ARRIGO, ricco d' Honore.
Ignoto.
8
WHy Pilgrime doest thou stray
By
Asia's floods renown'd?
Or where great ATLAS crown'd
With clowds, him reaches boue Heauens milkie way?
Strange Wonders to behold.
By
Isis streames if thou'l but daigne to stay,
One thou shall finde surpassing all the told.
For there's in litle roome,
The PRINCE of men, and
Man of Princes Tombe.
Ignoto.
9
HEre lies the Worlds delight,
Dead to our sight, but in Eternall light.
These nyne who by him mone,
The
Muses were (alas)
But through his fatall case,
Are chang'd like wailing
Niobe in stone.
She clad in Sable roabes,
Who in a deadly sleepe
Such pearlie streames poures from her Christall globes;
Is
Vertue that complaines
She wanteth
Argos hundreth eyes to weepe;
Or
Iris siluer raines.
That wing'd
Penthasilea in the Aire,
Fame is, his praise who roles,
Twixt both the starrie Poles.
With earnest eyes to skies, and Bay-crown'd haire,
Enstall'd on
Vertues throne,
This Ghaistlie Syre that tramples pale
Despaire,
Braue
Honor's cald, who scornes to giue a grone,
For in the Programme of his life he reeds,
Mens Hopes of him surmounts ALCIDES
deeds.
Ignoto.
10
CRudeli crudaque Patri, Patriaeque ruina
Raptus, ut aethereis insereretur avis:
HENRICVS modicae (Sanctum Caput) inditur Vrna,
Maximus Ille, suo ni genitore minor.
Hugo Hollandus.
11
DEath (that by stealth did wound Prince HENRIES heart)
Is now tane Captiue, and doth act the part
Of one o'recome, by being too too fierce,
And lyes himselfe dead vnder
Henries Hearse:
He therefore now in Heauenly runes doth sing,
Hell where's thy triumph? Death where is thy sting?
George Wyther.
12
TWo Kingdomes strove for Intrest in one Prince,
Heauens claim'd me from them both, and rest me hence:
Scotland my Cradle,
England hath my Herse,
The Heauens my Soule, my Vertues liue in Verse.
13
I liv'd three Kingdomes hope, foes terror, parents life,
I di'de their dearest losse, their joy, their endlesse griefe.
Robert Allyne.
14
WHom all the vaste frame of the fixed Earth
Shrunke vnder: now a weake Herse stands beneath:
His Fate he past in fact, in hope his Birth,
His youth in good life, and in spirit his death.
15
BLest be his great Begetter, blest the Wombe
That gaue him birth, though much too neere his Tombe.
In them was he, and they in him were blest:
What their most great pow'rs gaue him, was his least.
His Person grac't the Earth, and of the Skyes,
His blessed Spirit, the praise is, and the pryse.
Geor. Chapman.
16
DId he die young? oh no, it could not be,
For I know few that liv'd so long but he,
Till God and all men lov'd him: then be bold,
That man that liv's so long, must needs be old.
William Rowley.
FINIS.