MONODIA.
An Elegie, in commemoration of the
Ʋertuous life, and Godlie Death of the right Worshipfull & most religious Lady, Dame Hellen Branch
Widdowe, (
late Wife to the right worshipfull Sir
Iohn Branch knight, sometimes L. Mayor of this Honorable Citty, and daughter of M.
W. Nicholson sometimes of London Draper) who deceased the 10. of
Aprill last, and lieth interred in Saint
Mary Abchurch in London, the 29. of the same, 1594.
SIth vnto me vnworthy, you commit
This worthy taske (for better muses fit)
To sing (nay rather sadlie to deplore)
This common losse, that nothing can restore:
You sacred brood, borne of celestiall race,
You virgin Ladies which powre down the grace
Of Arts and learning on your seruants decre,
Vouch safe assistance to my moornings heer.
Teach me sad accents & a weeping measure
To straine foorth pittie, not to stir-vp pleasure.
And you my priuate cares, (althogh the cause
Of your dispaires doo neuer, neuer pawse)
Pawse you a little, and giue leaue a-while,
Mid publike griefs my priuate to beguile;
Giue leaue I pray you; for a priuate case
Vnto a publike euer must giue place.
Alas how fitlie is this life of ours
Compard to field-grasse and to fading flowers,
Fresh, greene and gallant, in the morning sun;
Witherd and dead before the day be done.
Did euer yet the worlds bright eie behold,
(Since first th'Eternal, earthly slime en-sowld)
A frame of flesh so glorious heer beneath,
But hath bin ruynde by the rage of Death?
Of Death dread victor of al earthlie things,
Who in a moment equals clownes with kings.
For maiestie can nothing him dismay,
No strength nor courage can his comming stay,
No welth can wage him, nor no wit preuent him,
No louelie beautie can at al relent him,
Nay (which is more) no vertue can auaile
Ay me, that death on vertue should preuaile.
But tis decreed, death is the meed for sinne,
This by ambition did our grand sire win;
And we the heires both of his worke and wages
Must all die once, throughout all after ages.
And heere for instance see this sable hearse
Shrowding the subiect of my moornefull verse,
The breathlesse body of a worthie Dame,
The Lady
Branch, a
Nicholson by name:
A godlie, vertuous and religious Matron
For maids, and wiues, and widdows al a pattern.
Worship and wealth adornd hir parentage,
Fauour and beautie grast her personage,
But vertuous manners, by good education,
Broght to hir youth the greatest cōmendation,
Wherein so wel she spent hir virgin-daies
That Enuies selfe saw nothing to dispraise.
Now when her age had made hir apt to mary,
With frends aduise that of hir choice were chary,
She was espousd to one of speciall sort,
Welthy in purse, and worship full in port,
Maister
John Minors, praisde for zeale & pietie,
One of the Drapers worshipfull societie:
To him she bare fower children, one a boy,
The rest al daughters, al, their parents ioy.
But all these ioyes (alas) but little lasted,
Al these faire blossoms were vntimely blasted.
All dyed young; for what drawes liuely breath
But yong or ould must yeeld at last to death?
But they, long moorning for their mutual losse,
Frame mutuall comforts to each others crosse,
Till time, that all things weares had worne away
Their sorrowes edge, vneasy to allay.
Then happilie many fair daies they spent,
To others comfort and their owne content,
In all the practize of a christian life,
And mutuall duties meet for man and wife,
Hee happie in his chance, shee in hir choice,
Both iointly blessed in them selues reioce.
But ah these earth-ioies doo not euer last.
After long cleerenes cloudes will ouer cast:
After long calmes still followes stormy weather.
When they had liu'd full fortie yeares together,
Hee died alas; for what drawes liuely breath,
But young or ould, must yeld at last to death?
Then desolate and comfortlesse alone,
Like to the Turtle when hir mate is gone,
With sigh-swolne hart and sorrow-clowded eies:
Shee wayles hir lost loue in a woefull wise
Till time that althinges weares, had worne away
Hir sorrowe's edge, vn-easie to allay.
Then after modest and meet intermision,
Becomming well hir yeares, and hir codition,
In second wedlocke shee was linckt again
Vnto another wealthie Cittizen,
To Maister
Branch who after wards became
Lord Mayor of London, worthie wel the same,
In which high office he him so acquighted,
That for his seruice he was after knighted.
He was hir husband twentie yeares, or more,
And much increast hir stile, her state, and store.
But boughes & Branches, shrubs, & Cedars tall
Wither and die and into ashes fall,
So fel this
Branch, for what drawes liuely breth
But old or yong must yeeld at last to death?
Then all forlorne, thus hauing lost hir knight,
This doleful Lady left al worlds delight,
Al shewes of pleasure, and al pomp for saking,
Hir selfe to sadnesse and to solenesse taking,
with inward sighes & outward teares lamenting
His death, whose life was al hir liues contenting.
Euen like vnto the sad and woful Winter,
Who (soone as euer the bright season-stinter
Hath left hir widdow of his wonted raies,
Whilst to another world he takes his waies)
Casting aside hir rich enameld crownes,
Flower-powdred mātles, & embrodered gowns
Of gras-green silk-shag, and the gawdie pride
Of all hir Iewels and hir iems beside,
Hir mirth-lesse selfe in moornfull maner shrouds
Down to the ground in robe of sable clouds,
And frō hir swoln-hart sighs a thousand stowres
And from hir drownd eies weeps a thousād showers.
But now become hir self, hir selfes cōmander,
To shield hir life safe from al shot of slander,
(As 'twere) sequestred from much conuersation,
She past hir time in holy meditation,
In thanks and praier vnto Christ our Lord,
And often hearing of his sacred word;
Jn godlie almes, and liberal pensions rife,
And al the duties of a christian life,
Laying vp treasure with the ioyfull iust,
Safe from the force of the eues, and fret of rust.
So that hir three-fold godly life alludeth
To virgin
Ruth, wife
Sara, widdow
Judith,
This life she led; but this life wil away,
We are but pilgrims, heere we may not stay.
No more might she: for when thrice thirty yeere
(A goodlie age) she had expired heere
She also died; for what drawes liuely breath,
But young or old must yeeld at last to death?
Such life, such death: wel ends the wel begun,
And by the euen the faire daies praise is wun.
Wel she began and wundrous wel she ended,
Faire rose this sun, and fairely it descended,
To rise againe to glorie at the last,
At that great angels al-awaking blast
And therfore (deer friends) do not waile nor weep,
For hir that is so happy falne asleepe,
But waile our losse, our common cause of griefe,
The riches load-star, & the poores releefe,
For to the rich in life she gaue example,
And to the poore in life and death was ample.
Weep rich, weep poore, let high and low lament
But most you poore, let your salt tears be spent,
For you alas haue lost your liberall Ladie,
Your nurse, your mother, but alas why wade I
With my poor stile in so profound a streame?
You springs of artes, eies of this noble Realme,
Cambridge & Oxford, lend your learned teares,
To wail your own losse, and to witnesse theirs:
Tel you, that haue the voice of eloquence,
This bounteous Ladies large benificence,
First to your selues, for loue vnto your lore,
Then seueralie to euerie kind of poore,
Within this Cittie. To the Drapers Hall,
To euerie Prison, euerie Hospitall,
To Lunatikes, and poore Maides marriages,
And many other worthie leagacies,
And when you haue drawn all your tear-springs drie;
For her decease, heer let your comfort lie,
That of this Phaenix ashes there reuiues
Another, where her vertue still suruiues.
Ios. Siluester.
FINIS.