An Elegie. VPON The truely lamented Death OF Sir IOHN WOLSTENHOLME, Knight; WHO On the [...] of November, 1639.
Quitted the lower World, and put on Glorious Immortalitie.
By Fra. Quarles.
LONDON, Printed by Tho. Cotes, for N. Alsop; and are to be sold at the Angell in Popes head Alley. 1640.
TO My Honorable Friend, Sir IOHN WOLSTENHOLME Knight.
Sir,
THe vertues of Parents are Freehold, but their Memorie is entayl'd, either Oeconomically, upon posterity; or pollitically, upon all: Vnder this Title I claime; and having, like the Bee, suckt hony from his Thyme, J present it to you, to sweeten his Name from the Odours of his owne Flowers. How farre I stand from flattery; J appeale: What J have done, is but a small Posie, gathered out of [Page]his Garden: Happy is he, whose Herse can be stucke with such flowers: Sir, such is my confidence, that I question not your gentle Acceptance, for his sake that loves you and yours; But J acknowledge it a fuller Testimony of my affection then his worth, though short of both: For the last, the world will supply: for the first, let your goodnesse excuse
The Servant to his Memory and your merits, FRA. QVARLES.
Greg. in Hom.
SIc mors cum venerit, vincitur, si priusquam veniat, expectatur.
Greg. sup. Math.
Mors Justorum bonis est in adjutorium; malis, in testimonium.
Bern. in Ep.
Mors Justi bona, propter Requiem; melior propter novitatem; optima, propter securitatem.
An Elegie.
1
AWake, you slumbring sons of Art, and rouze,
Your fancies fuddl'd with the sacred streams:
You neede not steepe your line-creating browes,
A minit longer, in your Ayrie dreames:
See, here's a Subject for you, will infuse
Such tides of Matter, that you neede not use
The helpe of Art, or once implore a Muse.
2.
Broach not the Vessell of your strong Invention,
Nor let your Fancies licke your rugged Rhimes;
Let your menditious teares begge no attention,
Or crave assistance from th'ungratefull Times;
See, here's a subject for you, that will teare,
The Portalls open of the deafest eare,
And force the hardest Marble to a Teare.
3.
Come, come, yee Masters of th'eternall Quill,
That keepe the Records of surviving glory;
In spite of dust, and death, that can, and will
Preserve our Names in your immortall story;
Record his Mem'ry, and enroll his Name,
Whose living worth the full mouth Trumpe of same,
Is proud to vent, and glories to proclaime.
4.
Death, that great Bug-beare of this sinfull earth,
Whose pow'r no strength, no stratageme can resist,
Whose very Name dissolves the soule of mirth,
Can tyrannize no further than you list:
Th'immortall dames, in your immortall view,
Curse their vaine tackling, leave their idle Clue,
And can not worke their ends, forbid by you.
5.
Else had the Glory of this Man of men
Lyen like his dust, entomb'd, had not the wing
Of glorious Fame preserv'd it for your Pen,
As a fit subject for the world to sing;
Else had this great example chalkt the wayes
Of Honor but to us, and lost the praise,
And imitation of succeeding dayes.
6.
Flow then, my Quill, and let thy sable Tides
Weft thy rich treasure to the worlds wide eares:
Feare not to let thy prizes be discried;
Sighes be thy Impost, and thy Custome, teares
Proclame thy lading: say, thou are repleat
With all those sum-lesse sums, that did cōpleat,
And make the Name of Wolstenholme so great.
7.
Great is his Name indeed; yea, ev'n so great,
As gracious vertue 'inseperably joyn'd
With morall worth, can make; made more compleat
With the rich Gifts of Fortunes, as of Minde
Made greater yet, in being truely blest
With a calme conscience, in a smiling brest,
With living Honor, and a dying Rest.
8.
How farre his ancient lineage hath convay'd
His gentle Blood to these unhappy times,
Will crave discourse too ample to be made
The proper subject of our pursie Rhymes;
Nor neede we borrow honor from past dayes,
To peece his worth: H'as left enough to raise
A perfect Pyramis to his owne praise.
9.
Iudgement was palac'd here; and to his heart,
Wel-grounded wisdome was a welcome Guest;
The righteous Virgine rul'd his better part,
And kept a Court of Chaunc'ry in his brest [...].
Truth banisht eare-corrupting Error hence,
Grace clipt the wings of faith-controling Sense,
And with his wisedome mingled Innocence.
10.
Knowledge was treasur'd here; knowledge refin'd
In wisdomes Furnace, from her drossie pride,
The high Ambition of whose humble minde
Was but to know his frailtie and his Gulde:
The vastnesse of his knowledge did extend,
A large circumference, whose point did tend,
To th' Center of his God, himselfe, his end.
11.
Love, and true friendship, here, went arme in arme,
And sweetned all his actions; in his eye
Ingenuous mildlesse did present a Charme,
Too stout for rude Rebellion to deny:
Within the palace of his loyall brest,
Crown'd with unblemisht faith did sweetly rest
A single heart: He was what he profest.
12.
Mirth, taught to smile by the serene suggestion
Of secret peace, adorn'd his chearefull brow:
His conscience could not aske too hard a question
For his faire Innocence to answer to,
If ever ugly Guilt should chance t'appeare
Before his Eye, or whisper in his Eare,
His pensive faith would clense it with a teare.
13.
Noble were all his Actions, just and free;
Prudently simple, providently wise:
Not vaunting so, that every eye should see;
Nor yet so close, to be affraid of eyes:
His great imployment, tooke a pride to waite
Vpon the common good, and did relate,
To the Honor of his God, the Church, the State.
14.
Or if thy yet-enquiring eye inspect
His private Actions, they will blazon forth
A pious heart, and gloriously reflect
Vpon the honour of his Name, his worth:
His prudent hand did neither loosly wast,
Nor hid his Talent; His full hand did cast
His bounteous Bread for every want to tast.
15.
Peace-nurrisht Plenty did not onely waite
Vpon the welcome of his chearefull board,
But fairely sacrifiz'd before his Gate;
Almes came, unask'd; and Plenty, unimplor'd:
No whining voyce was ever heard to call:
The blessed Portalls of his bounteous Hall,
Were, every day, become an Hospitall.
16.
Quick sighted Envy, heare may snarle, and barke,
And gnaw her viperous tongue, or burst for spite;
Her spleene-fed malice ne're had such a marke;
Her poyson'd shafts had ne're so faire a white:
His name's an Antidote that can repell
The very Quintessence of Aspes, and quell
The blacke Artilry of malicious Hell.
17.
Rest happy soule, and let unfrighted sleepe,
Crowne thy blest Urne with unmolested peace;
And let glad Abra'ms glorious bosome keepe
Thy better part in joyes that never cease:
Triumph, enthron'd with thy Angellike peeres,
And let Hosannaes fill thy sacred eares,
Whilst we embalme thy ashes with our teares.
18.
Sorrow, (a name as much unknowne to thee,
As thy full joyes to us) must fill our brests;
And we poore Mortalls are condemn'd to be
A prey to sadnesse, whilst thy Spirit rests
Discharg'd of discontented earth, and free
Frō all those damps, & fleshly Qualmes, that we,
Blind to thy Gaines, have through the losse of thee.
19.
Tis not a private losse, whose easie date,
Determines with a sigh; and so an end:
The Church hath lost a Patron; and the State,
A loyall Servant; and the Poore, a Friend:
The Oeconomicke shoulder onely beares
A single burthen, and it quickly weares;
But Panik sorrowes must have Panik teares.
20.
Victorious passion here, triumphes and raignes
With Reason in an equall Diarchy;
Now, publike losse, and not his private gaines
Are the sad object of our tearefull eyes;
And then, the joy of his Joy-entred soule
Cancels those tears: our selves, our selfs cōtroule,
And even what we congratulate, we condole.
21.
Wipe off those teares, or if they needes must fall;
Take a new Object, to redeeme their losse;
They'l serve thee to lament thy selfe withall:
Better retail'd, than lavisht out in Grosse:
Husband thy Fountaines well: Thou needs not feare
The danger of a second Deluge there
If thou but droppe for every sinne a teare.
22.
You that desire to leave a lasting story,
Wherein your Names may live for ever crownd;
Here, gaining Honor; and hereafter, Glory;
In life rewarded, and in death renown'd;
Behold your great Example; in whose wayes,
Can you but leade your Progresse, ye shall raise
Eternall Trophies of immortall Praise.
The End.