If all the world neglect us.
Breath'd from the vulgar, which are only tumours
And swelling water-bubbles, that together
Doe rise and fall, according to the weather,
Why should we feare them? Let the inward man
Looke upward, then doe Envy when she can.
Set therefore now thy voice in tune to mine,
In descant manner; and again to thine
I'le tune a ground; and both together we,
Two parts in one, so sweetly will agree,
As, whilst the rabble and rude multitude
With their vncivill clamours doe intrude,
Breaking all law and right, true musick's lore,
We will in tune them out of tune deplore.
EPITAPH ON ARCHBISHOP WHITGIFT. ·
PURE saints, by heaven refyn'd from earthlie drosse,
You duelye can esteeme your new increase;
But our soules' eyes are dymme to see the loss,
Great prelate, wee sustaine by thy decease.
We never could esteeme thee as we ought,
Although the best of men did the best esteeme;
For hardly can you square a mortall thought,
That of so great worth worthilie can deeme.
This straight found cedar, new cut from the stemme,
As yet is scarcelie mist in Labanus :
This richer then the Wise King's richest gemme,
New lost, as yet is scarselie mist of us.
But yeares to come, and our deserved want,
Proudlie foretold their bookes of eternities:
But if
my Muse were like mine argument,
Theis lynes would outlive both their memories.
For their best maister-pieces doe contayne
But pictures of false gods, and men's true faultes ;
Whereas in my verse ever should remayne
A true saint's praise, whose worth fills heaven's great vaults.
Shyne bright in the Triumph Church, faire soule,
That in the Militant has shyn'd so longe:
Let rarest witts thy great deserts enrolle.
I can but sing thee in a mournfull songe,
And wish that with a sea of teares my verse
Could make an island of thy honour'd herse.
LACHRIME LACHRIMARVM,
A Funeral Elegie upon the all-lamented Death of the
all-admired (late) Prince.
HOWEVER short of other's art and witt,
I knowe my powers for such a part unfitt;
And shall but light my candle in the sunne,
To doe a work shalbe so better donne:
Could teares and feares give my distractions leave
Of sobbing words a sable webbe to weave,-
Could sorrowe's fulnes give my voice a vent,
How would, how should my saddest verse lament
(In deepest sighs, instead of sweetest songs,)
This losse (alas!) which unto all belongs;
To all the godly now, and future, farr,
To all the world (except S. P. Q. R.):
To all together, and to each a-part,
That liues, and loves religion, armes, or art:
To all abroad, but to us most of all,
That nearest stood to my high cedar's fall
But more than most to mee, that had no prop
But Henry's hand, and, but in him, no hope.
O deerest Henry, heav'n and earth's delight! O cleerest beame of vertue's rising bright! O purist spark of pious princely zeale! O surest ark of justice' sacred weale! O grauest presage of a prudent kinde! O bravest message of a valliant mynde! O, all-admired, benign and bounteous! O all-desired (right) Panaretus! Panaretus (all-vertuous) was thy name, Thy nature such; such ever be thy fame.
TAKE wing, my Muse, and, like that silent doue Which o'er the world, new-bath'd, did hou'ring fly, The low-coucht seas, and high-plac't land above, Discerne with faithfull, though with fearfull eye, That what both land and sea resounding ring We to this All-maker's prayses sing.
He who directs the sparrowe's tender flight, And sees him safely reach the heartlesse ground, Guide thee in all thy passages aright,
And grant thy course be sure, thy resting sound,
From Mount of Oliues, as from hill of bayes,
Blest with the branch of peace, though not of
praise.
And you, whose care our floating houses yet saues
From sinking in the deluge of despayre,
Whilst with poore feather'd oares she the
passe
Of this all-vulgar-breath'd, storme-threatening
Deare Lord, vouchsafe with patient looke t'attend
Her flight's both trembling rise and humble end.
To our small Isle of Man some will compare
The world, that greater continent's hugh frame;
Nor much vnlike, eyther's perfections are—
Their matter and their mixture both the same:
Whence man's affection it so much allures,
Sith greatest likenesse greatest love procures.
But if their outward formes we looke vpon,
Wee shall their figures divers plainly see;
For man's erected tall proportion
To his heav'n-hoping soule doth best agree: Whereas the world, each way being framed round,
The aptest forme for turning change hath found. Like Nature's rarist workmanship, the eye, The well-contrived instrument of seeing, Which, by exact and apt rotunditie, Performes his duty, and preserves his beeing; Of many curious circling spheres composed, And orbs within the orbs without inclosed.
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