FAME tells sad tydings to my listning eare,
My Eare conueies them to my throbbing Heart,
My Heart, whose strings with sighs nie broken are,
Doth to my watrie Eyes these newes impart.
Teares are eyes-trafficke sent to sorrows mart:
So stormes of rayne alay the boistrous winde,
And streames of teares do calme the pensiue mind.
Dead's Europ's glorie and great England's fame,
Since faire Eliza is depriv'd of breath,
Wild Savedges ador'd her liuing name,
And, beeing dead, we all lament her death;
Hir death full many a Poet's weeping breath.
So wayling infants in their birth presage,
How griefe must be the remnant of their age.
Oh, whither shall the Arts for succour flie?
Since Art's perfection, Nature's chiefe delight;
Jove's dearest darling, Fates have done to die,
The Earth's bright glorie, and the World's cleare light.
Weepe, Muses, weepe, lament your wofull plight.
A cypresse bow my trembling hand doth beare;
The dolefull liu'rie that my heart doth weare.
Yet cease your plaints, add measure to your mone:
For how can die creature so diuine?
Eliza to Elysian fields is gone;
And England's awfull Scepter did resigne
To one descended from her Royall line,
Smile, Muses, smile, a noble one succeedes;
Eliza's lawfull Heire in vertuous deedes.
THO. GOODRICK, S. I. Coll.
Upon occasion offered by the Time and Season of the Yeare, when the Crowne by due descent fell unto our most gratious and Soveraigne Lord the King.
Illustrious, puissant, and renowned Prince,
Mirrour of learning; Nature's quintessence, &c.
Pardon, great King of Europe's greatest Isle,
Your boundlesse titles passe my feeble style.
Don Eolus, great Monarch of the Windes,
Hearing Eliza now her Crowne resignes,
Sent forth life-breathing Zephirus, who brings
These joyous tydings grau'n vpon his wings.
But sturdy Notus, farre more swift in flight,
Thought this Embassage 'long'd to him by right:
And brought from out the caverns of the Earth;
Making an hideous noise with blust'ring breath.
The reason why South wind so loud did blow,
He fear'd his tydings should be deeme too slow,
And when, great King, your gests you 'gan to ride,
The fertile heau'ns, the barren earth 'gan chide;
For that the Spring, vsher to Maie's fresh Queene,
Was not apparel'd in his suit of greene;
Nor that herselfe in her new mantle clade,
Ne yet her men in liueries greene araide.
Wherefore a snowie mantle did they spread,
On which your sacred selfe might softly tread.
Which princely fauor when your Grace did daign,
Heauens wept for ioy, and burst forth into raine.
Then powerful Phebus dride those vaprous streanis,
By the exhaling influence of his beames;
And set new nappe on Earth's bare coat againe,
In honour of our deare dread Soueraigne.
And that same Phebe, the painfull Poet's god,
With all the troopes of his celestiall brood,
Vnto your worthie Highnes doth bequeath
A glorious Diademe of Laurell wreath.
The Laurell euer-greene for aye doth spring,
Meede for the Poet, and the mightie King.
Oh! where on earth should rest those gifts diuine,
But in your brest, as in their sacred shrine?
A Cesar's scepter, and a Virgil's quill;
Which Jove grant, laurell-like, may flourish still.
Oh, how his heau'nly dits, and powerful songs,
In sugred slumbers, lull the learned throngs!
Let the celestiall Quire of Muses sing,
Sweet hyms of praise, in honour of our King.
TH. GOODRICK, S. I. Coll.
You Orphane Muses, which have lost of late
The Roiall Ornament of learned Arts,
(Whome all the world did rightly wonder at,
Whilst shee on Earth did hold our loiall hearts,)
Accord with vs, and willingly addresse
Your tragicke fall to England's heavines.
Yee that of late did blazon forth her praise,
Who liuing gave life to your heroick verse,
Compile sad Elegies and mournfull laies,
Which witnes may how ye bewail'd her herse:
Her herse, whose raigne your bowres did beautifie,
Princesse of Learning, Queene of Castalie.
Whilst that your christall-streaming Helicon
Orepasse his bounds surcharged with your teare;
Distilling fast, whilst you her losse bemone,
Whose glorie shined bright both farre and neare,
What greater favour could ye ere have found,
Then to b' embrac't of roialst Prince on ground?
Greater the fauour was, greater the griefe
Sustained since Elizae's mournfull death;
Which Learning grac't with honour and reliefe,
Whilst you enjoyed her; shee, vital breath:
All which may cause your selues both to lament,
And tell this Island's heavie dreariment,
This Island, which shee blest with happie peace,
And it established in ioyful glee:
This Island which from feare shee did release,
Of forraine force and cruell tyrannie.
Such happie blisse it never saw beforne,
Which makes her losse more grieuously to mourne.
Who would haue thought, that any gladsome light
In English hearts could ever shine againe,
To chase these watrie clouds, and cleare our sight,
From whence salt brinish tears have flow'd amaine?
Who would haue thought, but that faire England's pride
Had with her Soueraigne Queene both liu'd and dide?
Yet from that Roiall thrice-renowned race
Of Kings; from which Eliza did descend;
Th' Almightie King hath raised in her place,
A puissant Soueraigne Prince vs to defend;
And eke this island to adorne with blisse,
As he with vertues all adorned is.
That Regall Race to peace restored first
This Land; when two braue peares did ioyne in one, Ending of civill wars the bloody thirst,
That one might raigne a compleat Prince alone.
Such one Eliza was whilst shee did liue;
One Phenix dead, another doth suruiue.
No tract of time yet can her donne to dye,
Vertue reuiues when men lowe buried lye:
Elizae's vertues liue though shee be gonne,
Nor sleep her praises in her marble stone.
Dead is shee not, but liueth still on hye,
Where Angels for her make sweet melody.
Amongst the Saintes and Angel's company,
In heaven cloathed all in purest white,
A Crowne shee weares of Immortality,
Whose ioyes no pen is able to endite:
Meane while let Muses all extoll her name,
And sing to future age her worthy fame.
Great God, in dreadfull iudgement reft away
The aged mother of these orphane lands;
The children wayled for their dames decay,
Lifting to highest heaven their folded hands;
"Deare God," they sayd, " rue on our heavie case,
And spare vs, not for vs, but for thy boundless grace :
Our life, our soule, our heart, our head is dead;
Spare us, good Lord, and save vs out of dread."
He then bespake; "Comfort, my seely sheepe;
I will you saue, my mercy shall you keepe;
Nor life, nor soule, nor heart, nor head is dead,
But all with me eu'rliuing life do lead.
Comfort, my sheep, a Shepheard I have found,
Truer then whome treads nor on grasse, nor ground;
Him will I giue, he shall you rule aright.
Your Mother gon, he shall your Father hight."
The teares that earst rayned adown their cheeke,
They lightly wipte, and thus gan him bespeake;
"Mercy, deare Lord, unto thy bounty-hed,
Which such a father hast vs offered:
Him for our dreaded Lord we humbly take,
Him lord, good Lord, thou ouer vs do make."
With that, a noise the yeelding aire did rent,
And cleft the skyes, and vp to heauen it went,
And certifi'd high God of their intent:
The Angels selu's (hearing the shrilling shout
Which from the earth resounded all about),
The self-same voice re-echoing agayne,
God save the King melodiously they sange.
The rolling sphears (whose voice was neu'r descri'd
By mortall eare, since Samian wisard di'd),
The self-same note eke softly murmured;
And them their mouers sweetly answered.
So heauen and earth, according both in one,
God saue King James, they cried, true King alone. THO. BYNG.
TO THE KING HIS MAIEstie.
Is any penne so rich in poetrie,
As to pourtray thy matchlesse Maiestie?
Can mortall wight conceit thy worthines,
Which fills the world's capacious hollownes?
Lo then the man which the Lepanto1 writ;
Or he, or els on earth is no man fit.
Request him then, that he would thee commend,
Els neu'r thy worth may worthily be penn'd:
And yet, for all his Royall eloquence,
Scarce may he figure forth thy excellence.
ON THE DEATH OF OUR LATE QUEENE.
They say a Comet woonteth to appeare,
When Princes baleful destinie is neare:
So Julius starre was seene with fierie crest,
Before his fall to blaze emongst the rest!
Our Starre is fall'n, and yet no bearded light
Did once amaze the sad beholders sight;
For why, a Comet meete to have showne her fall,
Would sure have set on fire heaven, earth, and all.
Twixt King and Queene while I devide my heart,
They, each to other, yeeld their doubtfull part:
So turne I griefe to ioy, or ioy to griefe;
For in a kingdome onely one is chiefe.
The title due to both; and both I like,
And both my heart with ioy and griefe doe strike.
Her losse, my griefe; his gaine, my ioy doth claime;
And both at white and blacke my heart must aime.
For her I grieve, in him I take delight:
To him I give the day, to her the night.
To weepe for her in night my blood Ile drop,
And ioy for him my blood in day shall stop.
That both I honour may in their degree,
King James, I wish her happiness to thee.
The "Lepanto" made a part of "His Maiesties Poeticall Exercises at vacant Houres;" printed at Edinburgh in 1591.
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