And thus sets on him-" See, my lord, how here Th' eternal providence of God hath brought You to the shore of safety, (out of fear) From all the waves of misery, that wrought To overwhelm you; and hath set you clear, Where you would be; with having (which you sought Through all these hazards of distress) a king Of your own making and establishing.
"And now, my lord, I trust you will sit down, And rest you after all this passed thrall, And be yourself, a prince within your own, Without advent'ring any more at all Your state in others' bottoms; having known The dangers that on mighty actors fall; Since in the foot of your accounts, your gains Come short to make ev'n reck'ning with your pains.
"Enjoy now what you wrought for in this sort, (If great men's ends be to enjoy their ends) And know, the happi'st pow'r, the greatest port, Is only that which on itself depends. Here have you state enough, to be a court Unto yourself! here! where the world attends On you, (not you on it) observed sole: You elsewhere but a part, are here the whole.
"The advantages of princes are, we see, But things conceiv'd imaginarily: For ev'ry state of fortune, in degree, Some image hath of principality; Which they enjoy more natural and free,
Than can great pow'rs, chain'd with observancy, And with the fetters of respect still ty'd; B'ing easier far to follow, than to guide.
"And what are courts, but camps of misery? That do besiege men's states, and still are press'd T'assail, prevent, complot, and fortify; In hope t' attain, in fear to be suppress'd. Where all with shows and with apparency, Men seem as if for stratagems address'd: Where Fortune, as the wolf, doth still prefer The foulest of the train that follows her.
"And where fair hopes are laid, as ambushments, To intercept your life, and to betray Your liberty to such entanglements, As you shall never more get clear away: Where both th' engagement of your own intents, And other reck'nings and accounts, shall lay Such weights upon you, as you shall not part, Unless you break your credit, or your heart.
"Besides, as exiles ever from your homes, You live perpetual in disturbancy; Contending, thrusting, shuffling for your rooms Of ease or honour, with impatiency; Building your fortunes upon others' tombs, For other than your own posterity. You see, courts few advance; many undo: And those they do advance, they ruin too.
"And therefore now, my lord, since you are here, Where you may have your rest with dignity; Work that you may continue so: and clear Yourself from out these streights of misery. Hold your estate and life as things more dear, Than to be thrown at an uncertainty.
'T is time that you and England have a calm; And time the olive stood above the palm."
Thus the good father, with an humble thought, (Bred in a cellulary low retire) According to his quiet humour, sought T'avert him from his turbulent desire; When the great earl began-" Father, I note What you with zeal advise, with love require; And I must thank you for this care you have, And for those good advertisements you gave.
“And truly, father, could I but get free, (Without b'ing rent) and hold my dignity; That sheepcot, which in yonder vale you see, (Beset with groves, and those sweet springs hard by) I rather would my palace wish to be, Than any roof of proudest majesty. But that I cannot do I have my part: And I must live in one house with my heart. "I know that I am fix'd unto a sphere, That is ordain'd to move-It is the place My fate appoints me; and the region where I must, whatever happens, there embrace. Disturbance, travail, labour, hope, and fear, Are of that clime, engender'd in that place. And action best (I see) becomes the best: The stars that have most glory, have no rest.
"Besides, it were a coward's part to fly Now from my hold, that have held out so well; It b'ing the station of my life, where I Am set to serve, and stand as centinel: And must of force make good the place, or die, When Fate and Fortune (those great states) compel. And then we lords in such case ever are,
As Peace can cut our throats as well as War:
"And hath her griefs, and her incumbrances: And doth with idle rest deform us more Than any magha can, or sorceress, With basely wasting all the martial store Of heat and spir't, (which graceth manliness) And makes us still false images adore : Besides profusion of our faculties, In gross dull glutt'ny, vap'rous gormandise. "And therefore since I am the man I am, I must not give a foot, lest I give all. Nor is this bird within my breast so tame, As to be fed at hand, and mock'd withal: I rather would my state were out of frame, Than my renown should come to get a fall. No! no! th' ungrateful boy shall never think, That I, who him enlarg'd to pow'r, will shrink.
"What is our life without our dignity? Which oft we see comes less by living long. Whoever was there worth the memory, And eminent indeed, but still dy'd young? As if Worth had agreed with Destiny, That Time, which rights them, should not do them Besides, old age doth give (by too long space) Our souls as many wrinkles as our face.
"And as for my inheritance and state, (Whatever happen) I will so provide That law shall, with what strength it hath, collate The same on mine, and those to mine ally'd: Although I know she serves the present state, And can undo again what she hath ty'd. But that we leave to him, who points out heirs ; And howsoever yet the world is theirs.
"Where they must work it out; as born to run Those fortunes, which as mighty families (As ever they could be) before have done. Nor shall they gain by mine indignities, Who may without my courses be undone. And whoso makes his state and life his ties To do unworthily, is born a slave;
And let him with that brand go to his grave."
Here would the rev'rend father have reply'd, "That it were far more magnanimity, T'endure, than to resist-That we are ty'd As well to bear the inconveniency And strains of kings and states; as to abide Untimely rains, tempests, sterility, And other ills of nature that befall;
Which we of force must be content withal :"
But that a speedy messenger was sent, To show the duke of Clarence was hard by, And thereupon Warwick breaks off, and went (With all his train attending formally) To entertain him with fit compliment; As glad of such an opportunity To work upon, for those high purposes He had conceiv'd in discontentedness.
UPON THE DEATH OF THE LATE NOBLE EARL OF DEVONSHIRE.
Now that the hand of Death bath laid thee there, Where neither greatness, pomp, nor grace we see, Nor any diff'rences of earth; and where No veil is drawn betwixt thy self and thee, Now, Devonshire, that thou art but a name, And all the rest of thee besides is gone; When men conceive thee not but by the fame Of what thy virtue and thy worth have done: Now shall my verse, which thou in life did'st grace, (And which was no disgrace for thee to do) Not leave thee in the grave, that ugly place, That few regard, or have respect unto : Where all attendance and observance ends; Where all the sunshine of our favour sets; Where what was ill no countenance defends, And what was good th' unthankful world forgets. Here shalt thou have the service of my pen; (The tongue of my best thoughts) and in this case I cannot be suppos'd to flatter, when ⚫ I speak behind thy back, not to thy face. Men never soothe the dead, but where they do Find living ties to hold them thereunto. And I stand clear from any other chain [breath: Than of my love; which, free-born, draws free The benefit thou gav'st me, to sustain My humble life, I lose it by thy death. Nor was it such, as it could lay on me Any exaction of respect so strong,
As t' enforce m' observance beyond thee, Or make my conscience differ from my tongue : "For I have learnt, it is the property
For free men to speak truth, for slaves to lie."
And therefore I sincerely will report, First how thy parts were fair convey'd within; How that brave mind was built, and in what sort All thy contexture of thy heart hath been: Which was so nobly fram'd, so well compos'd, As Virtue hever had a fairer seat,
Nor could be better lodg'd, nor more repos'd, Than in that goodly frame; where all things sweet, And all things quiet, held a peaceful rest; Where passion did no sudden tumults raise, That might disturb her-Nor was ever breast Contain❜d so much, and made so little noise: That by thy silent modesty is found,
The empti'st vessels make the greatest sound. For thou so well discern'd'st thyself, had'st read Man and his breath so well, as made thee force The less to speak; as b'ing ordain'd to spread Thy self in action, rather than discourse. Though thou had'st made a general survey Of all the best of men's best knowledges, And knew as much as ever learning knew; Yet did it make thee trust thyself the less, And less presume-And yet when being mov'd In private talk to speak; thou did'st bewray How fully fraught thou wert within; and prov'd, That thou did'st know whatever wit could say. Which show'd, thou had'st not books as many have, For ostentation, but for use: and that Thy bount'ous memory was such, as gave A large revenue of the good it gat. Witness so many volumes, whereto thou Hast set thy notes under thy learned hand,
And mark'd them with that print, as will show how The point of thy conceiving thoughts did stand: That none would think, if all thy life had been Turn'd into leisure, thou could'st have attain'd So much of time, to have perus'd and seen So many volumes that so much contain'd. Which furniture may not be deem'd least rare, Amongst those ornaments that sweetly dight Thy solitary Wansted'; where thy care Had gather'd all what heart or eyes delight, And whereas many others have, we see, All things within their houses worth the sight; Except themselves, that furniture of thee, And of thy presence, gave the best delight. With such a season, such a temp'rature, Wert thou composed, as made sweetness one; And held the tenour of thy life still sure, In consort with thyself, in perfect tone, And never man had heart more truly serv'd Under the regiment of his own care, And was more at command, and more observ'd The colours of that modesty he bare, Than that of thine; in whom men never found That any show, or speech obscene, could tell Of any vein thou had'st that was unsound, Or motion of thy pow'rs that turn'd not well. And this was thy provision laid within: Thus wert thou to thyself, and now remains; What to the world thou outwardly hast been, What the dimension of that side contains; Which likewise was so goodly and so large, As shows that thou wert born t' adorn the days Wherein thou liv'dst; and also to discharge Those parts which England's and thy fame should raise.
Although in peace thou seem'd'st to be all peace, Yet b'ing in war, thou wer't all war: and there, As in thy sphere, thy spir'ts did never cease To move with indefatigable care;
And nothing seem'd more to arride thy heart, Nor more enlarge thee into jollity,
Than when thou saw'st thy self in armour girt, Or any act of arms like to be nigh.
The Belgic war first try'd thy martial spir't, [found; And what thou wert, and what thou would'st be And mark'd thee there according to thy mer't, With honour's stamp, a deep and noble wound. And that same place that rent from mortal men Immortal Sidney, glory of the field! And glory of the Muses! and their pen (Who equal bear the caduce and the shield) Had likewise been my last; had not the fate Of England then reserv'd thy worthy blood, Unto the preservation of a state
That much concern'd her honour and her good; And thence return'd thee to enjoy the bliss
Of grace and favour in Eliza's sight, (That miracle of women!) who by this Made thee beheld according to thy right: Which fair and happy blessing thou might'st well Have far more rais'd, had not thine enemy (Retired privacy) made thee to sell Thy greatness for thy quiet, and deny
To meet fair Fortune when she came to thee. For never man did his preferment fly, And had it in that eminent degree, As thou; as if it sought thy modesty. For that which many (whom ambition toils And tortures with their hopes) hardly attain With all their thrusts, and should'ring plots, and Was easily made thine without thy pain. And without any private malicing, Or public grievance, every good man joy'd That virtue could come clear to any thing, And fair deserts to be so fairly paid. Those benefits that were bestow'd on thee, Were not like Fortune's favours: they could see Eliza's clear-ey'd judgment is renown'd For making choice of thy ability. But it will everlastingly rebound Unto the glory and benignity
Of Britain's mighty monarch, that thou wer't By him advanced for thy great desert: It b'ing the fairer work of majesty, With favour to reward, than to employ. Although thy services were such, as they
Might ask their grace themselves; yet do we see, That to success desert hath not a way, But under princes that most gracious be: For without thy great valour we had lost The dearest purchase ever England made; And made with such profuse, exceeding cost Of blood and charge, to keep and to invade; As commutation paid a dearer price For such a piece of earth: and yet well paid, And well adventur'd for with great advice, And happily to our dominions laid: Without which out-let England, thou had'st been From all the rest of th' Earth shut out, and pent Unto thy self, and forc'd to keep within; Environ'd round with others' government. Where now by this, thy large imperial crown Stands boundless in the west, and hath a way For noble times, left to make all thine own That lies beyond it, and force all t' obey.
And this important piece like t' have been rent From off thy state, did then so tickle stand, As that no jointure of the government But shook no ligament, no band Of order and obedience, but were then Loose and in tott'ring, when the charge Thereof was laid on Montjoy; and that other men, Chok'd by example, sought to put it off. And he, out of his native modesty, (As b'ing no undertaker) labours too To have avoided that which his ability, And England's genius, would have him to do: Alleging how it was a charge unfit
For him to undergo; see'ng such a one As had more pow'r and means t' accomplish it, Than he could have, had there so little done. Whose ill success, (consid'ring his great worth Was such, as could that mischief be withstood, It had been wrought) did in itself bring forth Discouragement, that he should do less good.
The state reply'd, it was not look'd he should Restore it wholly to itself again;
But only now (if possible) he could In any fash'on but the same retain, So that it did not fall asunder quite, B'ing thus dishiver'd in a desp'rate plight.
With courage on he goes; doth execute With counsel; and returns with victory. But in what noble fash'on he did suit This action! with what wit and industry! Is not to be disgrac'd in this small card: It asks a spacious map of more regard. Here is no room to tell, with what strange speed And secresy he used, to prevent
The enemies designs; nor with what heed He march'd before report: where what he meant, Fame never knew herself, till it was done; His drifts and rumour seldom b'ing all one. Nor will this place conveniency afford, To show how he (when dismal Winter storms) Keeps peace, and makes Mars sheath his sword, Toils him abroad, and noble acts performs. Nor how by mast'ring difficulties so, In times unusual, and by passage hard, He bravely came to disappoint his foe; And many times surpris'd him unprepar'd.
Yet let me touch one point of this great act, That fainous siege, the master-work of all; Where no distress nor difficulties lack'd 'T" afflict his weary, tired camp withal: That when enclos'd by pow'rful enemies On either side, with feeble troops he lay Intrench'd in mire, in cold, in miseries; Kept waking with alarums night and day. There were who did advise him to withdraw His army, to some place of safe defence, From the apparent peril; which they saw Was to confound them, or to force them thence. "For now the Spaniard hath possess'd three ports,
The most important of this isle," say they; "And sooner fresh suppliments Spain transports To them, than England can to us convey: The rebel is in heart; and now is join'd With some of them already, and doth stand Here over us, with chiefest strength combin'd Of all the desp'rate forces of the land: And how upon these disadvantages,
Your doubtful troops will fight, your honour guess," Th' undaunted Montjoy hereto answers this:
"My worthy friends, the charge of this great | That worthiness which merits to remain
And kingdom to my faith committed is,
And I must all I can ingeniate
To answer for the same, and render it Upon as fair a reck'ning as I may: But if from hence I shall once stir my feet, The kingdom is undone, and lost this day. All will fly thither, where they find is Heart; And Fear shall have none stand to take his part. "And how shall we answer our country then, At our return; nay, answer our own fame? Which howsoever we have done like men, Will be imbranded with the mark of blame. And since we here are come unto the point, For which we toil'd so much, and stay'd so long; Let us not now our travails disappoint Of th' honour which doth thereunto belong. We cannot spend our blood more worthily, Than in so fair a cause-And if we fall, We fall with glory: and our worth thereby Shall be renowned, and held dear of all. And for my part, I count the field to be The honourablest bed to die upon; And here your eyes this day shall either see My body laid, or else this action done. The Lord, the chief and sov'reign general
Of hosts, makes weak to stand, the strong to fall." With which brave resolution he so warm'd Their shaking courage, as they all in one Set to that noble work; which they perform'd As gallantly as ever men have done : Of which 't is better nothing now to say, Than say too little. For there rests behind A trophy t' be erected, that will stay To all posterities, and keep in mind That glorious act, which did a kingdom save, Kept the crown whole, and made the peace we have. And now I will omit to show, therefore, His management of public bus'nesses; Which oft are under Fortune's conduct, more Than ours: and tell his private carri'ges, Which on his own discretion did rely, Wherewith his spir't was furnish'd happily. Mild, affable, and easy of access He was; but with a due reservedness: So that the passage to his favours lay Not common to all comers; nor yet was So narrow, but it gave a gentle way To such as fitly might, or ought to pass. Nor sold he smoke; nor took he up to day Commodities of men's attendances,
And of their hopes; to pay them with delay, And entertain them with fair promises. But as a man that lov'd no great commerce With bus'ness and with noise, he ever flies That maze of many ways, which might disperse Him into other men's uncertainties:
And with a quiet calm sincerity,
H' effects his undertakings really.
His tongue and heart did not turn backs; but went One way, and kept one course with what he meant. He us'd no mark at all, but ever ware
His honest inclination open-fac'd: The friendships that he vow'd most constant were, And with great judgment and discretion plac'd. And Devonshire, thy faith hath her reward; Thy noblest friends do not forsake thee now, After thy death; but bear a kind regard Unto thine honour in the grave; and show
Among th' examples of integrity;
Whereby themselves no doubt shall also gain A like regard unto their memory.
Now, mutt'ring Envy, what can'st thou produce, To darken the bright lustre of such parts? Cast thy pure stone exempt from all abuse. Say, what defects could weigh down these deserts: Summon detraction, to object the worst That may be told, and utter all it can: It cannot find a blemish to b' enforc'd Against him, other than he was a man ;
And built of flesh and blood, and did live here Within the region of infirmity;
Where all perfections never did appear To meet in any one so really,
But that his frailty ever did bewray Unto the world that he was set in clay. And Gratitude and Charity, I know, Will keep no note, nor memory will have Of ought, but of his worthy virtues now, Which still will live; the rest lies in his grave. Seeing only such stand ever base and low, That strike the dead, or mutter under-hand : And as dogs bark at those they do not know, So they at such they do not understand. The worthier sort, who know we do not live With perfect men, will never be s' unkind; They will the right to the deceased give, Knowing themselves must likewise leave behind Those that will censure them. And they know how The lion being dead, ev'n hares insult : And will not urge an imperfection now, When as he hath no party to consult, Nor tongue nor advocate to show his mind: They rather will lament the loss they find, By such a noble member of that worth, And know how rare the world such men brings forth. But let it now sufficient be, that I
The last scene of his act of life bewray, ' Which gives th' applause to all, doth glorify The work-for 't is the ev'ning crowns the day. This action of our death especially Shows all a man Here only he is found, With what munition he did fortify His heart; how good his furniture hath been. And this did he perform in gallant wise: In this did he comfirm his worthiness. For on the morrow after the surprise That sickness made on him with fierce access, He told his faithful friend, whom he held dear, (And whose great worth was worthy so to be) "How that he knew those hot diseases were Of that contagious force, as he did see That men were over-tumbl'd suddenly; And therefore did desire to set a course And order t' his affairs as speedily,
As might be, ere his sickness should grow worse. And as for death," said he, "I do not wey; I am resolv'd and ready in this case. It cannot come t' affright me any way, Let it look never with so grim a face: And I will meet it smiling; for I know How vain a thing all this world's glory is." And herein did he keep his word- Did show Indeed, as he had promised in this. For sickness never heard him groan at all, Nor with a sigh consent to show his pain; Which howsoever b'ing tyrannical,
He sweetly made it look; and did retain
A lovely count'nance of his being well, And so would ever make his tongue to tell. Although the fervour of extremity, Which often doth throw those defences down, Which in our health wall in infirmity,
Might open lay more than we would have known; Yet did no idle word in him bewray Any one piece of Nature ill set in;
Those lightnesses that any thing will say, Could say no ill of what they knew within. Such a sure lock of silent modesty Was set in life upon that noble heart, As if no anguish nor extremity Could open it, t' impair that worthy part. For having dedicated still the same Unto devotion, and to sacred skill;
That furnish perfect held; that blessed flame Continu'd to the last in fervour still.
And when his spir't and tongue no longer could Do any certain services beside,
Ev'n at the point of parting they unfold, With fervent zeal, how only he rely'd Upon the merits of the precious death Of his Redeemer; and with rapt desires Th' appeals to grace, his soul delivereth Unto the hand of mercy, and expires. Thus did that worthy, who most virtuously And mildly liv'd, most sweet and mildly die.
And thus, great patron of my Muse, have I Paid thee my vows, and fairly clear'd th' accounts, Which in my love I owe thy memory. And let me say, that herein there amounts Something unto thy fortune, that thou hast This monument of thee perhaps may last. Which doth not t' ev'ry mighty man befall: For lo! how many when they die, die all. And this doth argue too thy great deserts: For honour never brought unworthiness Further than to the grave: and there it parts, And leaves men's greatness to forgetfulness. And we do see that nettles, thistles, brakes, (The poorest works of Nature) tread upon The proudest frames that man's invention makes, To hold his memory when he is gone. But Devonshire, thou hast another tomb, Made by thy virtues in a safer room.
PANEGYRIC CONGRATULATORY,
DELIVERED TO THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY, AT BURLEIGH-HARRington, in rutLANDSHIRE.
Lo here the glory of a greater day, Than England ever heretofore could see In all her days! when she did most display The ensigns of her pow'r; or when as she Did spread herself the most, and most did sway Her state abroad; yet could she never be Thus bless'd at home, nor ever come to grow To be entire in her full orb till now.
And now she is, and now in peace; therefore Shake hands with union, O thou mighty state! Now thou art all Great Britain, and no more; No Scot, no English now, nor no debate: No borders, but the ocean and the shore; No wall of Adrian serves to separate Our mutual love, nor our obedience; B'ing subjects all to one imperial prince.
What heretofore could never yet be wrought By all the swords of pow'r, by blood, by fire, By ruin and destruction here's brought to pass With peace, with love, with joy, desire: Our former blessed union bath begot
A greater union that is more entire,
And makes us more ourselves; sets us at one With Nature, that ordain'd us to be one.
Glory of men! this hast thou brought to us, And yet hast brought us more than this by far: Religion comes with thee, peace, righteousness, Judgment, and justice; which more glorious are Than all thy kingdoms: and art more by this Than lord and sov'reign; more than emperor Over the hearts of men, that let thee in To more than all the pow'rs on Earth can win.
God makes thee king of our estates; but we Do make thee king of our affection, King of our love: a passion born more free, And most unsubject to dominion.
And know, that England, which in that degree
I Can love with such a true devotion
Those that are less than kings; to thee must bring More love, who art so much more than a king.
And king of this great nation, populous, Stout, valiant, pow'rful both by sea and land; Attemptive, able, worthy, generous, Which joyfully embraces thy command: A people tractable, obsequious, Apt to be fashion'd by thy glorious hand To any form of honour, t' any way Of high attempts, thy virtues shall assay.
A people so inur'd to peace; so wrought To a successive course of quietness, As they 've forgot (and O b' it still forgot!) The nature of their ancient stubbornness : Time alter'd hath the form, the means, and brought The state to that proportion'd evenness, As 't is not like again 't will ever come (Being us❜d abroad) to draw the sword at home,
This people, this great state, these hearts adore Thy sceptre now; and now turn all to thee, Touch'd with a pow'rful zeal, and if not more: (And yet O more how could there ever be, Than unto her, whom yet we do deplore Amidst our joy!) and give us leave, if we Rejoice and mourn; that cannot, without wrong, So soon forget her we enjoy'd so long.
Which likewise makes for thee, that yet we hold True after death; and bring not this respect To a new prince, for hating of the old; Or from desire of change, or from neglect: Whereby, O mighty sov'reign, thou art told, What thou and thine are likely to expect From such a faith, that doth not haste to run Before their time to an arising sun.
And let my humble Muse, whom she did grace, Beg this one grace for her that now lies dead; That no vile tongue may spot her with disgrace, Nor that her fame become disfigured: O let her rest in peace, that rul'd in peace! Let not her honour be disquieted
Now after death; but let the grave enclose All but her good, and that it cannot close.
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