Prince Henrys Obsequies, Dialogue – Sonnet
A SVPPOSED INTER-LOCVTION BETWEENE the Spirit of Prince Henrie, and great Brittaine.
Bri.
Awake braue Prince, thou dost thy country wrong
Shake off thy slumber, thou hast slept too long,
Open thy eye-lids and raise vp thy head,
Thy Country and thy friends suppose thee dead.
Looke vp, looke vp, the daies are growne more short,
Thy Officers prepare to leaue thy Court.
The staines of sorrow are in eueryevery face,
And Charles is cald vponupon to take thy Place.
Awake I say in time, awake the rather,
Least Melancholy hurt thy Royall Father.
Thy weeping Mother wailes, and wrings her hands,
Thy Brother, and thy Sister mourning stands;
The want' of that sweet company of thine,
Inly …orments the louing Prince of Rhine:
The Beauties of the Court are sullied or'e,
They seeme not cheerefull as they did before.
The heauie Clergie, in their Pulpits mourne,
And thy Attendants looke like men forlorne.
Once more (I say) sweet Prince once more arise,
See how the teares hauehave drowne my watry eyes,
All my sweet tunes and former signes of gladnes
Are turn'd to Elegies and Songs of sadnes.
The Trumpet which still grones makes no rebound,
And Dump is all the cheerefull Drum can sound:
Thy mournfull Wales with dolefull rumours rings,
And Oh Guay Vrimaugh, oh guay vrimaugh sings:
Yea Ireland too, as iustly sad as we
Cries loud Oh hone, oh hone, my Cram a cree.
But more Romes Locusts doe begin to swarme,
their courage now with stronger Hopes they arme,
And taking hold of this thy Trans-mutation,
Thy plot againe to sue for tolleration.
Yea Hell to double this, our sorrowes weight
Is new contriuing of old Eighty-eight.
Come then and stand against it to defend vsus:
Or else her guile, her plots, or force will end vsus.
This last-last time sweet Prince I bid thee rise,
My Brittans droup already: each man flies,
And if thou saue vsus not from our great foes,
They quickly will effect our ouerthrowes.
Oh yet he mooues not vp his liuing head,
And now I seare indeed he's dead.
Sp.
he's dead.
Brit.
What voice was that, which from the vaulted roof,
Of my last words did make so plaine a proofe?
What was it seem'd to speake aboue me so,
And sayes he's dead? wast Eccho, yea or no.
Sp.
no.
Brit.
VVhat is it some dispos'd to flout my mone,
Appeare: Hast thou a body, or hast none?
Sp.
none.
Brit.
Sure some illusion, oh what art? come hither
My Princes ghost, or fiend, or neither.
Sp.
neither.
Brit.
Indeed his Ghost in heauen rests I know,
Art thou some Angel for him, is it so?
Sp.
so.
Brit.
Doe not my Reall greefes with visions feed,
In earnest speake, art so indeed?
Sp.
indeed.
Brit.
What power sent thee now into my Coast,
Was it my Darling Henry's Ghost?
Sp.'s
Ghost.
Brit.
Th'art welcome then, thy presence 'gratefull is:
But tell me, liues he happily in blisse:
Sp.
y's.
Brit.
If so much of thee may be vnderstood,
Is the intent of this thy comming good?
Sp
good.
Brit.
Say, hath he there the Fame that here he had,
Or doth the place vntounto his glory add?
Sp.
add.
Brit.
May I demand what thy good errants be?
To whome is that he told to thee?
Sp.
to thee.
Brit.
Oh doth he mind me yet, sweet Spirit say,
What is thy message? Ile obey:
Sp.
Obey.
Brit.
I will not to my power one tittle misse,
Doe but command, and say doe this:
Sp.
doe this.
Brit.
But stay, it seemes that thou hast made thy choice,
To speake with Eccho's most vnperfect voice:
In Plainer-wise declare why thou art sent,
That I may heare with more content.
Sp.
content.
The Spirit leaues his Eccho and speakes on.
Spirit.
THen heare me Brittaine, heare me and beleeue
Thy Henries there now where he cannot greeue.
He is not subiect to the slye inuasion
Of any humane, or corrupted Passion.
For then; (although he sorrow now forbeares)
He would hauehave wept himselfe, to see thy teares.
But he; (as good Saints are) of ioyes partaker,
Is Ielous of the glory of his maker:
And though the Saints of Rome may take it to them,
(Much help to their damnation it will do them)
He will not on his Masters right presume
Nor his smal'st due vntounto himselfe assume.
And therefore Brittaine, in the name of God,
And on the paine of his reuengfull rod;
He here coniures thee in thy tribulation,
To make to God alone thy inuocation:
Who tooke him from thee, that but late was liuing,
For too much trust, vntounto his weaknes giuing.
Yet cal'st thou on thy Prince still; as if he,
Could either Sauiour or Redeemer be:
Thou tel'st him of the wicked Whore of Rome,
As if that he were Iudge to giuegive her doome.
But thou mightst see, were not thy sight so dim
Thou mak'st meane-while another Whore of him:
For what ist for a Creatures ayde to cry,
But spirits whordome? (that's Idolatry)
Their most vnpleasing breath that so invoke,
The passage of Iehouah's mercies choke:
And therefore if thy sorrowes shall hauehave end,
To God thou must thy whole deuotions bend.
Then will thy King, that he leaue off to Mone
God hath tane His, yet left him more then one.
And that he hath not so seuerely done,
As when he crau'd the Hebrewes only sonne,
Because, beside this little blessed store,
There's yet a possibility of more.
Goe tell the Queene his mother that's lamenting,
There is no cause of that her discontenting.
And say there is another in his place,
Shall doe his louing Sisters nuptialls grace.
Enforme the Palatine, his Nymph of Thame
Shall giuegive his glorious Rhyne a treble fame,
But vntounto Charles, to whome he leaues his place,
Let this related be in any case.
Tell him he may a full possession take
Of what his brother did so late forsake,
But bid him looke what to his place is due,
And eueryevery vice in generall eschue:
Let him consider why he was his Brother,
And plac't aboue so many thousand other.
Great honors hauehave great burthens: if y'are high,
The stricter's your account, and the more nigh:
Let him shunne flatterers at any hand,
And euer firmely in Religion stand.
Gird on his sword, call for Iehouah's might,
Keepe a good Conscience, fight the Lambs great fight,
For when his Father shall surrender make,
The Faiths protection he must vnderunder-take.
Then Charles take heede, for thou shalt heare a-far
Some cry peace, peace, that hauehave their hearts on warre.
Let Policie Religion obey,
But let not Policie, Religion sway:
Shut from thy counsells such as hauehave profest
The worship of that Antichristian beast.
For howsoe're they dawb't with colours trim,
Their han ds do beare his mark, their heart's on him,
And though they seeme to seeke the Commons Weale,
Tis but the Monsters deadly wound to heale.
Bannish all Romish Statists, do not suppe,
Of that pide-painted Drabbs infectious Cuppe,
Yea vse thy vtmost strength, and all thy power
To scatter them that would build Babels tower,
Thou must sometime be iudge of equitie;
And oft suruey e'ne thine owne family:
That at thy table none partaker be,
That will not at Christs boord partake with thee:
The Lords great day is neere, tis nere at hand,
VntoUnto thy combat see thou brauely stand.
For him that ouercomes, Christ keepes a Crowne,
And the great'st Conquest hath the great'st renowne.
Be mercifull, and yet in merciemercy iust:
Chase from thy Court both wantonnesse and lust:
Disguised fashions from the Land casheare,
Women may women; and men men appeare.
The wide-wide mouth of the blasphemer teares
His passage vntounto God, through all the Spheares,
Prouoking him, to turne his peace-full word
Into a bloudy double-edged sword:
But cut his tongue, the Clapper of damnation,
He may fright others with his Vlulation.
The Drunkard, and Adulterer, from whence
Proceeds the cause of dearth and pestilence,
Punish with losse of substance, and of limbe,
He rather maimed vntounto Heauen may climbe
Then tumble whole to Hell, and by his sin,
Endanger the whole state he liueth in:
Downe, downe with pride, and ouerthrowe Ambition;
Grace true deuotion, root out superstition,
LoueLove them that louelove the Truth, and Vertue graces,
Let Honesty, not wealth, obtaine great places,
Begin but such a course, and so perseuer,
Thou shalt hauehave louelove here, and true blisse for euer:
Thus much for thy new Prince; now this to thee,
Brittaine; It shall thy charge and dutie be,
To tell him now what thou hast heard me say,
And when soeuer he commands, obey:
So if thou wilt in mind this counsell beare;
VntoUnto thy state hauehave due regard and care,
And without stay vntounto amendment hie,
Thou shalt be deare to those, to whome I fly.
Brit.
Oh stay, and doe not leaue me yet alone.
Spi.
My errant's at an end, I must be gone.
Brit.
Goe then, but let me aske one word before.
Spi.
My speach now failes, I may discourse no more.
Brit.
Yet let me craue thus much, if so I may,
By Eccho thou reply to what I say.
Spi.
Say.
Brit.
First tell me, for his sake thou count'st most deare,
Is Bables fall and Iacobs rising neare?
Spi.
Neare.
Brit.
Canst thou declare what day that worke shall end,
Or rather must we yet attend?
Spi.
Attend.
Brit.
Some land must yeild a Prince, that blow to strike,
May I be that same land or no, i'st like?
Spi.
Like.
Brit.
Then therefore tis that Rome beare vsus such spight:
Is she not not plotting now, to wrong our right:
Sp.
right
Brit.
But from her mischiefes and her hands impure
Cant'st thou our safe deliuerance assure?
Spi.
sure.
Brit.
Then notwithstanding this late losse befell,
And we fear'd much, I trust 'tis well.
Spi.
Tis well.
Brit.
Then fly thou to thy place, if this be true,
Thou God be prais'd, and Griefes adue.
Spi.
Adue.
A Sonnet of Death, composed in Latin Rimes, and Paraphrastically translated into the same kind of verse, both, by the former Author.
Heûs heûs, Mors percutit, & importuné,
Quam nu nquam praeterit vllus impuné.
Abite Medici, non est sanabile
Hoc Vulnus foreign; sed incurabile.
Harke, harke, Death knocks vsus vp, with importunitie,
Ther's none shall euer make boast of impunitie.
The Doctor toyles in vaine, mans life's not durable,
No med'cine can preuaile, this wound's incurable:
Quid picti dominûm prosunt fauores?
Ficti quid Hominum iuuant amores?
Nec mundi vanit as, nec Pompa Curiae,
Potest resistere Mortis iniuriae.
What will the countenance of Lords, or Noble-men
Or idle peoples louelove, helpe or auaile thee then?
Nor worlds brauerie, nor yet Court vanitie,
Can stay this Monsters hand, foe to humanitie.
Non Cur at splendidum, nec Venerabile;
Nec pectus candidum quamvis amabile:
Decumbunt Principes iniquo vulnere,
Heu par cit nemini, quin strauit puluere.
He knowes no reuerence, nor cares for any state,
Sweet beauties moue him not, though neu'r so delicate,
Princes must sto ope to him, he rides on martially,
And spares not any man, but strikes impartially.
Mercede diuitis nil morat Cupidi,
Nec prece pauperit (si or at) miseri,
Et frustra fallere tentas ingenio.
Surda Rethorici Mors est eloquio.
The rich-mans money-bagges are no perswasion,
The beggers wofull cry, stirres vp no passion,
He'le not beguiled be, by any fallacy,
Nor yeild to Rethorick, Wit, Art, nor Policy.
Aspectu Pallida, vultu terribilis;
Est tamen valida, Mors inuincibilis:
Et su as tibias (necest formalis)
Vir omnis sequitur, si sit mortalis.
His looke's both pale and wan, yet doth it terrifie,
He masters any man (alas what remedy)
He's nothing curious which way the measures be,
But all dance after him, that heare his melodie.
At oh! oh horrida, laetans necando,
Ruit incognita; non scimus quando:
Et statim perdîtur, haec mundigloria
Vita sic fragilis, sic transitoria.
But woe! of all the rest this seemes most terrible,
He comes when we know least, and then, inuisible,
Then quite there endeth, all worldly prosperitie,
Such is this lifes estate, such his seueritie.
Ergo vos incolae, terrarum timidi,
Este solicits, vos, oh vos miseri!
Sic quamuis subita, haec écarnalibus,
Reddet vos similes, dijs immortalibus.
Then oh you wretched men, since this is euident,
See you more carefull be, oh be more prouident,
And when he takes this life, full of incertaintie;
…ou shall liue euer more to all eternitie.
FINIS.
End of the text · George Wither, Prince Henrys Obsequies (1612)