Several Poems, Elegy 3 – Epitaph
In Honour of that High and Mighty Princeſs Queen Elizabeth OF HAPPY MEMORY.
The Proeme.
ALthough great Queen thou now in ſilence lye
Yet thy loud Herald Fame doth to the sky
Thy wondrous worth proclaim in every Clime,
And ſo hath vow'd while there is world or time.
So great's thy glory and thine excellence,
The ſound thereof rapts every humane ſence,
That men account it no impiety,
To ſay thou wert a fleſhly Diety:
Thouſands bring offerings (though out of date)
Thy world of honours to accumulate,
'Mongſt hundred Hecatombs of roaring verſe,
Mine bleating ſtands before thy royal Herſe.
Thou never didſt nor canſt thou now diſdain
T' accept the tribute of a loyal brain.
Thy clemency did yerſt eſteem as much
The acclamations of the poor as rich,
Which makes me deem my rudeneſs is no wrong,
Though I reſound thy praiſes 'mongſt the throng.
The Poem.
No Phoenix pen, nor Spencers poetry,
No Speeds nor Cambdens learned Hiſtory,
Elizahs works, warrs praiſe, can e're compact,
The World's the Theatre where ſhe did act.
No memoryes nor volumes can contain
The 'leven Olympiads of her happy reign:
Who was ſo good, ſo juſt, ſo learn'd ſo wiſe,
From all the Kings on earth ſhe won the prize
Nor ſay I more then duly is her due,
Millions will teſtifie that this is true.
She hath wip'd off th' aſperſion of her Sex,
That women wiſdome lack to play the Rex:
Spain, Monarch ſayes not ſo, nor yet his hoſt:
She taught them better manners, to their coſt.
The Salique law, in force now had not been,
If France had ever hop'd for ſuch a Queen.
But can you Doctors now this point diſpute,
She's Argument enough to make you mute.
Since firſt the ſun did run his nere run race,
And earth had once a year, a new old face,
Since time was time, and man unmanly man,
Come ſhew me ſuch a Phoenix if you can?
Was ever people better rul'd then hers?
Was ever land more happy freed from ſtirrs?
Did ever wealth in England more abound?
Her victoryes in forreign Coaſts reſound,
Ships more invincible then Spain's her foe
She wrackt, ſhe ſackt, ſhe ſunk his Armado:
Her ſtately troops advanc'd to Lisbons wall
Don Anthony in's right there to inſtall.
She frankly helpt, Franks brave diſtreſſed King,
The States united now her ſame do ſing,
She their Protectrix was, they well do know
Unto our dread Virago, what they owe.
Her Nobles ſacrific'd their noble blood,
Nor men nor Coyn ſhe ſpar'd to do them good.
The rude untamed Iriſh, ſhe did quel.
Before her picture the proud Tyrone fell.
Had ever prince ſuch Counſellours as ſhe?
Her ſelf Minerva caus'd them ſo to be.
Such Captains and ſuch ſouldiers never ſeen,
As were the Subjects of our Pallas Queen.
Her Sea-men through all ſtraights the world did round;
Terra incognita might know the ſound.
Her Drake came laden home with Spaniſh gold:
Her Eſſex took Cades, their Herculean Hold:
But time would fail me, ſo my tongue would to,
To tell of half ſhe did▪ or ſhe could …oe.
Semiramis to her, is but obſcure,
More infamy then fame, ſhe did procure.
She built her glory but on Babels walls,
Worlds wonder for a while, but yet it falls.
Fierce Tomris▪ (Cyrus heads-man) Scythians queen,
Had put her harneſs off, had ſhee but ſeen
Our Amazon in th' Camp of Til…ury,
Judging all valour and all Majeſty
Within that Princeſs to have reſidence,
And proſtrate yielded to her excellence.
Dido firſt Foundreſs of proud Carthage walls,
(Who living conſummates her Funeralls)
A great E…iza ▪ but compar'd with ours▪
How vaniſheth her glory, wealth and powers▪
Profuſe proud Cleopatra, whoſe wrong name,
Inſtead of glory, prov'd her Countryes ſhame:
Of her what worth in Storyes to be ſeen,
But that ſhe was a rich Egyptian Queen.
Zenobya potent Empreſs of the Eaſt,
And of all theſe, without compare the beſt,
Whom none but great Aurelius could quel;
Yet for our Queen is no fit Parallel.
She was a Phoenix Queen, ſo ſhall ſhe be,
Her aſhes not reviv'd, more Phoenix ſhe,
Her perſonal perfections, who would tell,
Muſt dip his pen in th' Heleconian Well,
Which I may not, my pride doth but aſpire
To read what others write, and ſo admire.
Now ſay, have women worth? or have they none?
Or had they ſome, but with our Queen is't gone?
Nay Maſculines, you have thus taxt us long,
But ſhe, though dead, will vindicate our wrong.
Let ſuch as ſay our Sex is void of Reaſon,
Know tis a Slander now, but once was Treaſon.
But happy England which had ſuch a Queen;
Yea happy, happy, had thoſe dayes ſtill been▪
But happineſs lyes in a higher ſphere,
Then wonder not Eliza moves not here▪
Full fraught with honour, riches and with day…
She ſet, ſhe ſet, like Titan in his rayes.
No more ſhall riſe or ſet ſo glorious ſun
Untill the heavens great revolution,
If then new things their old forms ſhall retain,
Eliza ſhall rule Albion once again.
HER EPITAPH.
Here ſleeps THE Queen, this is the Royal Bed,
Of th' Damask Roſe, ſprung from the white and red,
Whoſe ſweet perfume fills the all-filling Air:
This Roſe is wither'd, once ſo lovely fair.
On neither tree did grow ſuch Roſe before,
The greater was our gain, our loſs the more.
Another.
Here lyes the pride of Queens, Pattern of Kings,
So blaze it Fame, here's feathers for thy wings.
Here lyes the envi'd, yet unparalled Prince,
Whoſe living virtues ſpeak, (though dead long ſince)
If many worlds, as that Fantaſtick fram'd,
In every one be her great glory fam'd▪
Davids Lamentation for Saul and Jonathan. 2. Sam. 1.19.
ALas ſlain is the Head of Iſrael,
Illuſtrious Saul whoſe beauty did excell,
Upon thy places mountainous and high,
How did the Mighty fall, and falling dye?
In Gath let not this things be ſpoken on,
Nor publiſhed in ſtreets of Askalon,
Leſt daughters of the Philiſtines rejoyce,
Leſt the uncircumcis'd lift up their voice.
O Gilbo Mounts, let never pearled dew,
Nor fruitfull ſhowres your barren tops beſtrew,
Nor fields of offrings ever on you grow,
Nor any pleaſant thing e're may you ſhow;
For there the Mighty Ones did ſoon decay,
The ſhield of Saul was vilely caſt away,
There had his dignity ſo ſore a foyle,
As if his head ne're felt the ſacred oyle.
Sometimes from crimſon blood of gaſtly ſlain,
The bow of Jonathan ne're turn'd in vain:
Nor from the fat, and ſpoils of Mighty men
With bloodleſs ſword did Saul turn back agen.
Pleaſant and lovely, were they both in life,
And in their death was founnd no parting ſtrife.
Swifter then ſwifteſt Eagles ſo were they,
Stronger then Lions ramping for their prey.
O Iſraels Dames, o'reflow your beauteous eyes
For valiant Saul who on Mount Gilbo lves,
Who cloathed you in Cloath of richeſt Dye,
And choice delights, full of variety,
On your array put ornaments of gold,
Which made you yet more beauteous to behold.
O! how in Battle did the mighty fall
In midſt of ſtrength not ſuccoured at all.
O lovely Jonathan! how waſt thou ſlain?
In places high, full low thou didſt remain.
Diſtreſt for thee I am, dear Jonathan,
Thy love was wonderfull, ſurpaſſing man,
Exceeding all the love that's Feminine,
So pleaſant haſt thou been, dear brother mine,
How are the mighty fall'n into decay?
And warlike weapons periſhed away?
To the Memory of my dear and ever honoured Father Thomas Dudley Eſq Who deceaſed, July 31. 1653. and of his Age, 77.
BY duty bound, and not by cuſtome …
To celebrate the praiſes of the dead,
My mournfull mind, ſore preſt, in trembling verſe
Preſents my Lamentations at his Herſe,
Who was my Father, Guide, Inſtructer too,
To whom I ought whatever I could doe:
Nor is't Relation near my hand ſhall tye;
For who more cauſe to boaſt his worth then I?
Who heard or ſaw▪ obſerv'd or knew him better?
Or who alive then I, a greater debtor?
Let malice bite, and envy knaw its fill.
He was my Father, and Ile praiſe him ſtill.
Nor was his name, or life lead ſo obſcure
That pitty might ſome Trumpeters procure.
Who after death might make him falſly ſeem
Such as in life, no man could juſtly deem.
Well known and lov'd, where ere he liv'd by moſt
Both in his native, and in foreign coaſt,
Theſe to the world his merits could make known,
So needs no Teſtimonial from his own;
But now or never I muſt pay my Sum;
While others tell his worth, I'le not be dumb:
One of thy Founders, him New-England know,
Who ſtaid thy feeble ſides when thou waſt low▪
Who ſpent his ſtate, his ſtrength, & years with care
That After-comers in them might have ſhare.
True Patriot of this little Commonweal,
Who is't can tax thee ought, but for thy zeal?
Truths friend thou wert, to errors ſtill a foe,
Which caus'd Apoſtates to maligne ſo.
Thy love to true Religion e're ſhall ſhine,
My Fathers God, be God of me and mine.
Upon the earth he did not build his neſt,
But as a Pilgrim what he had, poſſeſt.
High thoughts he gave no harbour in his heart,
Nor honours pufft him up, when he had part:
Thoſe titles loath'd, which ſome too much do love
For truly his ambition lay above.
His humble mind ſo lov'd humility,
He left it to his race for Legacy:
And oft and oft, with ſpeeches mild and wiſe,
Gave his in charge, that Jewel rich to prize.
No oſtentation ſeen in a…l his wayes,
As in the mean ones, of our fooliſh dayes,
Which all they have, and more ſtill ſet to view,
Their greatneſs may be judg'd by what they ſhew.
His thoughts were more ſublime, his actions wiſe,
Such vanityes he juſtly did deſpiſe.
Nor wonder 'twas, low things ne'r much did move
For he a Manſion had, prepar'd above.
For which he ſigh'd and pray'd & long'd full ſore
He might be cloath'd upon, for evermore.
Oft ſpake of death, and with a ſmiling chear,
He did exult his end was drawing near,
Now fully ripe, as ſhock of wheat that's grown,
Death as a Sickle hath him timely mown,
And in celeſtial Barn …ath hous'd him high,
Where ſtorms, nor ſhowrs, nor ought can damnifie.
His Generation ſerv'd his labours ceaſe;
And to his Fathers gathered is in peace.
Ah happy Soul, 'mongſt Saints and Angels bleſt,
VVho after all his toyle, is now at reſt:
His hoary head in righteouſneſs was found:
As joy in heaven on earth let praiſe reſound.
Forgotten never be his memory,
His bleſſing reſt on his poſterity:
His pious Footſteps followed by his race,
At laſt will bring us to that happy place
Where we with joy each others face ſhall ſee,
And parted more by death ſhall never be.
His Epitaph.
Within this Tomb a Patriot lyes
That was both pious, juſt and wiſe,
To Truth a ſhield, to right a Wall,
To Sectaryes a whip and Maul,
A Magazine of Hiſtory,
A Prizer of good Company
In manners pleaſant and ſevere
The Good him lov'd, the bad did fear,
And when his time with years was ſpent
If ſome rejoyc'd, more did lament.
An EPITAPH On my dear and ever honoured Mother Mrs. Dorothy Dudley, Who deceaſed Decemb. 27. 1643. and of her age, 61:
Here lyes,
A Worthy Matron of unſpotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
A friendly Neighbor, pitiful to poor,
Whom oft ſhe fed, and clothed with her ſtore;
To Servants wiſely aweful, but yet kind,
And as they did, ſo they reward did find:
A true Inſtructor of her Family,
The which ſhe ordered with dexterity.
The publick meetings ever did frequent,
And in her Cloſet conſtant hours ſhe ſpent;
Religious in all her words and wayes,
Preparing ſtill for death, till end of dayes:
Of all her Children, Children, liv'd to ſee,
Then dying, left a bleſſed memory.