A Christians Acquiescence in Divine Providence, Poems
On the MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE, The Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM.
HAd I a ſubject of a meaner ſize,
Methinks I could write Volums, and mine eies
Land-flood whole quires of Paper with a Tide
Of Elegies. Deep Rivers ſilent ſlide.
Great Contemplations tie the Tongue, that Mind
That's rapt to Heaven, cannot Utterance find.
So Commentators on an eaſie Text,
Are endleſs in their Paraphraſe, but vext
With a myſterious place paſs't by, (be ſure)
And veil the Bonnet with Vot ſerviture:
So holy Cloyſters Veneration's dumb,
Their walls being motto'd with Silentium.
But as the Heraulds blazon Princes Coats
Not by mean colours, but Celeſtial Noats;
By Heavenly Planets, thence to ſignifie
Their near approaches to Divinity.
So an inſpired Angel from the Muſe
Of Jeſſe's Son, this equal task ſhould chuſe,
With quill pluck'd from a Cherub's wing to paint
The great Example of this illuſtrious Saint.
Her Apparition makes me all agaſt,
Like her of Endor, or th' Enthuſiaſt,
Scar'd and convulſt with his own Oracles,
Thou Conſtellation of Miracles.
Epitome of the whole ſphere of Excellence,
Extract of all that nature could diſpence;
Where Great, and Good, Noble, and Humble met,
Learned, and Modeſt; Wit without Deceit,
That skil in Scriptures and in Tongues ſhe got,
Made her a living Bible Polyglot.
Theſe did not puff her up; ſhe did deſcend
To the kind Offices of Wife and Friend,
Mother and Siſter, as if Ethicks were
Not ſo much taught her, as tranſcrib'd from her;
Oh what a glorious Creature and how rare
A Saint 't would be, that had what ſhe could ſpare.
Where hath ſhe left her Equals now in fame,
But in the Noble Houſe from whence ſhe came;
Too ſmall alas! where Vertues ſacred Fire
Retires in Embers, Oh may't ne're expire;
Dark Lanthorn of the moſt reſplendent Light,
There is the Goſhen, all the reſt is Night.
Alas our Pharos is blown out of late
By which we did proſperouſly Navigate,
And trade both Indies for more precious wealth,
A nobler Traffique with Heav'n and her ſelf;
But whilſt we did expect ſo rich a Cargo,
Death on the ſudden made this ſad Imbargo.
We only expect a reſtitution there
Where Saints ſhall be reveal'd, & th' Revelation clear.
William Langham.
An Elegy Upon the RIGHT HONOURABLE And MOST INCOMPARABLE LADY, The Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM, Who departed this life March 28. 1664.
COme ſacred Muſe aſſiſt my Quill,
With ſomewhat of your learned Skill;
Inſpire my Fancy from on high,
Who to Parnaſſus ne'r came nigh.
Fear not the ſpleen of Criticks eie,
For Momus cenſure I defie.
Egg'd on with Duty, Love and Zeal,
My unpractiz'd Muſe I will reveal.
Look not for much from a ſmall ſtore,
She that gives all can give no more.
Proclaim I do our own ſad Fate,
By what has faln out of late:
The Sun which makes a perfect Day,
Its influence took from her bright Ray,
Who while ſhe here did make her ſtay,
Each minute had more worth than Day.
Belov'd, admir'd, ador'd by all,
No equal had (ſince Adam's fall)
Deſcended of a Noble Line,
A Vertuoſa moſt Divine:
The Royal blood ran in her veins,
And guiltleſs did admit no ſtains,
Her Fame was great, and of Renown,
She to her Husband was a Crown;
No ſand of time did e're ſlip by,
Without its action ſweet as high,
Improving all the coſt was ſpent,
On her Large ſouls ennoblement;
Of ſuch a body as might vye,
With glorious ones in purity:
When ſhe her eie-lids did diſplay,
The Sun aſham'd made haſt away;
And we might ſee the Day-ſtar riſe,
Within the circuit of her eies:
Alone ſhe ſtood (in her bright ſphear)
Not to be matched far or near.
All Beauties which might bleſs the ſight,
Mixt with tranſparent Vertues light,
At once producing love and awe:
Her ſouls perfection had no flaw,
Diſcerning thoughts, but a calm breaſt,
Moſt apt to pardon, needing leaſt;
Strict, mild, and humble, great and good;
As all her Friends well underſtood.
Moſt pious in her life and death,
(A Pattern to her lateſt breath)
Heav'n could not brook the earth ſhould ſhare
A Pearl of ſuch a Price; ſo rare,
So good, ſo wiſe, ſo chaſt, ſo bleſt,
Angels alone can ſpeak the reſt,
God took her hence betimes, leſt we
Should fall to flat Idolatrie.
Anne Lumley.
Upon The much Lamented Death Of That moſt vertuous and Incomparable LADY ELIZABETH Daughter of the RIGHT HONOURABLE FERDINANDO Lord HASTINGS, Earl of HUNTINGDON. And Wife to the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, Sr. JAMES LANGHAM.
PAſs not, but wonder, and amazed ſtand
At this ſad Tomb; for here incloſed lie
Such rare perfections, that no tongue, or hand
Can ſpeak them, or pourtray them to the eie:
Such was her body, ſuch her ſoul divine,
Which hence aſcended, here hath left this ſhrine,
To tell her Princely birth, and high deſcent,
And what by noble Huntingdon is meant,
Tranſcends the Heralds Art, beyond the rules
Of Ore, or Argent, Azure, or of Gules:
To that Nobility her Birth had given
A ſecond added was, deriv'd from Heaven;
Thence her habitual goodneſs, ſolid worth
Her piety, her vertues blazon forth,
Her for a pattern unto after ages,
To be admir'd by all, expreſt by ſages,
Who whilſt they write of her, will ſadly ſorrow,
That ſhe did not ſurvive to ſee their morrow.
So good in all Relations, ſo ſweet
A Daughter, ſuch a loving Wife; diſcreet
A Mother, though not hers, not partial,
She lov'd, as if they had been natural.
To the Earl and Ladies ſhe a ſiſter rare,
A Friend, where ſhe profeſt, beyond compare.
Her hours were all preciſely kept, and ſpent
In her devotions; and her ſtudies meant
To ſhare ſome for her languages, which ſhe
In Latine, French, Italian, happilie
Advanced in with pleaſure; what do I
Recount her parts? her Memory ſpeaks more
Than what can be, or hath bin ſaid before.
It asks a Volume rather than a Verſe
Which is confined only to her Herſe.
But now bleſt Soul, She is arriv'd at Heaven,
Where, with a Crown of life, to her is given
A new tranſcendent Name, to th' world unknown,
Not writ in marble, but the Saints white Stone:
Inthron'd above the ſtars, with glory crown'd,
Enſtal'd with bliſs, and Hallelujah's ſound.
Bathſhua Makin.
On the MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE, And VERTUOUS LADY, The Lady ELIZABETH, Late Wife to the worthy Sr. JAMES LANGHAM KNIGHT.
HIghly deſcended, born of nobleſt bloud;
Yet one, who (Great) was not more Great than good,
Skill'd in the Languages, and in the Arts,
(Acquired learning added to good parts.)
Humble, Grave, modeſt, and of temper ſweet,
Wiſe to keep ſilence, when as it was meet:
And knowing how, as well, to ſpeak in ſeaſon,
And then to guide her tongue with grace, & reaſon.
In place, of a good Lady dead, to come,
And, ſo well, to fill up the Vacuum;
By acting ſo the Wife, and ſo the Mother,
(One would have thought ſhe had not bin another)
Acting both ſo, as if the very ſame
Mother and Wife, deceas'd, were come again.
So full of all the tend'reſt love and care
To two ſweet Children, which another bare:
To Husband ſo obſequious and ſo ſweet
In carriage, that an help more meet
He could not have. And as to each Relation
Wondrous obliging in her Converſation.
The meaneſt perſon That would not contemn,
That, raſhly, would not any one condemn.
Who, alwaies, would interpret in beſt ſenſe,
What others uſe to rack with violence.
Eaſie to pardon other's faults, and yet
Severe in thoſe laws, which t'her ſelf ſhe ſet.
One, to the poor, that did draw forth her ſoul,
So much, their pinching wants ſhe would condole.
What time ſome, of her Rank, do ſet a part
To Cards and Plays, who ſpent to ſearch her heart,
To read, and pray, and to converſe with God,
With whom ſhe hop'd, once, for a bleſt abode.
The Sun did not, more duly, ſet and Riſe,
Than ſhe kept conſtant to this Exerciſe.
The Lords Day was her joy, his word her meat,
Which ſhe not only Read, and Heard, but Eat.
But where's the Subject, unto which this throng
Of Epithets and Adjuncts doth belong?
Is ſhe i'th' Land of Living? Alas! No,
She might have been ſeen here ſome months ago.
She was, How ſad a word's this Was! (woes me)
This bleſſed Lady Elizabeth was ſhe.
Haſting to Heaven, ſhe touch't (by the way)
At Crosby-Houſe, where we hop'd ſhe would ſtay;
But fondly: Of a ſuddain ſhe took flight
Heav'n ward, and's gone: ſhe's quite gone out of ſight.
Into the World ſhe came, it's vanity,
She ſaw; contemn'd, and withdrew preſently.
T. B.
In Obitum Illuſtriſsimae Heroinae, Dominae ELIZABETHAE LANGHAM, Epicedium.
ERgone foeminei laus, & victoriaſexus,
Et deſiderii meta ſuprema jacet?
Ʋna bonis animi, generiſque, & corporis aucta,
Quae data ſunt aliis ſingula, cuncta tulit.
Nobilis a proavis, & origine magna Parentum,
Nempe Hunting doniae ſplendida gemma domus.
Invidia, haud pietas eſt hanc deflere Beatam,
Cui data coeleſti eſt clara corona polo.
Marmora mitte igitur, celebrare aut carmine laudes,
Huic immortali, quid moritura ſtruis?
Nam que loquendo, ſatis dignè laudaverit unquam
Nemo, niſihic maerens qui ſtupet atque ſilet.
An Epitaph.
STay! read her name, leſt thou paſs traveller,
Hence irreligiouſly without a tear.
Say, didſt thou know her? then thy loſs reſent,
If not? at leaſt thy ignorance lament.
Here lyes interred one, by whoſe deceaſe
Heav'n hath one Saint the more, and earth one leſs.
Where Grace and Nature truly did preſent
A compleat draught, of what was excellent.
In whom dwelt virtue with Nobility,
Great parts, with yet greater Humility.
Her well repleniſht mind did like a vein
Of Earth, a Rich and plenteous ore contain.
Strictneſs, zeal, mercy, meekneſs, patience,
Combin'd to take up here their reſidence.
Her out-ſide ſpoke it, as if deſign'd to tell
How pure, and large a ſoul within did dwell.
How in her Face, and carriage might You ſee
Bright Honour, ſhadowed with modeſty.
Her Gravity with ſweetneſſe mixt, did ſhew,
That diſtance was not her deſire, but due.
Too ſoon ſnatcht hence, to prove that ſhe was here,
Not an Inhabitant, but Sojourner.
Sleep then in ſilence quietly her duſt,
Till the Reſurrection of the juſt.
When Body and Soul ſhall re-united be,
And each enjoy their Immortality.
I. S.
To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL And Worthy of Honour, Sir JAMES LANGHAM. A Memorial of His Moſt Dear and Excellent Wife, THE RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELIZABETH, A great pattern of true Honour and Piety.
WHat Man can write, that's not Enthuſiaſt,
I mean not, what thou art, but what thou waſt?
Can Man breath living Words, and realize
Thy Worth, and not be thought to Poetize!
But thy great Name, and far greater Merit,
Will clear my Verſe, from a lying Spirit.
Similitudes from Sun, Stars, Meteors
Dwelling in Clay, are but low Metaphors.
All were Mine own, and nothing like to Thine,
If I ſhould ſpeak of Thee, leſs than Divine.
I have ſeen David's Harp, but not his Heart
On Buckrom dawb'd, the Noble inward Part.
Was too ſubtile to come to Painters view,
'Tis my hard task to ſhew a Saint to You.
Once it was ſaid, the Gods came down like Men;
I miſs a Godly one gone hence agen.
If here I rob'd a Tomb, and there a Stone,
And ſhap'd her like to ſome Phantaſtick One,
And ſet up Her Pillar, like goodly Saul,
Higher than thoſe in Weſtminſter, and Paul.
Or for a louder ſtrain, ran to ſome Poet,
Her Reverend Ghoſt would chide me for it.
Out of the truly Noble Maunch ſhe came,
The Badge of Honour, that's known by her Name:
From Kingly Lyons, and the Flowers De Lice,
You may diſcern Her yet far higher rice.
Her Family thrice mix'd with Royal Blood,
She knew; and yet, as though not underſtood.
She ſpake not on't, as if ſhe never knew
The large and Noble Stem, on which ſhe grew;
Or yet, as if that Elevating Blood
Was, like Rich Drops, loſt in a Richer Flood.
That precious Blood, that Her did cleanſe from ſin,
The only Blood was, that ſhe glory'd in.
She did eſteem the ſecond Birth the better,
The firſt was High, Below, the other greater
If we do higher look. This high born Mind,
Enrich'd with Parts, ſoar'd higher ſtill to find
That hidden Life, ſecrets of Piety,
Pure Love, unfeigned Faith, true Charity.
Her Life, and actions a good Comment was
Upon Gods Law, in which as in a Glaſs,
She dreſs'd Her inward, and Her outward part:
Her humble Carriage, ſpake an humble Heart.
She learn'd the Law, both to obſerve and love it,
From None but me, unto, Thou ſhalt not covet.
She was oth' good Elizabethan Sect,
That, blameleſs, bear to all Gods laws reſpect;
But yet no Phariſaic Legaliſt,
Her Works were Fruits of living Faith in Chriſt.
She 'gan the day with God, with him it ended,
'Scapes mark'd to day, were all to morrow mended.
From God in Cloſet, Church, warm and devout,
No waſte-time paſtimes ever turn'd her out.
Her Husband's ſoul and Hers you'd think were twin'd,
Rare Parts, rare Hearts, matched into a mind.
But! Death conſenting not to ſuch rare Matches,
Away from him, his right half ſoon diſpatches.
Is there no way to break a Match, and not
Undo the ſuff'ring part, to whoſe hard Lot
Surviving fall's? But, this hath alwayes been,
Since Man and Wife op'ned the door to Sin.
His Children Hers became, whoſe curious care
Was to compleat, and Saint that hopeful Pair.
Her Servants were the Flock, ſhe duely fed
With Milk, and the Portions of that Bread,
Which from Her Fathers houſe, ſhe carri'd home,
And did impart to all about her ſome.
In all Relations, home, and abroad,
She liv'd like ſuch an one, as would pleaſe God.
Her Face was Wiſdom's Front, and Her Demeanour
Obſerv'd the Laws of Meekneſs and of Honour.
Her Speech, her Looks, her Perſon ſo array'd,
Spake, that ſhe look'd to God, to Heav'n and pray'd.
Her ſenſes Servants were, Reaſon was Lord;
Fruitful ſhe was in Deeds, ſparing in Word.
I cannot paſs by what ſhe ne're look'd o're,
Gods great Receivers, miſerable poor:
She felt their cold, and wants as well as they,
She was the ſaddeſt when they went away.
She made them Rich, they made her Spirit poor,
They ſpent her Alms, ſhe of their moans made ſtore.
She was no Legend—(but a Scripture—) Saint,
Her piety no Hypocritick paint.
I will not ſpeak what ſhe was not, for Nots
Are in a Character but comely blots.
If ſhe had lived in thoſe darker Times,
When Legends went about with Monkiſh Rhimes.
She had at leaſt been canoniz'd at Rome,
And hither crouding multitudes would come,
To ſee the Reliques, which, nor lead, nor ſtones
Could guard thoſe Aſhes, and thoſe Sacred Bones.
But in this brighter day, ſhe was a light,
Her Morn was Noon, but ah! her Noon prov'd night.
(Night, like that Cloud in which the Sun doth ride,
We have the Cloud, ſhe's on the ſunny ſide.)
Her Life drop'd in the Flow'r, Grace grew Mature,
Grace ſeldom dwelt with a better Nature.
O happy ſhe! would all of us were there!
And yet, if ſo we wiſh, why ſtay we here?
Earth was no bait: Heav'n was ſo much prefer'd,
That firſt ſhe dy'd before ſhe was interr'd.
Coeleſtial mind! ſhe's fled unto her Crown,
Here was not Earth enough to weigh her down.
But, that there is none perfect here, I know,
I ſhould go nigh to ſay, that ſhe was ſo.
Sir, ſhall I write? or muſt I here forbear?
Leaſt every line I write coſt You a Tear.
I have of Her great Deeds collected ſome,
The Margent of whoſe Life would fill a Tome.
Edward Pierce.
AN ELEGY On that Right Honourable And Right Pious LADY,
The Let Herauldry diſplay her Progeny,
Aggrandiz'd both with Age and Majeſty.
Death Royal Lions conquers, Lillies blaſts:
Yonder's that glorious Piety, that laſt's,
Ev'n when time's teeth ſhall have diſgrac'd the world,
Laying all level, and it ſelf be hurl'd
Into the gulf of vaſt Eternity.
She had a mind moſt humble, yet as high;
A ſpiring Saint! who Earth a foot-ſtool made,
But Prayer's mount, the vantage ground, whoſe aid
Enabl'd her to ſtep into the Throne;
That her ambition was, and That alone.
How ſparing of her words! more of her time:
Leaving this matchleſs praiſe behind; no Crime
A blemiſh left on any word or deed:
No not for many years! Such exact heed
Govern'd both tongue and feet. O glorious hight!
Her bended knees made her walk ſo upright.
As for her Honour; 'twas ſupported by
Moſt orient vertues, which her memory
Now do embalm. In ſickneſs patience
Obtain'd the garland with preeminence.
Whilſt in that fornace try'd; She Jeſus ſpy'd,
Her Joy, looſing the bonds, which burnt, ſhe dy'd.
At our black midnight, dawn'd her brighteſt day:
Preſently wip't from her's, all tears away;
Pouring them into our lamenting, eies.
Ye clouds diſſolve: guſh forth ye ſprings, Ariſe—
But! here (that Painter's Rhetorick) a Vail
Signifies moſt, when tears and pencils fail.
Silence (grief's Oratour, and wonder's tongue)
Uttereth beſt thoſe ſighs and thoughts that throng,
Sticking aſtoniſh't within ſorrw's womb.
God's word, her worth, our grief, bid, make us dumb.
To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM Upon the Exaltation of his ſecond Lady, &c.
Honoured Sir,
WHen firſt you encircl'd in your happy Arms
That Center of perfections and charms;
My Muſe rejoyc'd, that, though your *10 Stars were born by his former Lady in her paternal Coat.Stars were ſet,
(Mufling you in a two years darkneſs) yet
A Sun was ris'n, whoſe moſt illuſtrious raies
Mingling with yours, at once would ſhew & praiſe
Kind vertues Darlings; and withal advance
Joy the aſcendant in your countenance:
As if that former ſplendent Piety
Improv'd and gilded with Divinity;
Into your lap, once more, were ſtowred down
From Heav'n; whence marriages have birth & crown.
But oh ſo dark it was when ſhe went hence!
That groping, we, our faith and patience,
Could hardly find: and ſtumbling at her Urn
Had almoſt fall'n a murmuring; to turn
Loſs into ſin. But (Sir) thus take the plot;
God join'd your hearts in that true Lovers knot,
That when his Angels, that bleſt Soul, away
Should carry, home, to bliſs, you might, obey
The doubl'd force of this attractive cord,
Start up and ſay, my Wives, my God, and Lord
Stand above beckning on that heav'nly mount,
Whilſt the ſlow minutes with my ſighs I count.
I'l ſpeak no lowder, leaſt your griefs awake;
But, wipe your eies, look, run, and overtake:
And ſhine in triumphs, having rais'd a name,
As great as hers; who came, pray'd, overcame.
Sam: May.
In obitum Honoratiſsimae Dominae Dominae ELISABETHAE LANGHAM, Illuſtriſſimorum Ferdinandi & Luciae Comitum Huntingdoniae Filiae natu maximae: Et inſigniſſimi viri Domini Jacobi Langham Equitis aurati, Conjugis ſemper deſideratiſſimae Heroniae incomparabilis & immortalitate dignae, foreign defunciae foreign, ſive Epicedium.
SIſte parum (Lector) monitum te convenit; illis
Ne fidens oculis decipiare tuis.
Quicquid enim cernis, non eſt quod cernis, & illud
Cernere quod poter as, cernere poſſe negas.
Effuſis nimium lachrymis vitiantur ocelli,
Intempeſtivis fletibus ora cadunt.
Expect as (ſcio ſat) tumulum, gelidumque Sepulchrum,
Oſſa, urnam, cineres anticipare ſoles;
Sed minus attentè; ſi quaeris talia, cedo,
Non ſunt haec iſto conſpicienda loco.
Quem ſpectas, non eſt tumulus, ſed lectus, & urna
Quam credis, non eſt urna, ſed arca Dei.
Non pulvis, ſed pulvinar; non oſſa, ſed ata
Scilicet è ſaxis concumulata ſacris.
Equibus haec? ſi fortè roges, Virtutibus iſtis
Praeſto eſt hinc animum figere velle tuum;
Quae tantam Dominam ſolitae ſunt cingere vivam
Nec modo de functam deperiiſſe ſinunt.
Quos ego ſi cuperem Lapides diſtinguere junctos,
Perque ſuas gemmas enumerare vices,
Ne poſſim cumulo vereor ſuccumbere toto,
Ignaruſque mali mole perinde premi.
Attamen experiar; quid enim non audet amoris
Impetus, & votis haud ſatianda ſitis?
Quid negat officii ratio aut reverentia mentis
Quae neſcit ſtimulos diſſimulare ſuos?
O Sanctam in Coelis Animam & Coeleſtibus auctam!
Te quibus Auſpiciis amplificare queam!
Nolo quidem ſtirpem tot Regum ſtemmate claram,
Ant Genus aut Proavos commemorare tuos.
Quanquam ſi vellem digito te pingere poſſem
Summis Principibus Nobilitate parem.
Te Pietas, te ſancta Fides, te propria Virtus,
Contemptus mundi, ac Relligionis amor.
Tran ſmittent ſeclo nunquam moritura futuro
Pignora, & aeterni Marmoris inſtar erunt.
Conjugis Affectus retinebat viſcera Prolis,
Deliciae Matris; Deliciaeque Viri.
Accedunt Fratris lachrymae, gemituſque Sororum,
Affines, ſociae congemuere piae.
Rara animi Comitas, blandique placentia vultus,
Sed majeſtatis non aliena modis.
Felici Ingenio juncta eſt Prudentia nexu,
Divitis ac animi Lingua diſerta comes.
Anglica Romanam ſuſcepit, Gallica Graecam
Nec minus Italicos eſt imitata ſonos.
Sedula Divini praeibat lectio Verbi
Audita eſt grata Concio ſacra mora.
Mox pia Colloquiis ceſſit meditatio crebris
Singula praemiſſa ſanctificata prece,
Chara Homini, dilecta Deo, ſed mortua mundo
Perpetuas meriti tot Monumenta tui.
Tho. Horton S. T. D.
To the Eminently Learned and Religious Sir JAMES LANGHAM Knight. In pious memory of his Moſt Excellent CONSORT The Lady ELISABETH LANGHAM Daughter of the Right Honourable FERDINANDO Earl of HƲNTINGDON.
Moſt honoured Sir,
PReaching hath ſpoil'd my Poetry, and I
Inſtead of writing Elegies, Learn to die.
But if I ſhould Ambitious be to uſe
A Fairer, Nobler, and Diviner Muſe
Than all the Nine; That Phoenix of high prize
Could only from your Ladies Aſhes riſe;
Able, with Life, wit's Carcaſe, to inſpire,
And warm the coldeſt Brain with Heav'nly fire.
Yet then no ſooner would that Flame appear,
But your ſad Loſs would quench it with a tear.
For never was all Good in One ſo met,
(Like Diamonds and Pearls in pure Gold ſet.)
Her High-born Bloud flow'd from the Royal ſpring,
To which great Birth, Grace, did a Greater bring.
So that in Her we might theſe Wonders ſee,
Princely Grandeur crown'd with Humility;
Beauty, with Learning, Wealth with wiſdom ſhin'd,
And piety ſo kept Court within her Mind,
That if for loſt Religion we ſhould look,
In her Life we might Read the Holy Book.
And if for baniſh'd Modeſty wee'd ſeek,
We might behold it bluſhing in her Cheek.
Her Temp'rance too was much, her Charity more;
'Twas Meat and Drink to Her, to feed the Poor:
And with her Alms ſuch Counſel ſhe would give,
As might at once make Soul and Body live.
Publick and Private, ſhe ne're drew in Air,
But what went out in holy Word or Prayer.
With this ſhe Honor'd all her Honors, and
Enrich'd your Family more than all your Land.
Others are Glorious from their Anceſtrie,
But ſhe Ennobled Her Nobilitie.
That Wife which Famous Overburie writ
With Height of Judgment, Eloquence and wit,
Was but a Type of her, who can alone
Be Peer'd with the Elect Lady of St. John.
Whoſe praiſe is better Preach'd than Poem'd forth,
No Verſe but what's a Text can reach her Worth.
Our Meeters added to this Sermon, ſound
Like Sternhold's Rhimes with th' Holy Bible bound.
I'l borrow then Words from the Preaching King,
And with His Hallow'd Truth Her Glory ſing.
Many a Daughter hath done vertuouſlyProv. 31. 29
But ſhe excell'd them all; I might apply
Much of that Chapter to Her, as a Wife
Who acted, what is writ there, to the Life.
R Weſt. D. D.
On the death of the truly Noble and Vertuous LADY ELISABETH Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM Knight, Who dyed great with Child.
Could Beauty, Wealth, Wit, Learning, Grace or Birth
Free any one from death, thy life would have
Been laſting as thy Fame, nor had the Earth
And Heav'n call'd back the Jewel that they gave.
But ah, alas! ſuch noble Souls as thine
Dwell in as crazy cottages as ours;
Yea, being fram'd of mold more pure and fine,
They are leſs able to brook ſtorms and ſhowrs.
Hence Thou art gone betimes; and we remain
A while behind, here to condole our loſs,
To celebrate thy memory, and complain
That want of ſuch as Thee's our greateſt croſs.
But Thou, ſweet Infant, loſeſt nought at all,
But gaineſt, by thy Mothers early death:
Her womb's thy tomb; thou haſt a funeral
Before a birth, and dy'ſt ere thou draw'ſt breath.
Thus without knowledge of this gloomy ſhade,
Wherein we ſadly wander up and down,
Thou a quick paſſage unto Heav'n haſt made,
And without ſweat or toil haſt got the Crown.
Let not ſurviving Friends then take't amiſs,
Becauſe they ſaw thee not to ripeneſs grown:
For thou art ripe before them, and in bliſs,
Longing to ſee them alſo wear the Crown.
Anthony Scattergood D. D.
STemmata imaginibus, titulis diſtincta, Coronis
Inclyta, quam decorant, Ornant quam propria virtus,
Quam pietas, quam Relligio, mens para, fideſque,
Conjuge quae fulget, cui par vix contigit ulli
Conjuge qui gaudet, cui par vix contigit ulli
Quam cito, quam ſubito nobis erepra, parenti
Eximiae chara, Eximio perchara marito!
Ereptam eheu lugemus, lugemus ademptam
Terris, aethereas ſedes gaudemus adeptam.
Comprime nunc lachrymas ergo, moeſtiſſime conjux.
Comprime nunc lachrymas ergo maeſtiſſima mater;
Terreno ſponſo, Terrena matre relictis,
Coeleſti ſponſo, Coeleſti patre potita
Coelieolas inter ſedet, aeternumque ſedebit.
Pauculis hiſce verſibus lectiſſimae, Illuſtriſſimae, Nobiliſſimae Heroinae ELISABETHAE HASTINGIAE Celſiſſimi comitis Huntingdoniae Filiae; Illuſtriſſ: ac Nobiliſſ: Viri Jacobi Langbamii equitis Aurati conjugi, Londini parentabat
Ludovicus Heraldus Eccleſiae Londino-Gallicae Eccleſiaſtes.
In Obitum ILLUSTRISSIMAe Heromae Dominae ELISABETAE HASTINGIAE, Honoratiſſimi Comitis HUNTINGDONIAE Filiae. Ad Illuſtrem ipſius Conjugem, Dominum JACOBƲM LANGHAM, Equitem Auratum. foreign.
LAnghamiae docus ornamentum & gloria gentis,
O infignis Eques quo non infignior alter,
Magne opibus, major virtutibus atque loquela
Melliflua tibi quam donavit ſuada Latina.
Miraris moeſtus cur intra quatuor annos,
Ʋxores tibi fata duas in flebile mortis
Imperium rapuere? ſtupenti mente revolvis,
Tecum, cur intra luſtrum thalamus tuus orbus
Bis ſit, qua caaſa cogaris vivere ſolus?
Nil tamen eſt cur attonito Clariſſime Langham.
Expendas animo fati decreta, Deique
Conſilium ſapiens quod ſacra agitare marita
Te prohibet nimium mirere, Hymeneia feſta,
Tranſivere cito, pauciſque potitus es annis.
Queis tibi ſubſidium Numen donarit amatae
Ʋxoris, quia nimirum meliore potiri.
Vita digna erat uxorum utraque. Poma videre eſt,
Decidere arboribus cum ſunt matura, quid ergo
Miri eſt ſi uxores ambas diſcedere mundo
Videris, aeternae matura erat utraque vitae.
Praeterea quae ſunt in terris ſumma, neceſſe eſt
In pejus ruere ac retro ſublapſa reſerri:
Pancratica ſi quis fruitur valetudine, parte
Ex omni incolumis ſanuſque, inceſſet acerbus.
Morbus eum pingueſque cito populabitut artus,
Febris, ſic cum quis foelix eſt atque beatus
In terris quantum ſors fert mortalis, iniquum
Adverſumque illi caſum fortuna minatur.
Nil ergo mirum tibi contigit, aura ſecunda
Afflabat tibi, te vultu ſpectare ſereno
Sors dignabatur, planè tibi nulla negarat
Illorum vitam quae poſſunt reddere amoenam.
Dives erat, clarus doctrina & mactus honore,
*Londinum vocatur Auguſta ab Ammiano Marcellino.Miſſus ab Auguſta fueras civitate Britanni,
Quae caput eſt orbis, qua vix ingentior ulla eſt
In toto mundo-quo ipſius nomine poſſes.
Omnia magnanimo vovere beata Monarchae,
Sub cujus tremit imperiis & laeta triumphat
Anglia, quando ovaas Belgarum ſolvit ab oris,
Ʋt poſſet natale ſolim liberare Tyrannis,
Sub quibus ingemutt ſaevos tolerando lahores,
Angligentſque ſuis dominari legibus aequis.
Gaudens inde novo cumulatus honore rediſti,
Cuncta videbatur tibi tum promittere fanſta
Fatum, ſed ſubito letho tibi tollitur uxor,
Quae nunquam laudata ſatis, quamquam monumentum
Nobile fecit ei Reverendus Epiſcopus ille
Nordovicum, quem relligio doctrinaque ſumma
Commendant & qui ſacrorum ex ordine Patrum,
Eſſe merabatur quos fulgens infula veſtit,
Et quorum regitur prudenti Eccleſia cura,
Placata dein ſorte fuit tibi reddita conjux
Altera, quae potuit deſiderium omne prioris
Ex animo delere tuo, charaeque Mariae
Te facere omnino immemorem, nam gloria ſexus
Faeminei dici poterat perfecta ſue quantum
Ʋlla ſit inter eas quae gaudent lumine; ſanè
Eliſabeta tua omnigeno ſplendore micabat
Et quae faelices factunt, collectatenebat:
Stemmate fulgebat quo vix illuſtrius ullum,
Nata erat antiquo magnatum ſanguine, vixit
Nobilis ingenio, meritis, virtutibus atque
Sincera pietate, ut deni que plurima paucis
Dicantur, te dignafuit, Digniſſime Langham,
Illuſtrique ſua p…oles digniſſima Matre.
Verum cheu mundus tam praeclara hoſpite dignus
Non fuit, illa ideo lumen vitale reliquit,
Ac ipſo vere aetatis ſua fata ſubivit.
Haec equidem mors eſt inconſolabile vulnus
Si carnem auſcultes; verum ſi credere verbo
Divino placeat, nulla eſt tibi cauſa doloris,
Nec vano decorare ipſius funera fletu
Debes, quippe nefas illam dubitare beatam
Eſſe; aeternos coelorum tranſivit in orbes
Et noſtras fugit tenebras ut lumine vero
Se impleret, poſſetque ſequens convexa Tonantis
In coelum quo digna fuit quodque anxia votis
Optabat recipi atque choris permiſta beatis,
Collaudare Deum cujus flagrabat amore.
J am Chriſtum ſpectans qui noſtra piacula demit
Dulcia ſepoſitis perſentit gaudia curis,
Jucundis ejus nunc gaudet amoribus, & jam
Elizabeta *Vox foreign quam Graeci Exod. 6. 23. foreign dedere ſignificat Deus meus eſt ſatietas.ſuo Domino ſatiatur abundè,
Omnia ſubſiliunt ejus praecordia, namque
Non ſolum fruitur conſpectu Virginis almae,
Quae mundi Regem ſub luminis edidit auras.
Verum etiam aeterni ſoboles aeterna Parentis
Obverſatur ei ſummo fulgore coruſcans:
Sicque micans radiis quantis non fulget Olympus.
Nos dolet in terris tanta ſub nocte jacere,
Et noſtras miſerata vices noſtros que dolores
Expetit ut demum coeleſtia templa recepti
Secum perpetuum Numen celebremus in aevum.
En illam contemplor majeſtate verendam
Summa, ſtellarum cinctam radiante corona
Tempora, qua coram palleſcunt lumina ſolis
Aethereas inter mentes ſanctaſ que cohortes
Spirituum quos conſummavit gratia Chriſti,
E coelis ad te raptim haec in verba laquentem;
O tu qui quondam vita lux unica noſtrae,
O conjunx o lim dilecte & noſtra voluptas,
Tecum vivebam foelix ſi terra beatos
Poſſidet, & noſtris nunquam benedicere taedis
Non poteram thalamumque tuum laudare jugalem.
Verum crede mihi noſtriſque fidem addito dictis,
Quam longè a terra diſtat domus inclyta coeli,
Quantum mortales ſuperat venerabile numen,
Tantum ſubſidunt bona queis tecum potiebar
Infra coeleſtis quam duco praemia vitae.
In terris erat ampla domus, diveſque ſupellex;
Semper erat variis dapibus mea menſa parata;
Otnari poteram gemmis auroque nitenti
Veſte, meis quod majus erat, tua colla lacertis
Amplecti, tibi blanda dare oſcula, mentis
Arcanos ſenſus, imi penetralia cordis,
Scire tui leges & fas & jura ſinebant.
Nunc vero o Conjux immenſa palatia coeli
Incolo, quae gemmas aurum Solemque ſerenum,
Luce ſua ſuperant, in queis ſpectare triumphos,
Atque trophaea *Alluditur ad nomen domus Ampliſſimi Domini Langham quae Crosby-Houſe diciturcrucis licet, & queis gloria tanta eſt
Mente capi ut non poſſit: honos & ſceptra thronoſque
Poſſideo nihil indiga: vero nectare, vera
Ambroſia veſcor, ſpecie ſatiata Tonantis,
Qui fons aeternus vitae eſt omniſque ſalutis
Author: jam byſſo pura, jam lumine amicta
Incedo: Chriſtus ſtirps vora Dei, Deus ipſe
J am ſibi me vinclo voluit ſociare jugali
Continuo ille mihi ſua porrigit oſcula, queis nil
Gratius eſſe poteſt, coelorum denique cunctis
Expanſis adytis mihi ſacra arcana recludit,
Seque mihi indignae totum donare fruendum
Non renuit. Quae cauſa ergo tot ſigna doloris
In vultu eſſe tuo? cur pullo operiris amictu?
Olim laetitiae dulces ſub pectore motus
Volvebas dum loeta fui frontem que ſerenam,
Indueram, cur factum ut jam tibi diſpar acerbo
Corrumpas gemitu, quod terque quaterque beata
Aerumnae vivam immunis, curiſque ſoluta?
Si me diligeres tacito ſub pectore totus
Geſtires me fati ereptam legibus eſſe,
Meque videre Patrem ſummum, qui temperat orbem,
Et cujus viſu capiuntur gaudia ſumma,
Ergo age nulla tuo ſuſpiria ducito corde
Amplius & nullas moeſtas expromito voces,
Contentus poſito luctu tua tempora comple,
Erigere & laetus certam tibi ſume quietem,
Donec coeleſtis potiaris praemia vitae.
Haec dixit ſacraque ſua ſic voce locuta eſt,
Plura videbatur dictura, jubarque coruſcum
Deſcriptura tibi longè radiantis Olympi,
Et quae in coelitibus videantur lumina, queiſque
J am rutilet radiis Christus dulciſſimus ille
Servatcr, quem Judaei, gens impia, quondam
Affecere probris variis ac denique dura
Morte peremerunt ut crimina noſtra ſubiret.
At vero meminit divinis vocibus auri
Humanae prorſus ignotis eſſe loquendum,
Exprimere ut poſſet dignè miracula coeli:
Praeterea meminit ſibi cum mortalibus aegris
Verſandum non eſſe, & ſe nunc agmina ſancta
Spirituum J'ovam celebrantum laude perenni,
Se Chriſtam ſe ſummum Numen habere ſodales,
Atque unà cum illis ſibi perpetuo eſſe loquendum.
Idcirco ſic fata, ſilet Chriſtique recumbet
In gremium, ſanctam penetrant ubi gaudia mentem,
Clara ubi ſunt illam ſua geſta ſecuta, labore
Omni ubi nunc expers meritarum encomia laudum
Perſonat uſque Deo. Nunc ergo maxime Langham,
Expendas tibi moeroris num cauſa ſperſit
Ʋlla, an triſtitia oppreſsum decurrere vitam?
Non te dedeceat? Macta eſto, triumphat amata
In coelis tua conjux, menti ipſius imago,
Sancta tuae cum aderit vide ne ſuſpiria corde
Eliciat, potius divino pectus amore
Incendat, mentemque tuam ad coeleſti a tollat,
Te deſiderio ſuminaque cupidine totum,
Impleat, olim ingentia coeli tecta videndi,
Aeternoque Deum Patrem Dominumque canendi,
Qui ſolo nutu mundi moderatur habenas,
Quemque acies ſuperum ſlammantes ſemper adorant,
Et cui laus debetur, honos & gloria in aevum.
Sic pientiſſimae Heroinae manibus Parentebat tui nominis ac virtutum Cultor Humilimus D' Primiroſius, Ecclefiae Londino-Gallicae Miniſter.
Epitaphium,
SIſte viator iter, juſta eſt tibi cauſa morandi,
Spectare ut poſſis ſignatum hoc carmine ſaxum.
Hic poſita eſt mulier quae ſi Solomonis in aevo,
Luce potita eſſet, judaeorum inclytus ille
Princeps non eſſet conqueſtus quod ſibi fruſtra
Foe mineo in ſexu ſapiens quaeſita fuiſſet
Foe mina. Quippe in ea doctrina fideſque micabant,
Dotibus heroicis, pollebat, origine clara,
Dignis qua ſata erat, miranda modeſtia cunctos
Ipſius mores ornabat. Noſcere ſi vis
Illam, ipſi fuit Eliſabeta Haſtingia nomen.
IN PERPETUAL MEMORY Of the Moſt RELIGIOUS, TRUELY NOBLE, and VERTUOUS LADY, ELISABETH: WIFE to Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Knight.
I.
A Thouſand times I try'd, but all in vain,
Me thoughts my Verſe came on but ſlow,
And that which us'd to be all wing, could hardly go,
I could not cloſe one happy Strain,
But e're it was half done, begun again.
At laſt, in rage, this once, ſaid I,
And but this once, whether it do, or no, I'll try;
And all my aides I ſummon'd in,
And bid them all their Treaſures bring,
Judgment, Invention, Art and Wit,
Thoſe to obey, and that as Queen to ſit;
With all the Offspring of the Brain,
And all the numerous train
Of quick Conceipts, that fancy breeds, or Poets feigne.
II.
I call'd, but could make none to heare,
Nor Wit, nor Judgment would appeare,
Fancy it ſelf, till then my Tyrant, drew not near.
Yet ſtill I waited, till at laſt
In ſtead of theſe, my Muſe came in
With Beauties, that I n'ere before had ſeen,
Beauties, I dare not venture to expreſs,
Beauties, which words would make but leſs,
And gently by me would have paſt,
But never to return again,
Whilſt I the Viſion wiſht might longer laſt,
And follow'd, more to make it ſo, then to complain.
But as I that too, thought t' have done,
And told my wrongs, e're ſhe was gon,
With eyes that ſpoke more pitty, then disdain,
My Muſe prevented mine, and thus her ſpeech began.
III.
"What could'ſt thou hope amidſt the Learned Crowd
"Of Votaries that come,
"With more then common ſervice, to this tomb,
"As if thy whiſpers could be heard, & they ſo lowd.
"Go ſeek ſome other, whom thy Verſe may raiſe,
"Her Virtues are above thy Praiſe,
"Nor there can needed be
"Where all already hath been ſaid,
"By them that knew Her, as ſhe honoured is by thee
"The living to inſtruct, or praiſe the Dead,
"Yet her Own laurells, more then theirs have crown'd her Head.
"To tell the Glories of her Name,
"The Families ſhe joyn'd, and whence ſhe came,
"Her Learning, or Her Piety
"The Saint ſhe was, and what ſhee's gon to be,
"How little here ſhe left unknown,
"What ſhe acquir'd, or what was born her Own,
"The Languages ſhe underſtood,
"The beſt of all, and all that they had good,
"The French, Italian, and the Tongue
"Tully declam'd in, and great Maro ſung,
"Which Rome ſcarce half an age did ſee,
"And longer Miſtriſs of the World could be,
"Then Queen of that, yet never purer ſpoke than ſhe,
"Theſe are above thy humble flight,
"Whom meaner ſubjects better fit,
"Only the Muſe, that taught her how to ſpeak, her praiſe can write.
IV.
"That ſhall my Province be, and her great name
"I will enroll i'th' laſting Monuments of Fame;
"Amongſt my learned Daughters, who have been
"The Honour of the Age they flouriſht in;
"And whom to Heaven I have preferr'd,
"That thence, with greater awe they might be heard,
"Like Thunder, both command attention, and be feard.
"I will immortall make her, I, who gave
"Eternity to them, whom ſhe admir'd;
"My Prieſts, who triumph o're the grave
"With a leſs heat, then hers, by me inſpir'd.
"Still in my ſacred Rolls they live,
"And all, but their own virtues, ſhall ſurvive;
"When proudeſt Sepulchers muſt dye,
"And though they Heav'n and Age defie,
"Low, as the putrid Aſhes that they cover, ly.
"They live, and all enjoy eternal day,
"Which ſhall more glorious grow, and bright
"By this addition of new light,
"When ſhe ſhall be a Sun, as well as they.
"For ſo I'll make Her, not a Star,
"As Caeſar only was, and Heroes are
"But a bright Sun, that ſhall below 2
"Its flames above, and all its influence beſtow. 2
"You wrong Her if you think ſhee's dead
"For ſhe ne're liv'd till now.—This having ſaid
"The Muſe in haſt withdrew, and I inclin'd my head.
Sam. Woodford.
In Obitum Honorabilis Dominae, Dominae ELISABETHAE, JACOBI LANGHAM, Equitis Aurati conjugis praechariſſimae, immaturum, quae quinto Calend. April. noviſſimè dilapſo fatis conceſſit.
QƲi multae proavos oſtentat imaginis, omni
Virtutis propriae nomine ſaepe caret.
Nobilis haec Domina inſignes matreſque patreſque,
Enumerat plures, extrahit undè genus.
His ornata licèt, licèt ornatiſſima, cum ſit
Singula Regali ſanguine vena tepens.
Hujus opus tamen, hujus honos, apprendere Chriſtum,
Hinc ſacra fit vitae pagina norma ſuae.
Hinc praeteztatum pectus virtutibus auctum;
Hinc quoque caeleſti verba referta ſale.
Vita interſtinctis quaſi floribus inſitus Hortus:
Divite decurſus meſſe refectus Ager.
Tanta penes totum diffuſa eſt gratia geſtum,
Ʋt niſi quod laudes, dicat agatve nihil.
Tempora deficerent, ſi ſingula dicere tentem,
Omnia, ſunt meritis metra minora ſuis.
Mortua ſed nunc eſt, quid dixi? mortua vivit,
Vivet apud Dominum, tempus in omne Deum:
Scilicet huic mors eſt liber ſtatus absque labore,
Nullum ubi peccatum, ſed mora labis inops.
Aliud Brevius.
SPonſam permittunt hanc tantum fata, ſed ultra
Vivere, & in terris uſque manere negant.
Talia, quae lux haec profert, ſpectacula monſtrant,
Rebus in humanis ſtanſve moranſve nibil.
Aſt ſimul ac Nati ferè, cogimur ire, redire,
Nex ubi perpetua eſt, & ſine fole Dies.
Thomas Martyn.
In Obitum ELISABETHAE LANGHAM, Inſignis Nobilitatis Dominae, chariſſimae, JACOBI LANGHAM Equitis aurati, conjugis.
TRiſtia fata cano, cecidit flos Nobilis, eheu:
Caſta viro conjux, Docta, Modeſta, Pia.
Oſſa Sepulchra tenent, animam caeleſtia Regna.
Haec cinis: in cinerem tuque redactus eris.
Omnia vana fluunt terreſtria. Gratia gratos,
Sola Deo reddit, ſola petenda tibi.
Corpus parturiit corpuſcula nulla, ſed ingens
Fructus adeſt animae; qui ſuper aſtraviget.
Non moritur ſterilis, virtutum prole refulgens,
Divini quas nunc ubera lactis alunt.
Vox Coeli.
SEal up thy Springs of Tears, my Dear Relict;
With mournful ſighs, no more thy Soul afflict.
Weep not for me, but for thy ſelflament;
With Holy Faith prepare for Heav'ns aſcent.
Whence ſpring thy Tears? that I behold Gods face?
And reap the joy-fruits of my Saviours Grace?
Is't love to me? then why, why does it grieve thee,
That by this bleſt retreat, God does relieve me?
Was I not born to dye? and when Death ſtrikes,
Shall that expected ſtroak draw forth ſuch ſhrikes?
What is my gain thy loſs? my Joy, thy Sorrow?
My Weal, thy woe? away, away, to Morrow
Thou and thy Branches ſhall be planted here,
Bove ſtorms and Winters, free from Care and Fear.
Oh dwell on this, for this provide: thy Lamp
Trim with pure oyl; thy Soul with Grace new ſtamp
Inſtead of cryes for my remove, make haſt,
Me to o'retake, and let not Tears run waſt.
Haſt off rough Seas into the Hav'n of reſt.
Who ſooneſt quit's this World, is ſooneſt bleſt.
What may not God fetch home his loan? and muſt
Heav'n ſtoop to Earth? God's Rights to Mortals luſt?
If bad I ſeem'd, rejoyce thy ills are fled;
If good, Joy, Joy, that I'm lodg'd in Chriſts bed.
Act Gratitude for thy enjoyment of me:
This and not murmur is expected of thee.
Bleſs God, who bleſs'd thee with ſo meet a mate;
Firſt ſerv'd thy hearts delight with this Rich Cate,
And laſt himſelf, don't this content? then hither
Aſcend my Dear, and Joy we all together.
Where both ſhall God, and God ſhall both enjoy,
And both each other, where nought can annoy,
Or part our bleſt embraces, pant, fly, mount,
Enter Heav'ns Pallace: where we may recount
Freſh Joys Sans meaſure, where ith' bed of Honour
We'll ſollaces exchange, and praiſe the Donour.
Till then adieu, my Dear. Heav'ns Anthems hollow,
Which call me off, & mundane thoughts up ſwallow.
Bleſt is the Death, that dyes into bleſs'd Life:
Where Chriſt and Saints grow one, as Man & Wife.
Vertue enobles: Grace on high blood graft;
That Crowns with Glory, makes a poliſh'd ſhaft.
Tranſcendent ſtrains ſurmount my ſhallow reach,
To flouriſh I aſpire not, but to teach.
L. Goodrick.
To the PIOUS MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE And no leſs Religious LADY The Lady ELLIZABETH, Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM. Who was marryed to that worthy perſon, November 20. 1662. and dyed great with child, March 28. 1664.
FAith now or never help us; See what ſtorms
We are ſurpriz'd with, Thus Heav'n deals with Worms,
Mounts them on pinacles of bliſs, and thence
Daſhes them on the ſhelfs of Providence:
Peace fretful murmurs, We ſhould wrong the Saint
Her ſelf, ſhould we wrong Heav'n by our complaint,
For Heaven is juſt; at leaſt wee'l Reſt in this
Our loſs makes up her gain, Our woes her bliſs:
But it was no ſurpize Heaven had forbore
Her preſence long, and Angels waited for
Her flight—While here ſhe ſtaid could not we ſee
That purer ſparkle of Divinity.
Her ſoul ſtill towring upwards to the ſphere
Of bleſſedneſs, whence we might juſtly fear
Earth could not keep her long; while here ſhe ſhin'd
Had we but mark't how her ſeraphick Mind
Reach'd at perfectiou: How ſhe us'd to dreſs
Her Soul with graces; we might eas'ly gueſs
It was a holy plot 'twixt Heaven and her
To rob us of our joys. Her Heav'nly Dear,
Wanting his Spouſe, loſes her marriage tie
That ſhe might come and live with him on high:
'Twas unto him her Vows were given ere
Her Nuptial contracts here confummate were;
And (whileſt that little time in happieſt bands
Of wedlock ſhe remain'd) yet her heart ſtands
Faſt to its former vows, and ſtill ſhe longs
With earneſt throbbings and unwearied pangs
Of Love to finiſh thoſe endearments ſhe
Had here begun in an Eternity
Of Bleſſedneſs. Alas we thought when Heaven
Had join'd this Noble pair, and freely given
Pledges of bliſs to each (unparel'd bliſſe
Too great for my weak fancy to expreſs)
When we conſider'd that ſame Harmony
Of Minds, & hearts that chim'd their joys, whereby
Two Heav'nly ſouls entwin'd in one great flame
Of love: how we could wiſh that we could frame
A Tabernacle for them, to incloſe
Their joices, and keep them in a long repoſe;
But ſhe, that better knew the world than we,
And knew where lay their true felicity,
Seeing our Miſtakes, and fearing we ſhould wrong
God and our ſouls, withdraws out of the throng
Of friends and ſteals to Heaven; puts out the blaze
Of all our joies and leaves us in a Maze.
Could thoſe indearments be ſo ſuddenly
Cut of that linked hearts with ſuch a tie!
Would not Heav'n pity thoſe ſame groans & tear
That needs muſt follow ſuch a loſs. Ah! here's
Great Love unſeen; Our loſſes are our gain
Oft-times when our enjoyments prove our bane:
God can afford us comforts, but leſt we
Should ſurfeit, calls them back, that he might be
Our chief deſire and aim, this likewiſe knew
That precious Saint who therefore hence withdrew
Her ſelf to Heaven, leaſt ſuch ſatiety
In time ſhould draw them to Idolatry.
With what a ſervent holy jealouſie
Kept ſhe her Vows to Chriſt! fearing leſt ſhe,
Bleſſing her Nuptial ſtate at any time
With too much love, ſhould fail in loving him:
Thus ever tender of that Union
That link't them both to God, ſhe ſtrives to drown
The current of their loves and joies together
In Loves true Fountain, Chriſt the faireſt Lover.
Methinks I hear her chide the Ardencie
Of his affection, fearing leſt that he
Should wrong his God by too much loving her;
Sith Chriſt admits of no Competitor.
And leſt he ſhould (alas how could he do
But love her where ſo much love was due)
She leaves him, flies to Heav'n; then calls, My Dear
And bids him if he lov'd her ſeek her there.
Well She is gon; But Markt we how ſhe went
Home to Her Joyes: A Purſivant was ſent,
That like Elijah in a Coach of Fire,
Mounted her Spirit to the Holy Quire,
Of Angels; there ſhe Reſts: Yet ere ſhe went,
We might perceive her Face that Firmament
Of Beauty ſpread with ſtars hiding its light;
Then we Began to bid our Joyes Good night,
We knew our Sun was ſet and left us here
To ſhine more Brightly in a higher ſphere.
With her refulgent Rays while this our Sun,
Glorify'd our inferiour Horizon:
Thoſe her Magnetick Beams (her Graces) Drew
The love of all unto her that but knew,
What Goodneſs meant; Thoſe Exhalations,
Whilſt ſhe was riſing, follow'd her but once:
Clouded and ſet diſſolve again and Pow'r,
Themſelves on Earth again in a Briny ſhow'r.
But Looſe we thus the Phoenix of our Age
Without ſucceſſion; Had we not a Gage,
A Pledge from Heav'n of one that ſhould ſurvive;
And keep her precious memory alive:
Or was that Duſt ſo ſacred that the young
Rather than take a Reſurrection,
Should be content to Mingle't with its own?
Earth was not worthy, Heav'n was Greedy to
Poſſeſs ſo Rich a Purchaſe, both muſt go
To Glory, Root & Branch, Whilſt the glad Mother
With One hand reaches at her Crown, the other
Preſents her foetus, with whoſe Innocence,
Unſullyed yet by Earth, the Bleſſed Prince
Of Purity delighted, Crowns it with
a Brighter Crown than others. Thus the death,
Of Both gives them a glad deliverie
From preſent and ſucceeding miſerie;
Leaving behind her all thoſe pangs and throws
She ſhould have felt, to be ſupplyed by thoſe,
That big with Love, now ſuffer pangs of grief,
And ſorrows for their ſiſter, daughter, Wife,
And Friend. Yet may her precious memory
Produce ſome ſweeter fruits than theſe, to be
Arguments of our Love; May we ſo live
As ſhe: So learn to grow in grace, and thrive
In goodneſs; So t' improve our golden hours,
So to deny our ſelves and what is ours
To win a Chriſt, So to deſpiſe the Vain
Honours and pleaſures of the world to gain
A Crown of Glory. So to love, as ſhe,
Firſt God, and then our friends; (ſo charity
In her kept to its rule) to imitate
Thoſe luſtres that proclaim'd her truly great,
Her Faith, Devotion, and Humility,
Her meekneſs, ſweetneſs, pity, charity
And Love; Thus to imbalm her memory
Serv's better far than tears. And thus to do
After this life may make us happy too.
R. Tuke.
To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM IN MEMORY Of his moſt VERTUOUS LADY, The RIGHT HONOURABLE, The Lady ELISABETH,
AS is my Subject, ſuch my Verſe ſhould be,
Grave, ſober, modeſt, full of Piety,
Noble, yet humble, ev'ry way compleat,
Would this my mirrour were but half ſo neat.
Had I but wit and words, great as her name,
All had commanded been to ſerve the ſame.
I want, a golden pen from Angels wing
To write, their heav'nly notes, to ſing
Her praiſe: In whom vertue and greatneſs ſtrove
To make her merit reverence, and Love.
Streams of moſt Royal Bloud did fill her veins,
Yet ſhe did boaſting check with golden reins
Of humble prudence. To the King of of Kings
Ally'd by grace: That laſting honour brings.
England's Eliſabeth and Suffolks Jane,
(Each Phoenix of her ſex and age, thoſe twain,
Whoſe vertues, learning, crown'd their glor'ous Names
Were match't by her, whoſe worth all others ſhames.
But death both Saints and Princes doth controwl,
And at the Ciſtern breaks the ſilver bowl.
Could not thy deareſt friends prevent their fears
With all their potency of pray'rs and tears!
Muſt all fall under deaths imperial ſtroke?
Alas! alas! the word by deed is ſpoke.
Were it not hereſie, my heart could wis'
A pythagorean metempſychoſis:
But ſuch a metamorphoſis would rob
Her of glory, and bring her back to ſob
With us, who in this vail moſt mournfully
Ly humbl'd under ſin and miſery.
Reſt then in bliſs, and let us quiet reſt
With what's now done: for what God doth is beſt.
We wiſh our ſouls with her's; and is it love
To wiſh her ſoul below, and ours above?
She was ſo ſoon, ſo wonderfully grown
Above her ſelf and all that here is known,
That ſoon ſhe was prefer'd and fixt on high,
Above our ſphere, to look like Majeſty.
This earthly mould was not of comprehenſion,
Th' impreſs deſir'd, deſerved more extenſion.
This ſtraitned tent could not contain her ſoul;
Her heart to Heaven flew up and then did toll
Her after it, to take deſir'd poſſeſſion
Of that bleſt manſion here ſhe had in viſion.
(Moſt Worthy Sir) my Web's homeſpun indeed,
A levidenſe with a gouty thread:
A garb too coarſe, to cloath your Ladies name,
Therefore I fear, I ſhall derive your blame.
I wiſh 'twere better, for I do impart,
By this ſame ſymbole, ſymptoms of my heart.
Such as it's I it preſent; it take
Not for the Author's own, but Objects ſake:
Who dy'd once, yea twice, to die no more,
Roſe once, to riſe, to live an endleſs ſcore
Of lives, by myriads to Eternity;
To ſamplar us, that we ſo live, ſo die.
Rich. Hook.
P. M. S. Honoratiſſimae Heroidis ELISABETHAE Langham, &c.
FLete oculi & largos lacrymarum effundite rivos,
Cordaque non fictus contrahat agra dolor,
Ora tegat pallor, torpeſcat lingua, manuſqne
Dediſcat cythara ludere dulce melos;
Sed diſcat moeſtum moeſtiſſima tundere pectus,
Edens occulti vulneris indicia.
Sit procul à nobis cultus, laetaminis index;
Hoc ſe ornent quos nil publica damna movent.
Ferte citi veſtes, queis circum veſtiar, atras,
Pullatum pectus dedecet alba toga.
Heu! etenim patriae, ſexus, aevique, domuſq,
Erepta eſt nobis Eliſabetha, decus:
Sponſi delitiae, deſiderium que ſuorum,
Solamen miſeris, praeſidium que bonis.
Illa, inquam, cujus nuper connubia laeta
Perfudere nova pectora laetitia.
Occidit heu! terraſ que bomineſ que repente reliquit;
Parvum interſtitium eſt inter utram que facem.
Quam brevia excipunt quam longi gaudia luctus,
Ʋt nox longa brevi proxima ſolſtitio eſt.
Quantula votorum contingit portio nobis,
Quanta mali moles nos inopina premit!
Quam mera ſunt adverſa, inſincerae que ſecundae
Res, quam noſtra hominum eſt lubrica proſperitas!
Mundus hic immundus, ingloria gloria nostra,
Illepiduſque lepos, noſter amaror amor.
Scilicet hic noſtris infixus mentibus error,
Quod nimium nobis exteriora placent;
Atque aliquid quaſi tentantes abradere rebus
Ardentem unde queant corda levare ſitim:
Acrius ardemus, nimirum noſtra cupido
Fraenanda immodica eſt, & retinenda magis.
Tandem igitur diſcamus to convertere mentes,
Quo nos ſupremi vox vocat alta dei.
Et cujus merito deflemus funus acerbum,
Illius vitam factaque ſancta ſequi
Contendamus. Ego vero quo carmine ſoler
Cor aegrum & moerens, Inclyte ſponſe, tuum?
Decreto aeterno patris parere neceſſe
Cujus amorem in Te virga paterna docet.
Hunc precor, ut Te conſtanti amplectatur amore,
Ictuque abſque gravi pectus ut Erudiat.
Sponſam olim Tibi percaram ſignaverat antè
Ipſe ſibi, donis, pignoribuſque datis.
Abſtulit Ergo ſuum, tibi nulla injuria facta eſt,
Ʋſus Jure ſuo eſt Arbiter Omnipotens:
Cui, laus, obſequium, cui debita gloria ſoli,
Cujus ad arbitrium, hic naſcitur, ille perit.
Hoc nobis ſit opus, ſemel iſta ut luce renatae
Dilectae nunquam, bis percant Animae.
Mortua & Foelix alloquitur Amicos.
Veneranda Mater, ſponſe que ſuaviſſime,
Frater, ſorores, cari amici, quid tument
Lacrymis ocelli? quidve ſingultus, ſonos
Querulos, frequentes ore pallido interſecant?
Fugit renidenti ore cur riſus, genis
Rubedo, & omne gaudium vultu exulat?
Carent lepore verba, cultui atque aheſt
Solitus honos, muta lyra eſt, ingratum melos?
Reſpondent.
Heu! luget, amiſſam parens tua filiam,
Dulciſque conjux eonjugem, Te, ſingulae
Cum fratre dilecto ſorores in gemunt,
Moerent amici, ſi peris, qui gaudeant?
Reſpondet iterum.
O caeca corda fragilium mortalium!
Men' vos periſſe dicitis? vivo procul
A foece purgata omnium terreſtrium;
Melior ſuperſtes pars erit ſemper mei,
Quam dente nigro mors ferox nunquam petet,
Quam non ſenectus carpet, aut aetas teret.
Egreſſa terris altiorem intro locum,
Faelix quieſco, functa cunctis caſibus.
Mutate, mando, luctum acerbum gaudio;
Multis procellis libera, & multis malis,
Portum attigi, & puris fruor tandem bonis:
Non eſt amici, rebus invidere, aequi,
Florentibus, ſuorum: iniqui Judices!
Morbum ſaluti, bella, ſi pacis bonis,
Praeponitis; vel ſi lahorem ducitis
Durum, quiete dulci amabilem magis,
Poenam voluptate, atque inopia copia,
Securitate antiquius periculum,
Si dedecus praeponderare gloriae;
Miſeria ſi bonitate dulcior.
Ergo; alma mater, ſponſeque ſuaviſsime,
Frater, ſorores, cari amici, diſcite
Colere, alacres, perennem noſtri memoriam:
Metam & malorum à morte ſperetis, modo
Chriſto marito nupta ſit foelix anima.
Tho. Dominel.
ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, The LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM.
THough the juſt Prayſes of her Houſe would be,
Things nobler, than the handſom'st Flattery
Aſcribes to Others; ſince no Soul from Hence
E're roſe; but Liv'd Example or Defence
Unto his Country, and nor any Name
In the whole Race needs lean upon the Fame
Of a great Anceſtor; yet to this Tomb
No pompous brag of Pedigree does come,
Nor any Hiſt'ry of her Princely Blood,
Writ big, to make the reſt o'th' Epitaph good.
She that outwent all Old, does claim New praiſe:
And is't not due? the Vices of the Dayes
She counterpoiz'd, though freſh ones hourly grew,
With Vertues both as Many and as New;
So that we ſaw Religion did begin,
At length to be on equal terms with Sin.
She ſhew'd it was (whileſt Other Arts do thrive)
No dull and unadvancing One to Live.
Nothing in Her was granted, nought deriv'd,
Her Graces ſweetly Flowing, not contriv'd.
How did ſhe Live! Not like dull Souls, that feel
No Life or Spirit, but like a heavy Wheel
Turn by Example, only or by Paſſion,
Are implicitely vertuous, good in Faſhion.
Thoſe Crimes, which weekly with rude heat we ſee,
Or unconvincing ſtifneſs chidden be,
Her Manners did ſo nobly reprehend,
That by Her Actions all our Lives did mend:
Ev'ry of which was ſo exempt from blame,
She might on any One truſt her whole Fame;
Yet ſuch Her Piety, that on them All,
She would not bear her Conſcience. O how ſmall
And limited were Her Indulgencyes
To life, who ſcarce durſt ever taſt of Eaſe.
Touch't but not Dwelt with Pleaſures: no hour ſpar'd
To Sleek her Life; it was ſevere and hard:
Not outward or affected, whileſt within
The Soul lyes rioting in ſloath and ſin.
Like a ſowr Vot'ry, at whoſe Cell's grim Door,
In publique notice layes her bloody ſtore,
Engines of ſullen Penitence, whileſt ſhe
Lyes ſnorting in her ſtall of Luxury.
But ſhe not needs that loathſome Vice ſtand by,
To mend her Form: ſhe's ſeen to every Eye
By Her own Light, which flowes upon the ſenſe,
And dazles all our weak intelligence.
She, that liv'd thus, without the ſmalle ſt pauſe,
To ſpoyle it by contriving Vain Applauſe.
She that was Great and Noble without thought
Of being ſo, and never poorly bought
Renown by little Ambuſhes of Good,
Concea'ld, on purpoſe to be underſtood.
She that being grown in every One ſo high,
Could uſe ſo many Vertues rev'rendly;
Enjoy'd ſo much of Heaven, by ſuch Grace,
She dy'd for mere diſtinction of the Place.
Samuel Willes.
A Monſieur Le Chevalier Jaques Langeham: Sur la mort de La Tres Noble, Tres Illu ſtre, & Tres Vertueuſe Madame Eliſabeth ſa Chére MoitiÉ—
LEs plus cuiſans mal-hours trouuent allegement,
Apres que le deuoir a rendu ſagement
Tout ce que l'amitie demande à la Nature:
Mais lors que mon Eſprit ſonge a vous conſoler,
Contre les ſentimens d'v-ne perte ſi dure:
Plus ie ſuis prepare, moins j'ay dequoy parler.
Je ſcay bien que vòtre ame touiours robuſte & ſaine
Auéeques ſon diſcours à combatu ſa peine,
Et qu'elle a ſeurèment treuvè ſa Gueriſon;
Y taſcher apres vovs on nele peut ſans Blaſme:
Car ie ne penſe pas qu'on treuve enla Raiſon
Que ce que vous treuvez meſmes dedans voſtre ame.
Ne vous aigriſſes plus d'vn chagrin ſi recent
Que votre ame entraitant d'ennuy ce qu'elle ſent;
Pour ſa Chere Compagne ſans ceſſer ne ſoupire.
Ainſi ſon Entretien ne vous ſerarendu
Mais Le Ciel conſolant vos pertes d'vn Empire,
Vous donnera, vn jour plus que n'auez perdu.
I. D. dG.
IN Illuſtriſſimam Heroinam, ELISABETHAM LANGHAM, Quae gravida obiit.
MEns pia luce mera radioſa perennat Olympo:
Haec, bis nata ſolo; terque beata polo.
Bina perilluſtri tumulantur Corpora tumba:
Embryo, Matre ſua; Mater & ipſa, ſua.
Mira bipartito memorantur Facta libello:
Et quae non capiat, commemorare licet.
Idem contractius.
Corpora, Facta, Animam, capit, Urna, Volumen, Olympus,
Bina, Serena, piam, triſtis, Manuale, Refulgens.
S. M. Ʋt prius.
Anagramma
ELISABETHA LANGHAMIA
Ah! hei! Magna illa abeſt.
Analyſis.
AH eſt dolentis utique pectoris ſonus,
Et HEI ſimiliter ingemiſcentis tonus.
Utrumque Pulchrè convenit negotio
Praeſentis inſtituti, & aptè funebris
Solennitatis exprimit triſtes notas.
Ʋbi ILLA MAGNA Herois & Miraculum Praeſentis Aevi flentibus nobis ABEST.
Quis non in iſto flebili caſu miſer
Salſas in ipſas ſolveretur lachrymas,
Praeſens & illam condolens abſentiam
Lugeret hiſce voculis AH, HEI gemens!
CHRONOGRAMMA ELIsabetha LanghaM nobIs abLata Deo VIVIt. EPIGRAMMA.
CƲr impotenti conquerimur modo?
Ʋltrave metas plangimus invidi?
Ablata nobis chara Langham
Eliſabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.
Poſthac amictus tollite fordidos.
Vultuſque tandem ponite ſqualidos
Ablata nobis chara Langham
Eliſabetha Deo (ecce) vivit
Ducat chorae as ſpirituum chorus
ovent beati coelitus Angeli.
Ablata nobis chara Langham
Eliſabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.
Qui vultis illa perpetuo frui
Ipſi ſupernas ſcandite ſemitas
Ablata nobis chara Langham
Eliſabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.
T. H. ut priùs.
FINIS.
Upon the DEATH Of the LADY ELIZABETH, Wife to Sr JAMES LANGHAM, Daughter to FERDINANDO, Earl, and LƲCY, Counteſs of HƲNTINGDON.
COuld Noble Birth command Impartiall Death,
Or court him to prolong this vitall Breath;
A feaver had not ſcorch't thoſe veins, where met
The Blood of Haſtings and Plantagenet.
If Beauty could have mov'd unto remorſe,
Or charm'd, with pow'rfull ſpells, the conqu'rors force,
Thoſe cheekes had ſav'd her, where united were
The Roſes both of York and Lancaſter.
If Vertues ſelf, or Miracles could have done,
She had liv'd ſtill; for ſhe her ſelf was One.
Vertue it ſelf's Immortal; But alaſs
The Vertuous in the Mortall croud muſt paſs.
Her Husbands Riches wee'll not think upon,
(His Mines in preſent, or Reverſion)
As being Richer in his Lovely Bride,
Yet Death her ſnatch't from his unwilling ſide:
Nor yet thoſe Treaſures of a Nobler Mine,
Which make him in the van of Learning ſhine:
His Parts could not (Immortall though they be)
Prolong his better Part's Mortality.
But why preſume I to eclipſe her Rayes
Wronging Perfection with Imperfect Praiſe?
Praiſes that fall below their ſubjects worth,
Deface, and darken, what they ſhould ſet forth.
To ſpeak her Praiſe, her Husbands Tongues, and thoſe
Which her Incomparable Mother knowes,
(Which are the Moderne and the Learned too)
Are each of them too weak, and all too few:
OnelyOnly this comfort we have by the By;
More Sweetneſs cannot live, and Goodneſs Dye:
Nor ſhall the World again, in any one
Lament the Loſs of more Perfection.
She and her Spouſe, in Life, chang'd mutual flames,
Death ſhould have chang'd her & her Mothers names:
For had her Name been Lucy, 't had been right,
Lucy the ſhorteſt Day, and longeſt Night.
See what terreſtriall Conſtellations are!
A Blazing now, and then a Falling ſtarr!
But Stars that ſet muſt riſe again: for ſhe
Sleepes but to wake during Eternity.
Subſcripſit Jo. Joynes. Fecit Triſtitia Verſum.
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Upon the DEATH of his moſt Vertuous, and Matchleſs LADY, The RIGHT HONOƲRABLE The LADY ELISABETH.
WHat clammy Stygian Fog! What Chaos hurl'd
O're every Climat of this Little World!
Dark Soul!—Benighted thus!—Not one faint Ray
From the Bright Orb of Light, to let in Day!
All Hung with Blacks!—No Phoebus to inſpire
A Lab'ring Phant'ſy, with Po etick Fire!
Light up the Virgin-Tapers;—Let me ſee,
By thoſe pale Flames, to write an Elegy.
"('Tis much to ſee how in a Tragick Part,
"A wounded Eye will make a Bleeding Heart!)
There lies the Noble Corps;-Stand nigh the Hearſe,
And ('ſpight of all the Muſes) Mourn a Verſe.
What though their Springs be Frozen!-Grief ſhall be
An Over-flowing Hippocrene to Me.
I'le Bathe in Tears;-And ſtill fetch New Supplies
Of Sorrow, from the Torrents of my Eyes.
Shall Nobleſt Blood,—Shall Saint-like Piety,
Shall Humble Greatneſs,—Virgin-Modeſty;
Shall Un-Exampl'd Goodneſs, Wiſdome, Parts,
Shall Learned Skill in Languages, and Arts,
Shall Honour, Sweetneſs, Meekneſs, Beauty, Youth,
Shall Spot-leſs Innocence,—and Naked Truth,
Shall Pure Devotion,—Shall Seraphick Love,
(Scarce Underſtood—but by bleſt ſouls above)
Shall all the Vertues,—all the Graces lie
Enſhrin'd with this Great Lady!—And ſhall I
Be un-concern'd at this great Funeral!
Firſt Self-Revenge, and Indignation ſhall
(In ſpight of Fate) make me Poetical.
I muſt not thus ungrateful be (Dear Sir)
Though, all I write, but ſerves to leſſen Hir.
And (might I plead excuſe for ſuch Neglect)
'Tis:—Her Sublimity, and my Defect.
My weak-nerv'd Eyes will not confront the Sun;
Nor Leaden Heels his rapid courſe out-run;
I ne're could ſtride the Ocean with a Span,
Nor,—with my finews cramp Leviathan:
No more is't poſſible for Human Praiſe,
On That exalted Head, to plant the Bayes.
This—is a Task for Angels,—and the Quire
Of Eſſences, compos'd of Light and Fire.
The great admir'd Apelles ne're could think
To paint the Glaring Noon-day Sun with Ink.
But,—May not This Bright Sun reflected be,
By Muddy ſhallow pudles, to the Eye?
'Tis true indeed;—And ſuch is That Reflex,
From us, on This Great Mirrour of her Sex:
Grand-Childe of Kings,—Branch of the Royal Stem,
And—Orient Sparkle of the Diadem!
Great Huntingdons Faire Daughter, faire as Light,
With all reſplendent Beauties ſhining-bright,
Daz'ling, with Beams of Glory, Human ſight!
'Tis She,—Bright off-ſpring of Great Lueia,
That ſcatter's Darkneſs,—and reſtores the Day,
Where She appear's;—Nor can our Hemi-ſphere
Boaſt of a more refulgent Foemal Peer:
'Tis She,—The Deareſt Conſort (late) and Life
To Him, the beſt deſerving Such a Wife,
The Noble Langham,—Whoſe Magnetique Soul
Tremble's—and Hovers toward the Starry Pole,
Where Shee's on high aſcended,—Nor can be
Yet pacify'd,—without Her Companie:
'Tis She,—the Great Eliza,—Haſtings nam'd,
Yet-more for Goodneſs, than for Greatneſs Fam'd:
'Tis She my Verſe ſhould Treat of—But in vain,
I ſee, it is, to row againſt the Main;
And therefore here,—Draw or'e a Veil I muſt
Of Sable Silence,—and Weep o're Her Duſt.
Haec ſerio, quamvis ſero, Et Madens adhuc Lachrymis Genas, Conqueſtus eſt Ʋtriuſ que tum Nobiliſſimae Haſtingiorum, tum Ampliſſimae Langhamiorum Familiae. Cultor Devotiſſimus Ferd. Archer.
Upon the Much deplored DEATH Of the TRULY RELIGIOUS And RIGHT HONOURABLE The Lady ELISABETH LANGHAM.
Epicedium intempeſtivè maeſtum.
THough Fun'ral Rites be done, The Sermon paſt;
The Corps interr'd, the bleſſed Soul at reſt:
Cancel not Homage, though it ſpeak ſo late;
This Subjects-worth, ne're ſpeaks it out of date.
Nor can plain Dialect implead that Verſe,
Inflam'd with Rhetorick, from ſuch an Hearſe;
Speak to the height of worth, and when we can
Expreſſe no more, Her Name's the Vatican:
But more pure Lines, and Lectures, here do lie
Urn'd in this Ectype of Divinitie,
Than Volumes now can teach, or mortals find,
Wait 'till you come to Heaven, then read her mind.
Tranſcribe we may, the Jewels Caſque a little,
But to the Pearl it ſelf, bequeath no Tittle;
Our muddy thoughts, would wrong what grace now crowns
And work, inſtead of Plaudits, ſhameful frowns.
Look not upon Seraphick-Spirit in Throne,
'Till tears be quite diſſolved, Then look on,
Which will not be (I think) 'till that time come,
That man needs write no Epicedium.
Though at this ſacred Shrine, ſome pious pay
Of Tears devoted to that ſolemn day
Have offered been, and ſome ſpent all their ſtore;
Yet, Time have had ſince then to gather more,
Stock their Eie-veſſels, in each Channel'd Vein
With drops in Zeal, to weep her o're again.
And muſt that ſtand for all? No, when that's gone
To Ages; ſay, the mourning's but begun;
When the ſalt-ſprings of Nat'ral tears are dry'd
Up; And (in courſe) the mourning's laid aſide;
(Which (as to Fate) hath ſeldom been from hence,
'S if Heav'n had fix'd Blacks for Inheritance.)
Deſpair not of an Artful Train, whoſe Hearts,
In ſable-ſadneſſe, will lament their Parts;
And if that fail, the Rural ſort will ſing
Their doleful Anthems to this gratious Thing.
If any Bankrupt be, of Grace, and ſorrow,
Make bold (of thoſe who are full ſtockt) to borrow;
Trade in ſome tears and ſighs; here ſuch worth lies,
To which thou ow'ſt the tribute of thine eies,
That when thy ſelf art dead, there may remain
Some, that for this, will pay thee tears again.
Let's not delay the time, where have ye laid
This pretious Piece? Is this the vaulted ſhade
Famous for what it holds? This is that Tomb,
Whoſe ev'ry ſingle duſt in its cold Womb,
Speaks louder worth, and is of value more,
Than Mines of Potaſie, and Ganges ſhore:
Far Richer, is this Odour, than had all
The Eaſtern Gardens ſpic'd Her Funeral;
And to the conſecrated ground, we'l add
This, that her body here lies buried.
Light up a Torch, whoſe beams may blaze as far,
(As doth the portent or ſtrange bearded-ſtar)
To ſummon ev'ry Eie to come and ſee
How Heav'n hath acted us, to Tragedie.
But ſtay a while, until your thoughts can bring
Conſigned goodneſſe for an offering;
Firſt read this Table, then unlock your eies,
And drop your ſpirits into Elegies;
So vaſt, ſo good, ſo fair, ſo full a Theam,
Calls for a Cherubs quill, or Phoebus beam.
Tabella incondite ſculpta.
Draw not too nigh, leaſt you offend thoſe Laws,
Wherewith this Sepulcher affection awes;
Dread to moleſt that ſacred Ghoſt, whoſe ſoul
Abjur'd the very name of Vain and Foul.
What rude attempter ever durſt advance
Her preſence, without check of countenance?
The ſlieſt ſtratagem, that Vice could plot,
Felt the ſtrong working of her Antidote.
If in diſcourſe, the leaſt miſtruſt did lie,
She ſtopt the riſe with quick antilogie.
Vertue ſtood ſentinel, at ev'ry ſenſe,
Repulſt aſſaults with Divine influence.
They who did read her Phiſnomy aright,
Could not but read true Honours Margarite.
Devote in Cloſet, yet in Chamber free
To ſweet Converſe; Low in her high'ſt degree:
Nothing indeed in her extract did ſhine,
But what was truly noble and Divine.
To run all Graces o're in ſhort tranſact,
Were, but t'epitomize, her fuller act;
To ſpeak them one by one, were but in vain,
The project of whoſe ſoul's the Counterpain.
She was the Cittadel, and center'd all
That we can either Good, or Gracious call.
Nature, Art, Grace conteſting; gently ſtriv'd
Which of them had her more embeliſhed;
At length admiring all, they ceaſe the ſtrift
For her, in whom all had their equal thrift.
This threefold Fabrick, ſo compos'd in one,
Man could not judge which had Dominion;
The laſt, was that indeed, which ſeem'd to ſway,
And Crown her morals, to her dying day.
Clotilda's dead, and ſo's Eudoxia,
Mariamne likewiſe, and Pulcheria,
Choice Ladies in their daies: without offence,
(And fawning laid aſide) here lies the ſence,
And meaning of them all; In finer mint
By how much more, there's truth of Vertue in't.
Mirrour of Ladies, Virgin, Wife, and Child,
For ev'ry ſtage ſo congruouſly compil'd;
'Twas hard to tell, which was her nobler part,
She acted all with ſuch prudential Art.
Flattery ſhe hated, as that baſe reſult,
Of worthleſſe ſpirits; truth was her grand conſult.
(If Prieſt and People, do not flatter ſome,
Firſt falls a frown, then next their day of doom)
What, ſome the Creſt, ſhe counted Peſt of honour,
They muſt ſpeak truth, that any thing ſpake on her:
Her beauty was her own; Nor needed more,
Her amorous dreſſings, were for inward ſtore.
She left the gaudy Plumes and Paints, for thoſe
Decoy's, that have no other worth than clothes
And face, like Pageants to be ſeen and ſhown,
With thoſe oft borrowed trappings, not their own.
Let others trim their out-ſides, ſhe made ſure
To poliſh that, which Heav'n was toimmure.
As ſhe thus liv'd, ſo thus ſhe left her breath,
Making her dying life, her living death.
Tabellae Cataſtrophe ſive Corollarium Elegiacum.
Ask ye, why ſo ſmall Grace i'th' world is found?
'Tis becauſe ſo much Grace is here intomb'd;
Surely ſhe ſcarce had Peer, (nor ſcarce will have)
But thoſe who went before her to the Grave.
'Twas ſhe made up the ſacred number ſeven;
All Saints on earth together, now Saints in Heav'n.
What more contributes Glory upon earth
Than t' nurſe a Conſtellation every birth?
And what more calms the ſpirit, when paſſions high
Than ſignals, which make good this Charity.
Wrong not my Faith; their honour'd Lord, though dead,
Lives t' wear this ſeven-ſtar'd Coronet on his head.
Well, ſince to Heav'n, they all have made ſuch haſt,
Let the reſt longer ſtay, but go at laſt
Where Hierarchies, will welcome them, with more
Joy, than with grief, we can their loſſe deplore.
Epitaphium ſuccincte digeſtum.
Tears are the common pledge, then to this fall
Bring tears of mirrhe and balm, or none at all.
Acquit the debt we cannot, for here lies
That which we loſt, but what we cannot prize.
Disburſe what ſtore we can, the more we may
And pay that o're again, we paid to day;
Depoſite to the utmoſt drop, yet ſtill
There's more behind, for what's invalu'ble:
A richer Piece on earth, could we not find,
Were it the penſil could pourtray the mind.
But ſince with that, our eies can't here be bleſt,
We'l draw the curtain; leave her to her reſt.
Sic ex animo defleuit. Jo. Roſſe.
TO THE SACRED And Spotleſs MEMORY OF THAT RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY, THE LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM DECEASED.
POets, and Prieſts were anciently ally'd
So neere in blood, that one, ſame name did hide,
Or rather ſignifie both Functions; and
They ſtill (like brethren) ſolemn mourners ſtand
Here at this Noble Herſe (th' imbalming's ſweeter
That's made of Preachers Proſe, and Poets Meeter)
Not for to add, but onelyonly to proclame
The Odor of her Vertues, and her Name;
Which, now her earthen Caſe, or Box is broken,
(Like the Nard Piſtick in the Goſpell ſpoken)
Fills not ſome private Room with fragrant ſmell,
But ſweetens, and delighteth all that dwell
Within the Circuit of thoſe neighb'ring places,
That bleſt were with the perfume of her Graces:
Who was as Good as Great, as Chaſt as Wiſe,
Borne this debauched age for to chaſtiſe
By her example; to teach Wives t'amend,
And know their Husbands only for their friend;
She bad our wanton Madams all, avant,
With Paint, and Patches, and their high Ga-lant;
Bad them, for ſhame of Womanhood, forbear
Thus to outface chaſte Vertue, and take care
They ſhame not both the Pulpit, and the Stage
To touch upon the ryots of this Age,
Acting ſuch horrid crimes, even at high noon,
As none dare touch with Tongs,—but foul Lampoon.
But when ſhe ſaw theſe ſulph'rous flames encreaſe
In ſpight of Med'cins, neither quench nor ceaſe;
Loathing this black *Stye of luſt.Seraglio, up ſhe high's
Into the Snowy *Sanctuary of vertue.Nunn'ry of the Sky's,
Carry'd in fiery Char'ot fitt's her mind,
('Tis but her Mantle we have left behind)
Where the great King of Vertues doth her grace,
And thus beſpeaks her in that bleſſed place—
In Caſſiopeia's Chaire, come, ſit thee down,Reſt.
And on thy head weare Ariadnes Crowne.Glory.
There with ſweet peace, and joys Coeleſtiall
Feaſt, bleſſed Soul; the Guerdon due to all
Pure Hearts, that ſcorned to obey the ſenſe,
Like Vaſſalls to that Beaſt Concupiſcence:
For they, whoſe Spirits here did not incline
To ſerve the Fleſh like Bruits, are now Divine.
S. Bold.
Upon the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM.
THe joy of Angels, whom the World beheld
Like to a blazeing Pattern that exceld
In ſhineing Vertues, and in Graces pure,
Adorn'd with Modeſty, that would endure
The touchſtone, and the teſt of heavenly fire:
So dear, that Saints did her ſweet ſoul admire.
Even ſhe whoſe amiable Sanctity
And chaſteſt Amiableneſs did vie
And far out-vie the vertuous Preſidents
Of ancient and of modern Matrons, Lent
A luſtre of moſt glorious Piety
With faith and patience joyn'd in amity.
Even ſhe whoſe life a perfect coppy wrote
Of Righteouſneſs cloath'd with an holy coate:
Whoſe ſtedfaſt faith and patience did conſpire
By wiſdome, holy zeal to ſet on fire:
Who never thought her time was better ſpent,
Then in his ſervice, who her life had lent.
Even ſhe whoſe lovely Glances did enthrall
Her Dcareſt's phancy, and engaged all
Her to admire; and bleſs his happy Fate
Within whoſe armes ſuch peereleſs beauties ſate.
She lov'd her God, in him her Husband ſhe
Lov'd with a pure and holy chaſtitie.
Even ſhe (who while below, did live above)
Is gone to dwell with Chriſt, the God of Love.
Her earthly Husband ſhe hath left below,
Her Husband-Maker now doth her beſtow.
The world hath loſt a Coppy, he a Wife,
Whoſe vertues cloath'd his Love with heavenly life.
Sure happy ſhe. Then let true love aſpire
To bear that loſs that perfects her deſire;
'Twas here to ſerve her God in holy Love:
In Glory then, to reign with him above.
Long was ſhe preſſing, now the Marke hath hit,
Preſs to the ſame, You may enjoy her yet:
If not after a carnal manner, yet
With holy habits you your ſelf may fit
In time with her in heavenly place to fit.
Have care no diſcontent your entrance let.
Though looſers, as we pray, yet ſay we muſt,
Thy Will be done, though our Joy lies in duſt.
This Lady, and her high borne thoughts are flow'n
Unto her heavenly kindred, doth them owne.
Whoſe teeming womb ſhew'd ſhe was loth to mount
To her great God upon a ſingl account.
Her noble birth you counted honour here,
Out of Your bed two ſoules are honour'd there.
Your loſs tis by her gaines quite weighed down,
You want her preſence, ſhe hath gain'd a Crown:
A Crown of endleſs Glory. Let that cheare
Your drooping ſpirits. Seek to meet her there.
Let her advancement be to you a pawne,
That in her happineſs your hopes do dawn.
Let Patience have her perfect work, ſo we
Entire and perfect, lacking nought ſhall be.
Impatience may provoke, it cannot gaine
Grief-healing Med'cines, but increaſeth pain.
Increaſe in love to God, who doth aſſure
That all ſhall work for good, that work endure.
Theſe Meditations, and the like, I here
Do to your ſoul commend, with filial fear,
Leaſt you ſhould him provoke, whoſe Goodneſs lent
The light of her moſt holy Preſident,
To guide your ſteps into the pathes of bliſs;
March in thoſe pathes of joyes, You cannot miſs.
S. Newton.
Upon the much Lamented DEATH of the RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM Lately Deceaſed.
FArewell Conglobate Vertue, You are gone,
To be ſome Glorious Conſtellation.
One Star is but a taper to your light,
A Glowe-worm, when your Virtues come in ſight.
Had Plato ſeen you, ripe, his wiſh had grown,
And virtue viſible, he might have ſhown.
Your Souls ſymmetry had old Poets known,
Th' had chang'd their trine of Graces into one.
Now Archimedes ſpheare ſhall uſeleſs grow,
Your acts the heavenly motions better ſhow,
What Honour all men give to vertues ſhrine,
To beſt examples, we will give to thine.
Since you are Virtues ſtandard, we will be
Procruſtes like, without his tyranny,
By yours, like to his bed, we meaſure ſhall,
Our Actions er'e we them do virtue call.
Alex. Jones.
In Obitum Nobiliſſimae Dominae, Dominae ELISABETHAE LANGHAM.
AƲdiat Ʋtopiae rudis incola, cujus ad aures
Nondum pervenit nobilis hiſtoria
Tam celebris Dominae! reputetur anonymus iſte
Qui tantum nomen neſciat, aut taceat.
Conarer fruſtrà meritas tibi dicere laudes,
Maxima, quum nequeunt id ſatis, ingenia.
Defunctae tenuis calamus ne detrahat, ejus
Vita nil potuit pulchrius exprimere.
Caelebs dum manſit, cunctis virtute praeivit
Ʋxorem nullam, novimus eſſe parem.
In terris coelo chariſsima vixit, & inter
Aethereos proceres jam tenet aureolam.
Annos exceſsit pietas, tamen altius urgens,
In coelis tandem purior emi…uit.
Quare ue doleat conjux, bane eſſe beatam,
Sed quod nulla, ſibi quae foret aequa, manet.
John Davis.
FINIS.
End of the text · Simon Ford, A Christians Acquiescence in Divine Providence (1665)