Suffolks Tears, Part 16
An Epicedium upon the death of that thrice worthy Knight, Sir Nathaniel Barnardiſton, eminent for Piety to God, love to the Church, and fidelity to his Country.
IT's eaſie for to write an Elegie
On common fates, great ſorrows ſtupifie;
A toe or finger loſt, we can complain,
But wounds receiv'd in liver, heart, or brain,
(The parts that be architectonical)
Oppreſs the ſence, we ſhould complain withall.
A cask that nought, but the light air doth hold,
Sounds far more ſhrilly, then one fil'd with gold;
Fleet ſtreams are clamorous, the deepeſt joyes
And ſorrows, their own depth do keep from noyſe.
Our loſſe ſo vaſt, as would a country breake,
We want both help to bear, and ſtrength to ſpeak.
What is't to hear a wife, or children cry,
Should ſuch a father, ſuch a husband dye?
Or a few mournful Schollars make this moan,
Our-dear Mecaenas, our beſt friend is gone;
Th' expences of a ſorrow that's thus large,
Should be borne out at a whole Nations charge;
A publick taxe of grief, whole ſubſidies
Of tears, and freely given, wil ſcarce ſuffice.
Where are you all, who while he was alive
Own'd none but him, your repreſentative?
Reſound a Barm'ſtons name, cannot that breath
Which ſilenc'd other Rivals, ſilence Death?
Shal the graves priſon your free choyſe prevent,
And break a priviledge of Parliament?
Tell him, he hath your ſuffrages, leaſt we
Judge you have loſt your voyce, as wel as he;
But ſince your tongues avail not, let your eyes
Diſcharge their laſt debt to his obſequies.
Tears have a ſtrong (though ſilent) eloquence;
You cannot ſpeake, yet ſigh thus out your ſence,
Our Patriot is dead, who oft was known,
Saving our freedoms, to have loſt his own.
From right who would not ſwerve, or conſcious wreſt,
To pleaſe a ſide, or ſerve an intereſt;
Who liv'd by rule Divine, and human Laws,
And did not dread the power, nor court th' applauſe
Of the wilde multitude, but firmly ſtood
To his firſt principles, and thoſe were good;
And as his Tenents, ſo we may be bold
To ſay, his honours and eſtate were old.
H'was born to both, had no need to deſire
To warm his hands, by's neighbours houſe on fire.
His plentiful revenues did not riſe
To higher rates, ſince taxes and exciſe;
Fames trump ſound's forth his anceſtours renown,
When th' Henries, and the Edwards wore the crown;
Muſhrooms of Gentry can ſtreight from a blew
Be dipt in ſcarlet, which is honours hue,
Yet in his birth and bloud he found a ſtaine,
Till 'twas innobled, and he born again.
You reverend Divines go on to tell
His following ſtory, whom he lov'd ſo wel.
You are Gods Heraulds, and by place deſign'd,
T' emblazon his moſt noble heav'n-born mind;
His faith moſt vigorous, though croſt by ſence,
Could graſp a promiſe, eye omnipotence;
Through the black clouds, that 'fore the Church were drawn,
He could fore-ſee her day was near to dawn.
The rage of enemies now grown ſo ſtout,
He judg'd a blaze, before their light went out;
His zeal tow'ring aloft to heavenly things,
Yet was diſcreet, had eyes, as wel as wings;
Humble in height of place, troubles he knew,
Though great, yet juſt; by bearing, to ſubdue.
His love to Chriſt, the Church, ſhone bright as day,
Ireland can witneſſe, yea America:
In all theſe he enjoy'd the name, and ſtile
Of a true Iſraelite, and free from guile,
Though not from ſin, yet in a Goſpel ſence,
Sincerity is counted innocence.
This, at his death, caus'd him ſuch peace within,
For death ſcares none, but where it meets with ſin.
His Noble Lady now diſconſolate,
Like a true Turtle, which hath loſt her Mate,
And ſad poſterity known by their eyes,
We do not here invite to ſimpathize;
'Twere cruelty to ſtraine a bleeding ſore,
Inſtead of ſtanching to provoke it more.
Oh, dry your tears up, whilſt you ſtil complain;
You only mind your loſs, but not his gain;
Were't not more love for to rejoyce, as he
Doth there, then to wiſh him our miſery?
Repine not at his change, would you again
Hear him complaining under ſin, and pain?
We in retired corners melt our eyes
In tears, and breath our ſpirits out in ſighs,
Whilſt he in glory is triumphant; where
He never hears a groan, nor ſees a tear.
Our Muſe ſings nought but Elegies, his tongue
Is now a chanting forth a marriage ſong.
Grieve not at his new honour lately ſent,
To ſit ith' upper houſe of Parliament,
where all three States agree, and none doth ſtrive
For Priviledges, or Prerogative;
Before whoſe bar other great Courts ſhal come,
To give up their accounts, and hear their doom:
In this the worlds ſupream juſt Council, none
Can cauſe; or fear a diſſolution.
Ergo triumphatis inferni finibus, ipſâ
Morte exarmatâ, regna ſuperna petis.
Quid non fata regunt? ſenio monumenta fatiſcunt;
Ipſa que cernuntur poſſe ſepulchra mori:
Sed pietas & rara ſides patriae que cupido
Fervida vicerunt jura ſuperba necis.
Dignum hunc laude virum, lex, plebs, eccleſia, cleru…,
Catera ſi taceas, vivere muſa jubet.
Ciſtula diffringi potuit, ſed gemma ſuperſtes
Uſ que nitens, nullo eſt interitura die.
Non is vana fuit ingentis nominis umbra,
Praemia ſed meritis fama minora dedit.
Quem non prava jubens irati principis ardor,
Non populi rabies mente quatit ſolida.
Perſtitit ut rupes variis vexata procellis,
Fixa baſi firma, quae tamen uſ que ſtetit.
Heu! vereor ne haec magna domus ſuffulta columnis,
Tam validis, ruptis hiſce, miſella cadat.
Joh. Owen. Rect. Wrat. par.