Which puts a doubt on every one,
Whether he be Mars or Vulcan's son,
Some few believe his mother:
But let them all say what they will,
I came resolv'd, and so think still,
As much the one as th' other.
The people, too, dislike the youth,
Alleging reasons, for, in truth,
Mothers should honour'd be:
Yet others say, he loves her rather
As well as ere she lov'd his father,
And that's notoriously.
His queen, a pretty little wench,
Was born in Spain, speaks little French,
She's ne're like to be mother:
For her incestuous house could not
Have children which were not begot
By uncle or by brother.
Now why should Lewis, being so just,
Content himself to take his lust
With his Lucina's mate;
And suffer his little pretty queen,
From all her race that yet hath been,
So to degenerate?
'Twere charity for to be known
To love others' children as his own,
And why? it is no shame;
Unless that he would greater be
Than was his father Henery,
Who, men thought, did the same.
UPON THE DEATH OF LADY HADDINGTON, WIFE OF JOHN RAMSAY, VISCOUNT HADDINGTON, WHO DYED OF THE SMALL POX.
DEARE losse, to tell the world I grieve were true,
But that were to lament my selfe, not you;
That were to cry out helpe for my affaires,
For which nor publick thought, nor private cares :
No, when thy fate I publish amongst men,
I should have power to write with the state's pen:
I should in naming thee force publicke teares,
And bid their eyes pay ransome for their eares.
First, thy whole life was a short feast of witt,
And Death th' attendant which did wait on it:
To both mankind doth owe devotion ample,
To that their first, to this their last example.
And though 'twere praise enough (with them whose
fame
And vertue's nothing but an ample name)
That thou wert highly borne, (which no man doubtes)
And so might'st swath base deedes in noble cloutes;
Yet thou thy selfe in titles didst not shroud,
And being noble, wast nor foole, nor proud;
And when thy youth was ripe, when now the suite
Of all the longing court was for thy fruit,
How wisely didst thou choose! Foure blessed eyes,
The king's and thine, had taught thee to be wise.
Who now shall keepe ould countesses in awe,
And, by tart similyes, repentance draw
From those, whom preachers had given ore? Even
Whome sermons could not reach, her arrowes touch.
Hereafter, fooles shall prosper with applause,
And wise men smile and no man aske the cause:
He of fourescore, three night capps, and two
haires,
Shall marry her of twenty, and get heyres
Which shall be thought his owne; and none shall But 'tis a wondrous blessing, and he may. [say Now (which is more than pitty) many a knight, Which can doe more then quarrell, less then fight, Shall choose his weapons, ground; draw seconds
Put up his sword, and not be laught at neyther.
THE EARL OF DORSET'S DEATH.
(RICHARD, THE third earl of Dorset.)
LET no prophane, ignoble foot tread here,
This hallowed piece of earth, Dorset lyes there:
A small poore relique of a noble spirit,
Free as the air, and ample as his merit :
A soul refin'd, no proud forgetting lord,
But mindful of mean names, and of his word:
Hh
Who lov❜d men for his honour, not his ends,
And had the noblest way of getting friends
By loving first, and yet who knew the court,
But understood it better by report
Than practice: he nothing took from thence
But the king's favour for his recompence.
Who, for religion or his countrey's good,
Neither his honour valued, nor his blood.
Rich in the world's opinion, and men's praise,
And full in all we could desire, but days.
He that is warn'd of this, and shall forbear
To vent a sigh for him, or shed a tear,
May he live long scorn'd, and unpitied fall,
And want a mourner at his funeral !*
ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1630, BEING TREN
WHAT I shall leave thee none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well;
I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health :
Nor too much wealth, nor wit, come to thee,
So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct, and know,
* Mr. Gilchrist observes that Corbet's claim to this poem is somewhat doubtful, as it occurs in bishop King's poems. C.
Not such as gentlemen require,
To prate at table, or at fire.
I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes, and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at court,
Not to build on, but support;
To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy wayes,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.
THE MANCIPLE OF CHRIST-CHURCH IN OXFORD.
WHO can doubt, Rice, but to th' eternall place
Thy soule is fledd, that did but know thy face?
Whose body was soe light, it might have gone
To Heav'ne without a resurrection.
Indeed thou wert all type; thy limmes were signes,
Thy arteryes but mathematicke lines:
As if two soules had made thy compound good, That both should live by faith, and none by blood.
GREAT TOM OF CHRIST-CHURCH.
BE dumb, ye infant-chimes, thump not your mettle,
That ne're out-ring a tinker and his kettle;
Cease, all you petty larums; for, to day
Is young Tom's resurrection from the clay:
|