Honour and vertue, triumphing over the grave Exemplified in a faire devout life, and death, adorned with the surviving perfections of Edward Lord Stafford, lately deceased; the last baron of that illustrious family: which honour in him ended with as great lustre as the sunne sets within a serene skye. A treatise so written, that it is as well applicative to all of noble extraction, as to him, and wherein are handled all the requisites of honour, together with the greatest morall, and divine vertues, and commended to the practise of the noble prudent reader. By Anth. Stafford his most humble kinsman. This worke is much embelish'd by the addition of many most elegant elegies penned by the most accute wits of these times.

On the Death of the Right Honora∣ble Lord, the Lord STAFFORD, being the last of that Noble Family.

VNseasonable Fate, vexe not our sence With Balefull sorrowes, due forty yeares hence; Must Stafford needs expire at twenty foure, Because in goodnesse onely he's three score? So have we seene the morning Sun, to lay His glory downe, and make a rainie day. Trust me, ye Destinies it was unjust So soone to lay his honour in the dust.

But we doe fixe our sorrowes as upon A private fate, when't is a publicke one; And weepe (alas) as yet, but with one eye, If but for one we weepe; why here doth lie, Not my Lord onely, but a Family. No, no! he's but the Center-point, from whence Our grones, and sighes fetch their Circumference; Here we must teach our eye to drop a teare, Even for the losse of those who never were: Griefes mysterie! we must for those be sad Who lose a being which they never had.

Must ye, your selves, O Parcae, women prove In that, the greenest of our fruites, ye loue? Fruites! which not cropt, had thriv'd into a Tree Of a large branching Geneologie!

Ye might have seaz'd some puling witlesse Heire, And made a younger Brother; 't had beene faire, And we had Praise, and kist those bloody palmes, Which in the killing this, gave to'ther Almes. But you will no such spotted sacrifice, Such please not yet, for such are in your eyes Are neither good for earth, nor yet for Heaven: Stafford must onely make your weeke-Bill even; He's good, and therefore ripe: thus still we finde That good wares first goe off, bad stay behinde.

Will. Wallen. Coll. Joan. Soc.