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.

Vpon the Death of the young Lord STAFFORD.

VNequall nature that dost load, not paire Bodies with soules, too great for them to beare! As some put extracts, (that for soules may passe, Still quickning where they are) in frailer glasse; Whose active gen'rous spirits scorne to live By such weake meanes, and slight preservative; So high-borne mindes; whose dawning's like the day In torrid climes, cast forth a full noone-ray, Whose vigorous brests inherit, throng'd in one A race of soules, by long succession; And rise in their descents; in whom we see Entirely summ'd a new borne Ancestry: These soules of fire, whose eager thoughts alone Create a feaver, or consumption,

Orecharge their bodyes: lab'ring in the strife To serve so quicke and more then mortall life: Where every contemplation doth oppresse Like fits o'th Calenture, and kils no lesse: Goodnesse hath its extreames, as well as sin, And brings, as vice, death, and diseases in; This was thy fate, great Staffords; thy feirce speed T'outlive thy yeares▪ to throng in every deed A masse of vertues; hence thy minutes swell Not to a long life, but long Chronicle: Great name (for that alone is left to be Call'd great; and't is no small Nobility To leave a name) when we deplore the fall Of thy brave stem, and in thee of them all; Who dost this glory to thy race dispence, (Now knowne to Honour) t'end with Innocence. Me thinkes I see a sparke from thy dead eye Cast beames on thy deceast Nobility: Witnesse those marble heads, whom Westminster Adores; (perhaps without a nose or eare) Are now twice raised from the dust and seeme New sculp't againe, when thou art plac't by them; When thou, the last of that brave house deceast, Hadst none to cry (our Brother) but the Priest: And this true riddle, is to ages sent Stafford is his Fore-father's Monument.

Richard Godfrey.