Characters and elegies. By Francis VVortley, Knight and Baronet.

AN ELEGIE Vpon the Right Honourable The Earle of LINDSEY.

1.

GReat Lindsey's falne, yet did not fall by chance, For Sparrowes fall not but by Providence. What are our sinnes when such as Lindsey fall? One who so often had been Generall. One nere deceiv'd our hopes by Sea or Land, And had been now as glorious in Command, Had our Reserve of Horse as bravely stood To their great Charge, as Lindsey made it good. But they pursue the chase, therefore we may (And justly too) say they lost us the day. Sure their Commission was not left so large, That a Reserve without Command should Charge. For a Reserve for safe Retreat should stand, And should not stir without expresse Command. Their Zeale to honour, and the Kings just Cause, Might make brave men forget strict Martiall Lawes. So Lindsey fell, as when the Phenix lyes In her rich Urne, another doth arise Even from her ashes: So from Lindsey's grave, Another Phenix (we) or Lindsey have.

A gallant man, and of most noble parts, As great a Master of his trade, as hearts; But the old Phenix (in his Martiall heat) Did great Gustavus, past his Cannon beat: With reverence yet old Christian speaks his name, Then boasts from Danish blood the English came; Wee must acknowledge and confesse tis true, The Normans their discent from Rollo drew. And Rollo was a Dane by birth, yet wee Thought Lindsey (mongst the Danes) as brave as he: And we beleeve that our young Lindsey rather Improves his stocke, then borrowes from his Father.

Hic jacet Robertus Bartu, Baro Willoughby, Domi∣nus de Ersby, Comes de Snidsey, Magnus Angliae Camerarius, apud Edghill Serenissimi Regis Ca∣roli 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, A turmis Equitū (in regis presidiū re∣lictus) in prelio vulneratus (etiam ad mortem) sed non sine Victoria cecidit.

An Elegy upon the right Honourable the Earle of Northampton.

I Must acknowledge, now I love thee more, (When thou art not) then ere I did before. The love wherewith I living loved thee, Is changd to honour of thy memory: As rarifi'd ayre turns to the purest fire, So what I lately lov'd, I now admire. Many professe, they for the King would die; Thou for his sake, didst offered life deny; Thou wouldst not beg, but Martyrdom command, They offered what thou wouldst not understand; There's not a hayre, which from thy head was torn, And in despite to Loyalty was worn In Triumph; not a wound to thee was given, But they are in the black Records of Heaven: And when the Grand Inquest for blood shall come, They must strike Tallies for thy Martyrdom. How many Scotch Bawbies, cast in account, Would to the Talents David left amount? For if wee reckon, wee cannot go lesse Then this proportion, this they must confesse; They noble loyall blood, I dare be bold, Compar'd with theirs, will this proportion hold:

What disadvantage hath our Cause, since▪ we Become such loosers by a Victory?

Hic jacet Spencer Dominus Compton, Comes Northamptontae, progenie nobilis, & Conjugio foe∣lix, & filiis utrisque dignus, qui sanguineo regi fidelitatem martyrio obsignivit: Nec magno Gusta∣vo dissimilis victor in praelio; juxta Stafford, per infortunium cecidit, Anno salutis, 1644.

An Elegy upon the right Honourable the Earle of Kingston.

KIngston, thy losse was Epidemicall; It was indeed a generall losse to all. I will not name thy Ladies interest, Childrens, nor servants, theirs were farre the least; Though I dare say thus much, for all the three, Th'ave lost as much as in a friend could be; No better husband liv'd, nor kinder father, Nor nobler master, joyning these together. I speak the losse but as it did relate, To God his Church, the King, and to the State:

For his Religion it was pure and sound, And no man better understood his ground: A Protestant he liv'd, a Martyr dy'd, Professing truth, his truth by death was try'd: This I dare say, the King had none more able Nor really loyall at his Councell Table: Of brave resolves, and of a publick spirit, Who knew him best, knew he conceald his merit; Discreet he was, and providently wise; Kinde to his friends, and faithfull in advise. No man his Countrey better understood, Nor was more apt to do it reall good. Though he was rich, I dare pronounce him just, No man was more religious in his trust; Nor better understood this kingdomes Lawes; Yet he with noble blood durst seal the Cause; Nor would great Kingston in the Cause have dyed, Had he not been in Conscience satisfyed As well as Law. These two hee durst not sever, Since God in this Cause joynd them both together.

Hic jacet Robertus Comes de Kingston, ortu no∣bilis, conjugio nobilior, sed prole nobilissimus. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

An Elegy upon the right Honourable the Earle of Carnarvan.

HEre lies the highest Fancy of our Times, Who Lucian like could sharply scourge our crimes. Whose wit Mercuriall was, high, and sublime, So near ceration, '••wanted only time: For he had all our Artists could require To m••ke th'Elixar, matter, art, and fire: All three sublimed to as great a heigth As Art and Nature could; (and all set right) Thus near perfection brave Carnarvan fell, Who left behinde him scarce a paralell. If men shall rise in judgement, then I fear This loyall Lord shall condemn many a Peere, Who more obliged to the King then he, Have scarce returnd or thanks or loyalty.

Hic jacet Comes de Carnarvan, & Baro Dor∣mar, Mercurio magnus, sed Marti major, qui vi∣tam hanc in Regis causa, cum armis deposuit, vul∣nere sed nobili ictus (heu) cecidit invictus.

An Elegy for the Princely Brothers of the Illustrious Duke of Lenox.

STay passer by, and fix thine eye, Oh see who here Intomb'd doth lye; Three Brethren of Illustrious birth, Loyall as ever breathed on earth: Stuarts, and of the Noblest blood, But more because they made it good; I dare pronounce their deaths as loyall As was their births, and actions Royall. Mistake mee not, it is their dust▪ (Not they) the earth hath here in trust. Their soules are mounted up farre higher, Above the Element of fire, And shall unto this dust returne, Nay shall this very dust informe, When all this world shall be calcin'd, And in that generall urne refin'd: Nay which is more, they shall appeare, More glorious then they ever were: If Chymists by their art can show, What vegetives from salt may grow; And make them in a glasse appeare, In specie, as they growing were. If salt of flowers, their formes can keep, Till fire shall cause them from their sleep; How much more when that Trump shall sound, Shall fire, and ayre, the sea, and ground,

Their treasures to their formes restore, More glorious then they were before. If Martyrs as the Romists say, Can Merit an Aureala; I dare pronounce these three lie here, Deserve those Diademns to weare. It is the Cause men undertakes, Not sufferance, the true Martyr makes: The Cause is Gods, and therefore good, They seal'd this Cause, with Royall blood: If these to any can be due, Why not (brave Brothers) then to you?

En jacent hic tres Heroes Illustrissimorum Prin∣cipum Lenoxiae, nec non Richmundiae ducum filii, & fratres, nec tanto patre, nec fratre (quam∣vis Regali) Indigni, qui diversi in preliis, sed una∣nimiter cecidere, qui Regi fideles, sanguine nec minus Regali, Regis causam obsignarunt, & morte verè nobili triumpharunt.

An Elegy upon my much honourable friend the Lord Viscount Falkland.

HEre Beuclark lies, Arts monopolist rather, Who engrost more then that most painfull Father, Grea•• Origen▪ who so out-vi'd the rest, Even all the glorious▪ Fathers of the East.

Besides he was a compleat Courtier too, Yet could the Souldier in his trade out do; His noble fancy was indeed so rich, No pen of Europe flew a higher pitch: Envy it selfe must needs confesse that hee, Was Mars i'th Camp▪ yet the Court Mercury. Faukland too forward prest in his advance▪ Hoping to beat them from their Ordinance: An ill meant shot both to the King, and State, Untimely put a period to his date: Gods powerfull hand turns that great wheel we know, The lesser moves, so Starres work here below; How else should Twinnes so differ in their fate, If Starres mans fortune did necessitate? When heaven does with its punishments begin, It oft makes sinnes the punishment of sinne. We were Rebellious unto heaven, 'tis reason We should be scourged with the Whips of treason. This is not done by fortune, chance, or fate, Our sinnes heavens justice doth necessitate.

Vicecomes de Falkland vir Regi merito Charus, ex intimis ejus conciliis, & fidelitate clarus; Musa∣rum Militumque patronus, vir pius & virtute ple∣nus, en jacet hic intempestive sepultus: Qui apud praelium juxta Nuebery vulneribus transfixus, in Regis causa (Rege teste) ••ecidit invictus, Anno Domini 1644.

An Elegy upon the truly honorable Sir Charles Cavendish.

VVE won thee Gainsborough, but with thee lost more Then thou wert worth, or all we got before. There noble He••ne, Marcham, and Beeton fell. (Men whom their Armies could not paralell.) There Candish fell, a man whose very name, Like Ziscus drumme, struck terror where it came. A man whose vertues justified his blood, And prov'd his own of Cavendish's as good, As that of Bruces, both did run in's veines, And in his actions, men might read both streynes. Who knew him, knew there never lived a creature Of a more noble sweet engaging nature; Yet to his daring nothing was a task, Should he his courage, not his reason ask: His errour was still where he had command, In action he would have too deep a hand. So by his own example, thought to make The too reserv'd, their cautious feares forsake: And so too farre engag'd brave Candish fell, A m••n whom both the Nations lov'd so well: As t'was with Homer in the Grecian Story, Both Nations claime an interest in his glory; Where ere the Sun is by his journeys known, As his companion, there we Candish own. Hence we derive and prove his title good, The Scots derive him from great Bruces blood.

Although the Scots in competition are With us for Bruces blood, we have our share In him, as well as they: from subjects we, They from their Kings derive his pedigree. But as for Candish we derive a claime, As just as their's both in his blood and name.

Hic jacet Carolus Cavendish vere miles, Gu∣lielmi secundi Devoniae Comitis filius, & tertii frater, qui sub Illustrissimo Gulielmo Cavendish Novi Cast••: comitis, nec non Marthiniae, Equitum Cohortium praefectus, insolita magnanimitate Equi∣tum Rebellantium Cohortem Caedens, heu cecidit invictus.

An Elegy upon his noble friends and Allies the Earle of Chesterfields Sonnes.

BRave Stanhops you have really made it good, You are discended from true Royall blood: Few Fathers have in this kinde been more crost, But fewer could so gallant sonnes have lost. But th'are not lost, who suffer in this cause, If we respect, or God's, or humane Lawes: Did Christ to Caesar tribute money pay (The badge of Conquest?) what can subjects say? Would he submit himselfe to Caesars Law, Who was a King? must not his subjects draw?

You paid your Caesars tribute, in such blood, That I dare say, few subjects have so good: You drew your sword for Caesar, and you tri'd Your Fathers right (which cannot be deni'd.) Who is't hath done the cause more right, then they? And none could die more nobly for the way: There are but few to whom the King owes more, (Except the Duke) look through the Royall score, Then unto you; he hath lost more then you, Three of the Royall blood, and you but two. Your sonnes have such a stock of honour wonne, They have enrich the blood of Huntington: What they had purchas'd, they on yours bestowed, And bravely paid to nature, what they owed.

Pernobilis Philippi Chesterfeldiae Comitis, & Claris∣simae Conjugis ejus, Regali stemate Huntingtoniae Co∣mitis filiae, filii en jacent hic qui sanguinem sanguine sublimarunt, & morte etiam illustri ditarunt.

Upon the right worshipfull and my va∣liant Countreyman Sir Richard Hutton Knight.

DIvide the World ▪twixt Peace and Warre, And these two have a glorious share;

This for them both Ile boldly say, There's none can go a Nobler way. What Honour can be due to either, Must needs be due to both together. The one a Judge, of whom we must Confesse, his Epithet, The Iust: The other, his renowned Sonne, Who hath farre greater justice done, That to his Conscience bravely stood, This seal'd his Loyalty with Blood. Our groanes are but like wombes of earth, Which labour in a second Birth, When all the World shall be calcin'd These shall appear like Gold refin'd: Our Saviour shall his Mintage own, Stampt with the Miter and the Crown, For this Badge all his Saints shall weare, Who in this Cause have suffered here.

Hic jacet Richardus Hutton, Miles praenobi∣lis, Iustissimique patris ejusdem nominis filius to∣gatus: Prior, ban•• obiit senectute, famâ foelix, patriae charus, & in pace: Marti dicatus alter, Regi fidelis; apud praelium juxta Sherburne, in pa∣tria propria; nec minus patriae quam Regi charus, in Regis causa, Bello (heu sed civili) cecidit.

Upon the truly noble and valiant Sir Bevell Greenfield Knight.

I Lov'd thee dearly Brother I confesse; And shall I now begin to love thee lesse? Thy death was truly noble, as thy blood; Had not this beene so, that had made it good. Thy Grandsire had a Noble Spanish grave, And to thy name, a stock of Honour gave. Were our Chronology lost, Spaine for her glory, Will in her Annals write thy Grandsires story: We must confesse, a Gallant man we lost, But let Spaine speak, how deare the victory cost. I' have heard the Donnes themselves confesse it here, They scarce would buy a Navie now so deare. Neptunes in's bounds▪ near saw a bloodier fight, He never fear'd so much, to loose his right. The Proverb was made true, the Sea then burn'd, And all the Elements, to fire were turn'd; The fearefull fishes, fled into the deep; The unweeldy Whale then an even course could keep▪ With the swift Dolphin; they could not endure That horid fight, nor think themselves secure; Neptunes Sea-mantle, was turn'd Scarlet then, Stain'd with the precious blood of dying men. This was thy Gransire; yet we understand, Thy Noble death as glorious was by land.

For thou hast added to thy Grandsires blood, And made that better which before was good.

Hic jacet Dominus Benellus Greenfield, miles, sanguine clarus, Deo & Regi fidus, ad aras; Ami∣cis & patriae charus, Devoniae gloria, perpetuà dignus historiâ.

An Elegy upon the Honourable his no∣ble friend and Countreyman Sir William Evers.

BRave Evers, men were borne to die we know; How happy wert thou then, who couldst die so, That when thou didst this troublesome life lay down, Thou could'st exchange thy Helmet for a Crown; And with the 'xchange, couldst so enrich thy blood, To make that better, was before so good? Thy blood was noble, that we knew before; But all men must confesse that now 'tis more: Thy loyall death being added makes it mount, As figures enrich cyphers in accompt. If heavenly souls knew ought of earthly blisse, Thy happy soule would then rejoyce in this. Few who are now with thee in heaven above, Have left behind a greater stock of Iove: Yet you in stock of loyall honour were Thought to be richer then in that by farre: What would a soule have more then he'vens joyes there▪ And such a stock of love and honour here?

When such a life shall such a death precede, We need no prayers; nor offerings for the dead.

Hic jacet Gulielmus Evers, Vitâ, sanguine & fideli∣tate clarus, qui Equitum turmacum praefectus apud Hessam juxta Eborarum in Regis causa cecidit: sic Martyrii Corona meruit aureola, sed certius à nobis aeterna meruit memoria.

A remembrance dedicated to his noble friends and Allies, Sir Thomas Metham and Sir William Wentworth, who were slaine at Marston Moore neare York.

SInce you two durst so bravely die together, My Muse dares not presume such friends to sever. I am no stranger to the noble blood Ranne in your vaines; I know few have so good: Yet you have gone the Chymists subtile way, And have by death improv'd your blood wee say. Chymists the noblest vegetives destroy, Before they can their quintessence enjoy. Your bloods you two have quintessenced now, We to your memories reverence must allow: You have with honour both your lives laid down, And shall be stiled Martyrs for the Crown; And in your Graves you shall that honour have, Which glorious Martyrs merit in the grave.

An Elegy upon the truly noble and valiant Sir John Smith.

HEe who a Romane Citizen could save From being made prisoner, was by Law to have A Civick Crown, which he might justly beare, As a distinction, and at Triumphs weare. So thankfull was wise Rome in her reward, And to her Citizens had such regard: What Honour then, what value, and esteeme, Was due to him, the Eagles could redeeme. Our Royall Standard at Edgehill was lost, At least engag'd, so that much blood it cost. Yet this brave man, made him who got it know, What duty Subjects to that Standard owe. Have you e're seen a chafed Lyon stand, With Hunters vext, and gall'd on every hand: Whilst all the Hunters various wayes contrive, To take this Lyon if they can alive: So gall'd, so vext, our noble Champion stood, The English earth dy'd with rebellious blood. Whilst none within the Lists presumes to enter, Least he should pay too deare for his adventure. At last resolv'd, he cuts himselfe a way, Not through meane Troops, but Regiments they say: Then straight he doth this welcome present bring, This new redeemed Prisoner, to the King; The King doth both himselfe, and service right, He with that sword had serv'd him, made him Knight.

Would this were written in the hearts of Kings, Both Peace and Warre, are manag'd by two things; 'Tis Punishment, and just Rewards that are The Weights and Ballance, both of Peace and Warre. From Noble Houses he, and Loyall came, Marcham he was by blood, and Smith by Name. But he made better, what before was good, I meane his Loyall name, and Noble blood.

Hic jacet Dominus Johannes Smith sanguine satis nobili natus, qui Regis insignia (etiam capta) Regi, sed non sine Caede restituit, fidelis in bello (heu civili) dolo cecidit circumventus.

An Elegy for Sir Henry Spilmam Knight.

VVHilst thou yet livedst (Spilman) I honoured thee, I reverence now thy sacred memory; Ther's none I know hath written heretofore, Who hath oblig'd this Church, and Kingdome more. Thou hast deriv'd, nay prov'd our Church as high, As Rome can boast, and giv'n her pride the lie. Thou hast the series of her story shown, So hast o're us her Hirarchy o'rethrown. I read thy books, and I admire thy soule, Thy daring soule that durst proud Rome controule: Thou with their own Authorities, dost prove That which they would, but never shall remove:

Thou prov'dst that Gregories Monke found Bishops here Durst check his pride, who after Martyrs were: Who held the rites and customes of the Fast, Which Polycarpus durst approve the best. Who twice to Rome as an Officiall came, To fix that feast, which now we must not name: Thou'st prov'd our Church as glorious as Romes, For Doctrine, Discipline, and Martyrdomes. Thou'st prov'd to us the mighty power of Kings, In calling councells even in spirituall things; And temporall rights the Churches pedigree, Her frequent councels even in Brittany; As a choyce piece of evidence a story Which we may stile great Brittaines chiefest glory, The Brittish Church, our Kings owe this to thee; Shall we not reverence then thy memory? Had'st thou been Rome's, thy supererogation, Had rais'd a stock of merits for our Nation. But thou 'art ours, I joy I live to know I had a friend good men shall reverence so.

Henricus Spilmanus Eques auratus hic jacet, cujus solertissimae industriae non minus Ecclesia debet, quam Respublica Brittanorum; namque Saxonum nostro∣rum mores, Concilia, Leges, etiam amissa nobis re∣stituit. Nec in se magis, quam Prole Faelix: Obiit Anno Salutis 1642.

Upon his Noble Friend Colo∣nell Slanning.

HEre Slanning lies who was the second best, Brave Greenefields rivall Vesper of the West; As Pompey was to Caesar, so would he, None should his equall but a Caesar bee: For when he heard how bravely Greenfield fell, He would not over-live his paralell; But covetous of as brave a death as he, He crowned his with glorions loyaltie: Of all the West the King had no two friends More really his, more glorious in their ends.

An Elegy for my dear Godson and Ne∣phew Henry Morton, Sonne to my good brother Sir George Morton Baronet.

HAve you observ'd a Cedar wonderous straight? Admired for its freshnesse, youth and heigth; Cut down before it came to its full growth, Such the proportions were of this sweet youth: And such his fortune, loyall to the Crowne, Scarce writing man (though man enough) cut down. I must confesse (brave youth) thou hast made good My share both in thy name, and loyall blood;

The first I gave thee (thats thy name) the other Thy blood, my sister was thy vertuous Mother: A Mother worthy of so brave a Sonne; If heavenly soules know what on earth is done, Her's would rejoyce, that thou could'st so improve So small a stock of time to purchasse love: And die so rich in that and reputation, Thou wert an honour to thy blood and Nation. All this in noble Morton was; lies here A name will force from every eye a teare, Nay, from the souldiers heart knowes not to weep. Yet know he is not dead, he doth but sleep. As souldiers being alarum'd rub their eyes, So when the trump shall blow, Morton must rise, Not to a battell (there no more shall be;) But to triumphant glorious victory. The crown of glory (such as Martyrs there Are crowned with) shall loyall Morton weare.

An Elegy upon my honoured friends and Countreymen the valiant Collonels Howard, Heron, Fenwick, Lumpton, Claverin, and Carnaby.

FIrst high born Howard to Heron led the way, Fenwick and Lampton, both fell on one day: Brave Claverin's heart was burst with griefe that he, Without revenge should their survivor be:

The next to these stout Carnaby he fell, To make the number a just paralell. Six braver men then these the fruitfull North, Of Martiall spirits, in one age near brought forth: If we may nature check without offence, Shee was too prodigall in her expence: Six such brave men to be borne in one age And fall so soone must some sad fate presage. Had these six liv'd, the King had had no need T'have rais▪d the South-parts, to make good the Tweede. These six I dare say had secur'd it more, Then Rome did with her Legions heretofore. Had Claverin liv'd t'have been their generall, H'had more secur'd the North-parts then that wall Severus rais'd so high, had it still stood, The presence of these six had been as good: But those same sinnes which cut of these, I feare Will make the passes over Trent as cleare: Our sinnes have brought in strangers heretofore, (As friends proud conquerours) and may do once more.

An Elegy upon the right honourable the Countesse of Dorset.

DOrset is dead, even she who could support Unenvied power; and honour in a Court: Who by a wise King was plac'd there to be, The Tutresse of his Royall Progeny. Shee for the Mirrour of the Court might passe, Who ever lookt vertue reflected was.

This Glasse was wrought and polisht with that skill, That would reflect still truth, but nothing ill; She by sweet Gravity reproved youth, As God does lying, by his stedfast Truth; High Close Committee proofe her vertues were, A Spanish Inquisition she could beare. Should both the Houses joyn, should they advance That powerfull Engine cald their Ordinance, And rayse a Battery, I dare undertake, It scarcely would the least impression make Into her Honour; for her vertues were Above the proofe of that strange Engine farre. No pen is so Malignant, will not write, The Vertuous Lady, was her Epithite.

Hic jacet Comitissa Dorsetiae, animae, corporis, & for∣tunae dotibus clara; marito chara, & mundo: pro liberis provida, nec minus suis benigna, filiis foelix, fama foelici••r, sed fide foelicissima: Sic Vixit etiam in Aula ut Aulic••s vivere, Principes mori doceat.

In this mean Grave which scarce appeares, A Lady lies, embalmd in Teares. That you may know these Teares to prize, They were distild from Princes eyes. Committed to this Ladies Care, Who in the losse had greatest share.

Poore Princes you have lost much more Then you could value heretofore.

Your Father stranger to his crowne, Scarce to his own deare children knowne: Nay, which is worse then this, you are Deprived of your mothers care. What loyall heart reads what's writ here, Can chuse but sacrifice a teare; I must confesse when this I writ, With loyall teares I watered it, To think how glorious I have seen My royall Soveraign and his Queen; And to think how some now endeavour These two whom Heaven hath joynd, to sever; Tis Heavens Decree, it must be so, This is our faith, and this we know; They both are pious, God is just, The Cause is his, and there's my trust.

Vpon Francis Quarles.

I Must confesse that I am one of those Admire a Fancy more in Verse then Prose; Yet thou in both workst on my judgement so, I scarce know which to choose, which to let go, As if Platonick transmigrations were, The Harp of David still me thinks I heare. Thy powerfull Muse hath so strong influence, Vpon my troubled Soule, and every Sense: For when thou Solomons mystick strayns dost sing, Thy Muse then speaks the language of that King. And when thou undertakst the Kings just Cause, Thy strength is such; thy Reasons binde like Lawes.

This doth thy reason and thy loyalty prayse, That crowns thy Statues with eternall bayes: Thy muse hath raisd, a Monument for thee, Thy prose a Pyramid of loyalty. Thy memory shall be precious here below, Whilst men the use of sacred learning know. Thy soule is with thy deare beloved Kings, And there with them new Halelujahs sings.

Upon a true contented Prisoner.

VVHat's liberty it should be so desir'd; 'Tis only when deni'd to men, admir'd: W'are more displeased with the least negative, Than pleas'd with all that God to man can give. We are scarcely pleasd with Gods great'st blessings, health And liberty, unlesse God give us wealth. A little tooth-ach, a fit of the stone, Or gowt, destroys them; and all these are gone: We are imprisoned in our beds and then, We wish the use of these good things agen. Yet whilst we had them, we scarce knew their good, They were heav'ns blessings, but scarce understood. The wretched slave is chaind unto his Oare, Now prizes that, he valued not before, His liberty; yet may be in that State, He is more happy then he was of late In all these blessings free men could enjoy; For their abuse, doth all their use destroy: If want of these a thankfulnesse produce For blessings, which we had not in their use:

Are we not then more happy in their losse, (Had we all that Lucullus did engrosse?) 'Tis then the use, makes happy men, not having Of that we use not well, or still are craving More then we have; be it or more or lesse, A thankfull state is mans true happinesse. Imprisonment, admit it neere so close, Is to a wise man but his soules repose; And the lesse roome he hath, his soul's more free Then when she had her wanton liberty. Weak eyes cannot endure the glaring light, Of the bright Sunne; nor things which are too white. These doe disperse the Radii of the eyes, We better can endure the cloudy skies; Were I immur'd so I could see no Sunne, My soule her wing'd horses could out-runne: I could with heaven a correspondence keep, As Ionas did close prisoner in the deep. The Prophet in the Dungeon was in heaven, Iohn in the Isle had all his visions given: Men in the deepest pits, see best by farre The Sunnes Eclipses; and finde every starre, When sight's contracted and is more intent; (So is mens soules in close imprisonment,) We then can upwards look on things above, Worthy our contemplation and our love: We are not Sunne▪ blin'd with reflections then, Of dazling glory, nor depend on men; These mediums cannot then the soule deceive, Its in a dungeon can more cleere perceive: And lights most welcome; then the least is more, When thus contracted, then the Sunne before.

Are we not happyest when we least desire, And nothing that's below the sunne admire? When w'are united to our God above (As wives to absent▪ husbands whom they love) By our souls union, when our souls on fire Inwardly burning with zeale melt in desire. A Nunc dimittis, with old Simeon sing, And wish each bell we heare, his knell should ring: And yet not weary of our lives, for then Imprisonment is a hell on earth to men. I have sometimes seene an indulgent father Make his deare child, rods for himselfe to gather, And then his wanton liberty restraine, Nay make him fetters of a slender twine, Sharply correct him, make him kisse the rod, Tries his obedience: And just thus does God With his deare children, (if well understood) Wise parents know tis for their childrens good. And know we not, God is more wise by far, And more indulgent then our parents are? Art thou injur'd? yet take thus much from me, Who sent thee thither, knowes what's best for thee. Remember Job was for a tryall lent To Satan; how he bore his punishment: God crown'd his patience, for he gave him more (Besides the honour) then he had before. Yet if in this thou lovest thy reward, God will not then thy patience regard. Nor paines nor patience the true Martyr makes, It is the Cause the Martyr undertakes. Martyrs are witnesses of truth to death; This is but duty, so falls far beneath

The weight of the reward: we dare not say That Saints can merit an Aureola. For we say when man does, what he is able, Come to Gods Scale, he is unprofitable, Our haires are numbred by our God we know, He sets them highest, whom he finds placed low. He in the Lyons den, did Daniel owne, And set upon his head the Favourites Crown. Art thou imprison'd? looke up thou shalt find, Thou hast a strange enlargment in thy mind. Th'are more ingaged far, Imprisoned thee; And shall come to accompt, when thou art free.