Threnodia in obitum D. Edouardi Lewkenor Equitis, & D. Susannae coniugis charissimæ. = Funerall verses vpon the death of the right worshipfull Sir Edvvard Levvkenor Knight, and Madame Susan his Lady. With Deaths apologie, and a reioynder to the same.

A REIOINDER TO Death.

O Subtill Death that would'st enmoue my minde To loath this life, and from my pensiue brest Dislodge it selfe: The stronger law of kinde (A secret bond which can not be exprest) Enchaines that with this body still to dwell. I hate thee Death; suppose that why I can not tell.

Yet if from God from whom none ill may be This life doe come, 'ts good: if that be ill Which good depriues; for all thy Sophistry I know thee well, The worke of Sathans will, The wracke of Nature, The first borne of Sinne, Gods curse, The wretchednesse we men be wrapped in.

Thou plead'st thou art an Officer. No lesse Is Sathans selfe the cruell fiend of Hell. Thy wicked words thy murthering mind expresse, That would'st perswade weake men themselues to quell. Traitour, thou giuest no warning, that we know: Not thou, that none thee trust; but wisedome warneth so.

A threefold thiefe thou are, which takest away Soule from the body, body from the soule, Both from the world. And that which thou dost say To scuse thy coueteise, I can controule By text of holy writ: Three other moe To thee there beene, whose greedinesse neuer saith ho.

Art thou not partiall which alike do'st take Vnequals all? why staies thy fatall blow From traiterous wretches? first why do'st thou make The best thy marke? God mercy would it so; The best be fit for heauen the worst may mend. So would his Iustice all our liues came to one end.

No thanke to thee. well yet thou freest our life From many miseries. So greater ill Secures the lesse: As where the Plague is rise, It ceaseth other sicknesse. wilt thou still Vaunt from sinnes bondage how thou set'st vs free? That honour's Christs (vaine boaster) 'ts no thanke to thee.

What? Do the damned Ghosts from sinne surcease? Or see they Christ? or rest in heauenly blisse? As true it is that these which now in peace Haue left this world, which knew they should not misse Of better-changed life were friends to thee: O no they wish't and longed for eternity.

And dar'st thou mention Christ with caytiue tongue Thine enemy, thy conquerour, thy death? Or promise Paradise? o filth and dung! Which nigh infectest with thy noysome breath Those heauenly ioies. So vaunted once the Flie She rais'd the dust, whilest on the waine she pearch't on hie.

Thou lik'st Death well. No wonder that at all: Fooles loue themselues though riuals be away. That passeth yet, where thou do'st sadly call To helpe dispatch thee, men themselues to slay. Thy worth's not such. Nor we such fooles to die (O subtile folly!) soone the feare of death to flie.

I can a better way than that, I trow: I will despise and scorne thy hurtlesse hisse, Alas poore worme thy sting is gone I know, Doe then thy worst: Thy worst shalbe my blisse I haue deseru'd to die; And so I shall. I must; when God is pleas'd I am content withall.

Yet shall it not be vengance for my sinne: Christ is my boot that neuer made offence. His death or rather life shall enterance winne For me to Heauen, when thou debar'd from thence Shalt headlong into lowest Hell be cast. Go now and vaunt to giue the thing thou neuer hast!

As to the rest; if in disgrace I be; The more I'le scorne thee. If my state be base; I'le liue in spite of Death, more bold, more free, Let them feare Death that stand in Fortunes grace. Needs must I die? what skils it when or how? One life I haue, let Tyrants take of that inough.

My friends are gone. Their happinesse is more. I'le loue them in their issue left aliue. O might I lead them their high steps t' adore Though far before, and to their Fame suruiue, My faith should well appeare though left behind: If not; their Death with griefe shall oftner come to minde.

My goods are lost. No goods; or els not mine. I had not lost them had they beene mine owne: Ill mote I thriue if for such losse I pine, My patience left, my state's not ouerthrowne. If I be wrong'd, I'le wreake me at my will: I'le take a noble vengeance, and do good for ill.

What sayest thou Death? Put on thy dreadfulst face: And arme thy murthering hand with bloudy dart. From vertues path I will not step a pace, (With God to friend) all should it sticke my hart. Thus liu'd this paire whose bodies dead here lie Thus di'd. O Christ so let me liue, so let me die.

Loe heere I meeke me to thy gouernance Lord of my life and death; welcome thy will. Thy souereigne wisdomes gracious purueyance Shall be my wish, please thee to spare or spill. If thy offence as greatest ill I flie, That while I neither care nor feare, to liue or die.

FINIS.