Par nobile two treatises, the one concerning the excellent woman, evincing a person fearing the Lord to be the most excellent person, discoursed more privately upon occasion of the death of the Right Honourable the Lady Frances Hobart late of Norwich, from Pro. 31, 29, 30, 31 : the other discovering a fountain of comfort and satisfaction to persons walking with God, yet living and dying without sensible consolations , discovered from Psal. 17, 15 at the funerals of the Right Honourable the Lady Katherine Courten, preached at Blicklin in the county of Norfolk, March 27, 1652 : with the narratives of the holy lives and deaths of those two noble sisters / by J.C.

To the Illustrious Memory OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE Lady FRANCES HOBART, late of Capplefield in Norwich.

OH! for a Sea of tears, for tears of blood! Oh! for an hundred eyes to weep a flood Of waters, waters far more sharp than brine With perfect grief, fit Victimes for this shrine. A Song's desired, my poor Muse complied, But ere she sang it out, she burst and died. Grief set the Cliff so high, sorrow so rackt Her tender heart-strings, that when toucht, they crackt: She yet is loth to yield, she hopes to groan A shatter'd verse or two o're such a stone. Ah! for one doleful shrick to rend the Sky, Then would she on this grave lye down and die: But dying, leave some Legacies to give To any who have yet an heart to live. A broken heart, within which riven frame, * 1.1 In every chink, this Noble Lady's Name. A face gutt'red with tears, a panting breast, * 1.2 Which when the tongue gives in, may sigh the rest: And when the fancy fails, a bleeding eye, * 1.3 To weep a more Pathetick Elegy. These her neglected Arms she gave to me, That I with them might hug this Prodigy Of Vertue, which in a fast Gordian knot I'le tye, and with her reliques let them rot.

Here lyes extinguished a fallen Star, Which fixt in th' spangled frame, would very far Out-shine those lesser lights, whose beaming would Darken the Sun, and turn the Moon to blood. How had the Pilgrims flockt about her Tomb, Had there been ever such a Saint at Rome. Add but her merits to that Churches store, And they might sin whole Ages on her score. Ah Lord! what thing is this the world calls man! Whom some few inches of a grave can span, Though nere so swell'd with honour, nere so vast, That Kingdoms cannot hold, yet found at last, Though now more room, more earth, more worlds they crave, Coopt up within the confines of a grave. How did this stately Cedar lately 'expan'd Her high and lovely top, with which she fann'd The Air, and from it gave a lovely shade, Refreshing such as the world weary made. Alas! she's faln, and in a Vault is sunk, All we can say, 's Here lyes a goodly Trunk, Which in a moment, by a sudden turn Is ashes made, and fitted for an Urn; An Urn on which the Mourner only must Grave this, Here lyeth Honourable Dust. With this great Lady's, see another Herse, O're which my breathless Muse cann't sing 2 verse. 'Tis needless; why? they were in Vertue, blood, Honour and Piety, what e're is good, And to be praised both, the very same, Repeat what's said, change but the christen name: 'Tis true of both; and thus indeed they were Two Noble Sisters, A thrice Noble Pa••r.

Notes

• * 1.1

  I••pr••mis.
• * 1.2

  Item.
• * 1.3

  Item.