Hēsychia Christianou, or, A Christian's acquiescence in all the products of divine providence opened in a sermon, preached at Cottesbrook in Northampton-Shire, April the 16, 1644, at the interment of the Right Honourable, and eminently pious lady, the Lady Elizabeth Langham, wife to Sir James Langham Kt. / by Simon Ford ...

On the MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE, The Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM.

HAd I a subject of a meaner size, Methinks I could write Volums, and mine eies Land-flood whole quires of Paper with a Tide Of Elegies. Deep Rivers silent slide. Great Contemplations tie the Tongue, that Mind That's rapt to Heaven, cannot Utterance find.

So Commentators on an easie Text, Are endless in their Paraphrase, but vext With a mysterious place pass't by, (be sure) And veil the Bonnet with Vot serviture: So holy Cloysters Veneration's dumb, Their walls being motto'd with Silentium.

But as the Heraulds blazon Princes Coats Not by mean colours, but Celestial Noats; By Heavenly Planets, thence to signifie Their near approaches to Divinity.

So an inspired Angel from the Muse Of Jesse's Son, this equal task should chuse, With quill pluck'd from a Cherub's wing to paint The great Example of this illustrious Saint.

Her Apparition makes me all agast, Like her of Endor, or th' Enthusiast, Scar'd and convulst with his own Oracles, Thou Constellation of Miracles. Epitome of the whole sphere of Excellence, Extract of all that nature could dispence; Where Great, and Good, Noble, and Humble met, Learned, and Modest; Wit without Deceit, That skil in Scriptures and in Tongues she got, Made her a living Bible Polyglot. These did not puff her up; she did descend To the kind Offices of Wife and Friend, Mother and Sister, as if Ethicks were Not so much taught her, as transcrib'd from her; Oh what a glorious Creature and how rare A Saint 't would be, that had what she could spare.

Where hath she left her Equals now in fame, But in the Noble House from whence she came; Too small alas! where Vertues sacred Fire Retires in Embers, Oh may't ne're expire; Dark Lanthorn of the most resplendent Light, There is the Goshen, all the rest is Night.

Alas our Pharos is blown out of late By which we did prosperously Navigate, And trade both Indies for more precious wealth, A nobler Traffique with Heav'n and her self; But whilst we did expect so rich a Cargo, Death on the sudden made this sad Imbargo. We only expect a restitution there Where Saints shall be reveal'd, & th' Revelation clear.

William Langham.

An Elegy Upon the RIGHT HONOURABLE And MOST INCOMPARABLE LADY, The Lady ELIZABETH LANGHAM, Who departed this life March 28. 1664.

COme sacred Muse assist my Quill, With somewhat of your learned Skill; Inspire my Fancy from on high, Who to Parnassus ne'r came nigh. Fear not the spleen of Criticks eie, For Momus censure I defie. Egg'd on with Duty, Love and Zeal, My unpractiz'd Muse I will reveal.

Look not for much from a small store, She that gives all can give no more.

Proclaim I do our own sad Fate, By what has faln out of late: The Sun which makes a perfect Day, Its influence took from her bright Ray, Who while she here did make her stay, Each minute had more worth than Day. Belov'd, admir'd, ador'd by all, No equal had (since Adam's fall) Descended of a Noble Line, A Vertuosa most Divine: The Royal blood ran in her veins, And guiltless did admit no stains, Her Fame was great, and of Renown, She to her Husband was a Crown; No sand of time did e're slip by, Without its action sweet as high, Improving all the cost was spent, On her Large souls ennoblement; Of such a body as might vye, With glorious ones in purity: When she her eie-lids did display, The Sun asham'd made hast away; And we might see the Day-star rise, Within the circuit of her eies: Alone she stood (in her bright sphear) Not to be matched far or near. All Beauties which might bless the sight, Mixt with transparent Vertues light, At once producing love and awe: Her souls perfection had no flaw, Discerning thoughts, but a calm breast, Most apt to pardon, needing least;

Strict, mild, and humble, great and good; As all her Friends well understood. Most pious in her life and death, (A Pattern to her latest breath) Heav'n could not brook the earth should share A Pearl of such a Price; so rare, So good, so wise, so chast, so blest, Angels alone can speak the rest, God took her hence betimes, lest we Should fall to flat Idolatrie.

Anne Lumley.

Upon The much Lamented Death Of That most vertuous and Incomparable LADY ELIZABETH Daughter of the RIGHT HONOURABLE FERDINANDO Lord HASTINGS, Earl of HUNTINGDON. And Wife to the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, Sr. JAMES LANGHAM.

PAss not, but wonder, and amazed stand At this sad Tomb; for here inclosed lie Such rare perfections, that no tongue, or hand Can speak them, or pourtray them to the eie:

Such was her body, such her soul divine, Which hence ascended, here hath left this shrine, To tell her Princely birth, and high descent, And what by noble Huntingdon is meant, Transcends the Heralds Art, beyond the rules Of Ore, or Argent, Azure, or of Gules: To that Nobility her Birth had given A second added was, deriv'd from Heaven; Thence her habitual goodness, solid worth Her piety, her vertues blazon forth, Her for a pattern unto after ages, To be admir'd by all, exprest by sages, Who whilst they write of her, will sadly sorrow, That she did not survive to see their morrow. So good in all Relations, so sweet A Daughter, such a loving Wife; discreet A Mother, though not hers, not partial, She lov'd, as if they had been natural. To the Earl and Ladies she a sister rare, A Friend, where she profest, beyond compare. Her hours were all precisely kept, and spent In her devotions; and her studies meant To share some for her languages, which she In Latine, French, Italian, happilie Advanced in with pleasure; what do I Recount her parts? her Memory speaks more Than what can be, or hath bin said before. It asks a Volume rather than a Verse Which is confined only to her Herse. But now blest Soul, She is arriv'd at Heaven, Where, with a Crown of life, to her is given A new transcendent Name, to th' world unknown, Not writ in marble, but the Saints white Stone: Inthron'd above the stars, with glory crown'd, Enstal'd with bliss, and Hallelujah's sound.

Bathshua Makin.

On the MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE, And VERTUOUS LADY, The Lady ELIZABETH, Late Wife to the worthy Sr. JAMES LANGHAM KNIGHT.

HIghly descended, born of noblest bloud; Yet one, who (Great) was not more Great than good, Skill'd in the Languages, and in the Arts, (Acquired learning added to good parts.) Humble, Grave, modest, and of temper sweet, Wise to keep silence, when as it was meet: And knowing how, as well, to speak in season, And then to guide her tongue with grace, & reason.

In place, of a good Lady dead, to come, And, so well, to fill up the Vacuum; By acting so the Wife, and so the Mother, (One would have thought she had not bin another) Acting both so, as if the very same Mother and Wife, deceas'd, were come again. So full of all the tend'rest love and care To two sweet Children, which another bare: To Husband so obsequious and so sweet In carriage, that an help more meet He could not have. And as to each Relation Wondrous obliging in her Conversation. The meanest person That would not contemn, That, rashly, would not any one condemn. Who, alwaies, would interpret in best sense, What others use to rack with violence. Easie to pardon other's faults, and yet Severe in those laws, which t'her self she set. One, to the poor, that did draw forth her soul, So much, their pinching wants she would condole. What time some, of her Rank, do set a part To Cards and Plays, who spent to search her heart, To read, and pray, and to converse with God, With whom she hop'd, once, for a blest abode. The Sun did not, more duly, set and Rise, Than she kept constant to this Exercise. The Lords Day was her joy, his word her meat, Which she not only Read, and Heard, but Eat.

But where's the Subject, unto which this throng Of Epithets and Adjuncts doth belong? Is she i'th' Land of Living? Alas! No, She might have been seen here some months ago. She was, How sad a word's this Was! (woes me) This blessed Lady Elizabeth was she.

Hasting to Heaven, she touch't (by the way) At Crosby-House, where we hop'd she would stay; But fondly: Of a suddain she took flight Heav'n ward, and's gone: she's quite gone out of sight. Into the World she came, it's vanity, She saw; contemn'd, and withdrew presently.

T. B.

In Obitum Illustrissimae Heroinae, Dominae ELIZABETHAE LANGHAM, Epicedium.

ERgone foeminei laus, & victoriasexus, Et desiderii meta suprema jacet? Ʋna bonis animi, generisque, & corporis aucta, Quae data sunt aliis singula, cuncta tulit. Nobilis a proavis, & origine magna Parentum, Nempe Hunting doniae splendida gemma domus. Invidia, haud pietas est hanc deflere Beatam, Cui data coelesti est clara corona polo. Marmora mitte igitur, celebrare aut carmine laudes, Huic immortali, quid moritura struis? Nam{que} loquendo, satis dignè laudaverit unquam Nemo, nisihic maerens qui stupet atque silet.

An Epitaph.

STay! read her name, lest thou pass traveller, Hence irreligiously without a tear. Say, didst thou know her? then thy loss resent, If not? at least thy ignorance lament.

Here lyes interred one, by whose decease Heav'n hath one Saint the more, and earth one less. Where Grace and Nature truly did present A compleat draught, of what was excellent. In whom dwelt virtue with Nobility, Great parts, with yet greater Humility.

Her well replenisht mind did like a vein Of Earth, a Rich and plenteous ore contain. Strictness, zeal, mercy, meekness, patience, Combin'd to take up here their residence.

Her out-side spoke it, as if design'd to tell How pure, and large a soul within did dwell. How in her Face, and carriage might You see Bright Honour, shadowed with modesty. Her Gravity with sweetnesse mixt, did shew, That distance was not her desire, but due.

Too soon snatcht hence, to prove that she was here, Not an Inhabitant, but Sojourner.

Sleep then in silence quietly her dust, Till the Resurrection of the just. When Body and Soul shall re-united be, And each enjoy their Immortality.

I. S.

To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL And Worthy of Honour, Sir JAMES LANGHAM. A Memorial of His Most Dear and Excellent Wife, THE RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELIZABETH, A great pattern of true Honour and Piety.

WHat Man can write, that's not Enthusiast, I mean not, what thou art, but what thou wast? Can Man breath living Words, and realize Thy Worth, and not be thought to Poetize! But thy great Name, and far greater Merit, Will clear my Verse, from a lying Spirit. Similitudes from Sun, Stars, Meteors Dwelling in Clay, are but low Metaphors. All were Mine own, and nothing like to Thine, If I should speak of Thee, less than Divine.

I have seen David's Harp, but not his Heart On Buckrom dawb'd, the Noble inward Part. Was too subtile to come to Painters view, 'Tis my hard task to shew a Saint to You. Once it was said, the Gods came down like Men; I miss a Godly one gone hence agen. If here I rob'd a Tomb, and there a Stone, And shap'd her like to some Phantastick One, And set up Her Pillar, like goodly Saul, Higher than those in Westminster, and Paul. Or for a louder strain, ran to some Poet, Her Reverend Ghost would chide me for it. Out of the truly Noble Maunch she came, The Badge of Honour, that's known by her Name: From Kingly Lyons, and the Flowers De Lice, You may discern Her yet far higher rice. Her Family thrice mix'd with Royal Blood, She knew; and yet, as though not understood. She spake not on't, as if she never knew The large and Noble Stem, on which she grew; Or yet, as if that Elevating Blood Was, like Rich Drops, lost in a Richer Flood. That precious Blood, that Her did cleanse from sin, The only Blood was, that she glory'd in. She did esteem the second Birth the better, The first was High, Below, the other greater If we do higher look. This high born Mind, Enrich'd with Parts, soar'd higher still to find That hidden Life, secrets of Piety, Pure Love, unfeigned Faith, true Charity. Her Life, and actions a good Comment was Upon Gods Law, in which as in a Glass, She dress'd Her inward, and Her outward part: Her humble Carriage, spake an humble Heart.

She learn'd the Law, both to observe and love it, From None but me, unto, Thou shalt not covet. She was oth' good Elizabethan Sect, That, blameless, bear to all Gods laws respect; But yet no Pharisaic Legalist, Her Works were Fruits of living Faith in Christ. She 'gan the day with God, with him it ended, 'Scapes mark'd to day, were all to morrow mended. From God in Closet, Church, warm and devout, No waste-time pastimes ever turn'd her out.

Her Husband's soul and Hers you'd think were twin'd, Rare Parts, rare Hearts, matched into a mind. But! Death consenting not to such rare Matches, Away from him, his right half soon dispatches. Is there no way to break a Match, and not Undo the suff'ring part, to whose hard Lot Surviving fall's? But, this hath alwayes been, Since Man and Wife op'ned the door to Sin.

His Children Hers became, whose curious care Was to compleat, and Saint that hopeful Pair.

Her Servants were the Flock, she duely fed With Milk, and the Portions of that Bread, Which from Her Fathers house, she carri'd home, And did impart to all about her some. In all Relations, home, and abroad, She liv'd like such an one, as would please God. Her Face was Wisdom's Front, and Her Demeanour Observ'd the Laws of Meekness and of Honour. Her Speech, her Looks, her Person so array'd, Spake, that she look'd to God, to Heav'n and pray'd. Her senses Servants were, Reason was Lord; Fruitful she was in Deeds, sparing in Word.

I cannot pass by what she ne're look'd o're, Gods great Receivers, miserable poor: She felt their cold, and wants as well as they, She was the saddest when they went away. She made them Rich, they made her Spirit poor, They spent her Alms, she of their moans made store. She was no Legend—(but a Scripture—) Saint, Her piety no Hypocritick paint. I will not speak what she was not, for Nots Are in a Character but comely blots. If she had lived in those darker Times, When Legends went about with Monkish Rhimes. She had at least been canoniz'd at Rome, And hither crouding multitudes would come, To see the Reliques, which, nor lead, nor stones Could guard those Ashes, and those Sacred Bones. But in this brighter day, she was a light, Her Morn was Noon, but ah! her Noon prov'd night. (Night, like that Cloud in which the Sun doth ride, We have the Cloud, she's on the sunny side.) Her Life drop'd in the Flow'r, Grace grew Mature, Grace seldom dwelt with a better Nature. O happy she! would all of us were there! And yet, if so we wish, why stay we here? Earth was no bait: Heav'n was so much prefer'd, That first she dy'd before she was interr'd. Coelestial mind! she's fled unto her Crown, Here was not Earth enough to weigh her down. But, that there is none perfect here, I know, I should go nigh to say, that she was so. Sir, shall I write? or must I here forbear? Least every line I write cost You a Tear. I have of Her great Deeds collected some, The Margent of whose Life would fill a Tome.

Edward Pierce.

AN ELEGY On that Right Honourable And Right Pious LADY,

The Let Herauldry display her Progeny, Aggrandiz'd both with Age and Majesty. Death Royal Lions conquers, Lillies blasts: Yonder's that glorious Piety, that last's,

Ev'n when time's teeth shall have disgrac'd the world, Laying all level, and it self be hurl'd Into the gulf of vast Eternity. She had a mind most humble, yet as high; A spiring Saint! who Earth a foot-stool made, But Prayer's mount, the vantage ground, whose aid Enabl'd her to step into the Throne; That her ambition was, and That alone. How sparing of her words! more of her time:

Leaving this matchless praise behind; no Crime A blemish left on any word or deed: No not for many years! Such exact heed Govern'd both tongue and feet. O glorious hight! Her bended knees made her walk so upright. As for her Honour; 'twas supported by Most orient vertues, which her memory

Now do embalm. In sickness patience Obtain'd the garland with preeminence. Whilst in that fornace try'd; She Jesus spy'd,

Her Joy, loosing the bonds, which burnt, she dy'd. At our black midnight, dawn'd her brightest day: Presently wip't from her's, all tears away; Pouring them into our lamenting, eies. Ye clouds dissolve: gush forth ye springs, Arise—

But! here (that Painter's Rhetorick) a Vail Signifies most, when tears and pencils fail. Silence (grief's Oratour, and wonder's tongue) Uttereth best those sighs and thoughts that throng, Sticking astonish't within sorrw's womb. God's word, her worth, our grief, bid, make us dumb.

To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM Upon the Exaltation of his second Lady, &c.

Honoured Sir,

WHen first you encircl'd in your happy Arms That Center of perfections and charms; My Muse rejoyc'd, that, though your * 1.1 Stars were set, (Mufling you in a two years darkness) yet A Sun was ris'n, whose most illustrious raies Mingling with yours, at once would shew & praise Kind vertues Darlings; and withal advance Joy the ascendant in your countenance: As if that former splendent Piety Improv'd and gilded with Divinity;

Into your lap, once more, were stowred down From Heav'n; whence marriages have birth & crown. But oh so dark it was when she went hence! That groping, we, our faith and patience, Could hardly find: and stumbling at her Urn Had almost fall'n a murmuring; to turn Loss into sin. But (Sir) thus take the plot; God join'd your hearts in that true Lovers knot, That when his Angels, that blest Soul, away Should carry, home, to bliss, you might, obey The doubl'd force of this attractive cord, Start up and say, my Wives, my God, and Lord Stand above beckning on that heav'nly mount, Whilst the slow minutes with my sighs I count. I'l speak no lowder, least your griefs awake; But, wipe your eies, look, run, and overtake: And shine in triumphs, having rais'd a name, As great as hers; who came, pray'd, overcame.

Sam: May.

In obitum Honoratissimae Dominae Dominae ELISABETHAE LANG∣HAM, Illustrissimorum Ferdinandi & Luciae Comitum Huntingdoniae Filiae natu maximae: Et insignissimi viri Do∣mini Jacobi Langham Equitis aurati, Conjugis semper desideratissimae Heroniae incom∣parabilis & immortalitate dignae, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 defunciae 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, sive Epicedium.

SIste parum (Lector) monitum te convenit; illis Ne fidens oculis decipiare tuis. Quicquid enim cernis, non est quod cernis, & illud Cernere quod poter as, cernere posse negas. Effusis nimium lachrymis vitiantur ocelli, Intempestivis fletibus ora cadunt. Expect as (scio sat) tumulum, gelidumque Sepulchrum, Ossa, urnam, cineres anticipare soles; Sed minus attentè; si quaeris talia, cedo, Non sunt haec isto conspicienda loco. Quem spectas, non est tumulus, sed lectus, & urna Quam credis, non est urna, sed arca Dei. Non pulvis, sed pulvinar; non ossa, sed ata Scilicet è saxis concumulata sacris. Equibus haec? si fortè roges, Virtutibus istis Praesto est hinc animum figere velle tuum;

Quae tantam Dominam solitae sunt cingere vivam Nec modo de functam deperiisse sinunt. Quos ego si cuperem Lapides distinguere junctos, Perque suas gemmas enumerare vices, Ne possim cumulo vereor succumbere toto, Ignarusque mali mole perinde premi. Attamen experiar; quid enim non audet amoris Impetus, & votis haud satianda sitis? Quid negat officii ratio aut reverentia mentis Quae nescit stimulos dissimulare suos?

O Sanctam in Coelis Animam & Coelestibus auctam! Te quibus Auspiciis amplificare queam! Nolo quidem stirpem tot Regum stemmate claram, Ant Genus aut Proavos commemorare tuos. Quanquam si vellem digito te pingere possem Summis Principibus Nobilitate parem. Te Pietas, te sancta Fides, te propria Virtus, Contemptus mundi, ac Relligionis amor. Tran smittent seclo nunquam moritura futuro Pignora, & aeterni Marmoris instar erunt. Conjugis Affectus retinebat viscera Prolis, Deliciae Matris; Deliciaeque Viri. Accedunt Fratris lachrymae, gemitusque Sororum, Affines, sociae congemuere piae. Rara animi Comitas, blandique placentia vultus, Sed majestatis non aliena modis. Felici Ingenio juncta est Prudentia nexu, Divitis ac animi Lingua diserta comes. Anglica Romanam suscepit, Gallica Graecam Nec minus Italicos est imitata sonos. Sedula Divini praeibat lectio Verbi Audita est grata Concio sacra mora.

Mox pia Colloquiis cessit meditatio crebris Singula praemissa sanctificata prece, Chara Homini, dilecta Deo, sed mortua mundo Perpetuas meriti tot Monumenta tui.

Tho. Horton S. T. D.

To the Eminently Learned and Religious Sir JAMES LANGHAM Knight. In pious memory of his Most Excellent CONSORT The Lady ELISABETH LANGHAM Daughter of the Right Honourable FERDINANDO Earl of HƲNTINGDON.

Most honoured Sir,

PReaching hath spoil'd my Poetry, and I Instead of writing Elegies, Learn to die. But if I should Ambitious be to use A Fairer, Nobler, and Diviner Muse

Than all the Nine; That Phoenix of high prize Could only from your Ladies Ashes rise; Able, with Life, wit's Carcase, to inspire, And warm the coldest Brain with Heav'nly fire.

Yet then no sooner would that Flame appear, But your sad Loss would quench it with a tear. For never was all Good in One so met, (Like Diamonds and Pearls in pure Gold set.) Her High-born Bloud flow'd from the Royal spring, To which great Birth, Grace, did a Greater bring. So that in Her we might these Wonders see, Princely Grandeur crown'd with Humility; Beauty, with Learning, Wealth with wisdom shin'd, And piety so kept Court within her Mind, That if for lost Religion we should look, In her Life we might Read the Holy Book. And if for banish'd Modesty wee'd seek, We might behold it blushing in her Cheek. Her Temp'rance too was much, her Charity more; 'Twas Meat and Drink to Her, to feed the Poor: And with her Alms such Counsel she would give, As might at once make Soul and Body live. Publick and Private, she ne're drew in Air, But what went out in holy Word or Prayer.

With this she Honor'd all her Honors, and Enrich'd your Family more than all your Land. Others are Glorious from their Ancestrie, But she Ennobled Her Nobilitie.

That Wife which Famous Overburie writ With Height of Judgment, Eloquence and wit, Was but a Type of her, who can alone Be Peer'd with the Elect Lady of St. John. Whose praise is better Preach'd than Poem'd forth, No Verse but what's a Text can reach her Worth.

Our Meeters added to this Sermon, sound Like Sternhold's Rhimes with th' Holy Bible bound.

I'l borrow then Words from the Preaching King, And with His Hallow'd Truth Her Glory sing. Many a Daughter hath done vertuously * 1.2 But she excell'd them all; I might apply Much of that Chapter to Her, as a Wife Who acted, what is writ there, to the Life.

R West. D. D.

On the death of the truly Noble and Vertuous LADY ELISABETH Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM Knight, Who dyed great with Child.

Could Beauty, Wealth, Wit, Learning, Grace or Birth Free any one from death, thy life would have Been lasting as thy Fame, nor had the Earth And Heav'n call'd back the Jewel that they gave.

But ah, alas! such noble Souls as thine Dwell in as crazy cottages as ours; Yea, being fram'd of mold more pure and fine, They are less able to brook storms and showrs.

Hence Thou art gone betimes; and we remain A while behind, here to condole our loss, To celebrate thy memory, and complain That want of such as Thee's our greatest cross.

But Thou, sweet Infant, losest nought at all, But gainest, by thy Mothers early death: Her womb's thy tomb; thou hast a funeral Before a birth, and dy'st ere thou draw'st breath.

Thus without knowledge of this gloomy shade, Wherein we sadly wander up and down, Thou a quick passage unto Heav'n hast made, And without sweat or toil hast got the Crown.

Let not surviving Friends then take't amiss, Because they saw thee not to ripeness grown: For thou art ripe before them, and in bliss, Longing to see them also wear the Crown.

Anthony Scattergood D. D.

STemmata imaginibus, titulis distincta, Coronis Inclyta, quam decorant, Ornant quam propria virtus, Quam pietas, quam Relligio, mens para, fidesque, Conjuge quae fulget, cui par vix contigit ulli Conjuge qui gaudet, cui par vix contigit ulli Quam cito, quam subito nobis erepra, parenti Eximiae chara, Eximio perchara marito! Ereptam eheu lugemus, lugemus ademptam Terris, aethereas sedes gaudemus adeptam. Comprime nunc lachrymas ergo, moestissime conjux. Comprime nunc lachrymas ergo maestissima mater; Terreno sponso, Terrena matre relictis, Coelesti sponso, Coelesti patre potita Coelieolas inter sedet, aeternumque sedebit.

Pauculis hisce versibus lectissimae, Illustrissimae, Nobilissimae Heroinae ELISABETHAE HA∣STINGIAE Celsissimi comitis Huntingdoniae Filiae; Illustriss: ac Nobiliss: Viri Jacobi Lang∣bamii equitis Aurati conjugi, Londini paren∣tabat

Ludovicus Heraldus Ecclesiae Londino-Gallicae Ecclesiastes.

In Obitum ILLUSTRISSIMAe Heromae Dominae ELISABETAE HASTINGIAE, Honoratissimi Comitis HUNTINGDONIAE Filiae. Ad Illustrem ipsius Conjugem, Dominum JACOBƲM LANGHAM, Equitem Auratum. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

LAnghamiae docus ornamentum & gloria gentis, O infignis Eques quo non infignior alter, Magne opibus, major virtutibus atque loquela Melliflua tibi quam donavit suada Latina. Miraris moestus cur intra quatuor annos, Ʋxores tibi fata duas in flebile mortis Imperium rapuere? stupenti mente revolvis, Tecum, cur intra lustrum thalamus tuus orbus Bis sit, qua caasa cogaris vivere solus? Nil tamen est cur attonito Clarissime Langham. Expendas animo fati decreta, Deique Consilium sapiens quod sacra agitare marita Te prohibet nimium mirere, Hymeneia festa, Transivere cito, paucisque potitus es annis.

Queis tibi subsidium Numen donarit amatae Ʋxoris, quia nimirum meliore potiri. Vita digna erat uxorum utraque. Poma videre est, Decidere arboribus cum sunt matura, quid ergo Miri est si uxores ambas discedere mundo Videris, aeternae matura erat utraque vitae. Praeterea quae sunt in terris summa, necesse est In pejus ruere ac retro sublapsa reserri: Pancratica si quis fruitur valetudine, parte Ex omni incolumis sanusque, incesset acerbus. Morbus eum pinguesque cito populabitut artus, Febris, sic cum quis foelix est atque beatus In terris quantum sors fert mortalis, iniquum Adversumque illi casum fortuna minatur. Nil ergo mirum tibi contigit, aura secunda Afflabat tibi, te vultu spectare sereno Sors dignabatur, planè tibi nulla negarat Illorum vitam quae possunt reddere amoenam. Dives erat, clarus doctrina & mactus honore, * 1.3 Missus ab Augusta fueras civitate Britanni, Quae caput est orbis, qua vix ingentior ulla est In toto mundo-quo ipsius nomine posses. Omnia magnanimo vovere beata Monarchae, Sub cujus tremit imperiis & laeta triumphat Anglia, quando ovaas Belgarum solvit ab oris, Ʋt posset natale solim liberare Tyrannis, Sub quibus ingemutt saevos tolerando lahores, Angligentsque suis dominari legibus aequis. Gaudens inde novo cumulatus honore redisti, Cuncta videbatur tibi tum promittere fansta Fatum, sed subito letho tibi tollitur uxor, Quae nunquam laudata satis, quamquam monumentum Nobile fecit ei Reverendus Episcopus ille Nordovicum, quem relligio doctrinaque summa Commendant & qui sacrorum ex ordine Patrum, Esse merabatur quos fulgens infula vestit, Et quorum regitur prudenti Ecclesia cura, Placata dein sorte fuit tibi reddita conjux

Altera, quae potuit desiderium omne prioris Ex animo delere tuo, charaeque Mariae Te facere omnino immemorem, nam gloria sexus Faeminei dici poterat perfecta sue quantum Ʋlla sit inter eas quae gaudent lumine; sanè Elisabeta tua omnigeno splendore micabat Et quae faelices factunt, collectatenebat: Stemmate fulgebat quo vix illustrius ullum, Nata erat antiquo magnatum sanguine, vixit Nobilis ingenio, meritis, virtutibus atque Sincera pietate, ut deni que plurima paucis Dicantur, te dignafuit, Dignissime Langham, Illustrique sua p••oles dignissima Matre. Verum cheu mundus tam praeclara hospite dignus Non fuit, illa ideo lumen vitale reliquit, Ac ipso vere aetatis sua fata subivit. Haec equidem mors est inconsolabile vulnus Si carnem auscultes; verum si credere verbo Divino placeat, nulla est tibi causa doloris, Nec vano decorare ipsius funera fletu Debes, quippe nefas illam dubitare beatam Esse; aeternos coelorum transivit in orbes Et nostras fugit tenebras ut lumine vero Se impleret, possetque sequens convexa Tonantis In coelum quo digna fuit quodque anxia votis Optabat recipi atque choris permista beatis, Collaudare Deum cujus flagrabat amore. J am Christum spectans qui nostra piacula demit Dulcia sepositis persentit gaudia curis, Jucundis ejus nunc gaudet amoribus, & jam Elizabeta * 1.4 suo Domino satiatur abundè, Omnia subsiliunt ejus praecordia, namque Non solum fruitur conspectu Virginis almae, Quae mundi Regem sub luminis edidit auras. Verum etiam aeterni soboles aeterna Parentis Obversatur ei summo fulgore coruscans: Sicque micans radiis quantis non fulget Olympus.

Nos dolet in terris tanta sub nocte jacere, Et nostras miserata vices nostros que dolores Expetit ut demum coelestia templa recepti Secum perpetuum Numen celebremus in aevum. En illam contemplor majestate verendam Summa, stellarum cinctam radiante corona Tempora, qua coram pallescunt lumina solis Aethereas inter mentes sanctas{que} cohortes Spirituum quos consummavit gratia Christi, E coelis ad te raptim haec in verba laquentem; O tu qui quondam vita lux unica nostrae, O conjunx o lim dilecte & nostra voluptas, Tecum vivebam foelix si terra beatos Possidet, & nostris nunquam benedicere taedis Non poteram thalamumque tuum laudare jugalem. Verum crede mihi nostrisque fidem addito dictis, Quam longè a terra distat domus inclyta coeli, Quantum mortales superat venerabile numen, Tantum subsidunt bona queis tecum potiebar Infra coelestis quam duco praemia vitae. In terris erat ampla domus, divesque supellex; Semper erat variis dapibus mea mensa parata; Otnari poteram gemmis auroque nitenti Veste, meis quod majus erat, tua colla lacertis Amplecti, tibi blanda dare oscula, mentis Arcanos sensus, imi penetralia cordis, Scire tui leges & fas & jura sinebant. Nunc vero o Conjux immensa palatia coeli Incolo, quae gemmas aurum Solemque serenum, Luce sua superant, in queis spectare triumphos, Atque trophaea * 1.5 crucis licet, & queis gloria tanta est Mente capi ut non possit: honos & sceptra thronosque Possideo nihil indiga: vero nectare, vera Ambrosia vescor, specie satiata Tonantis, Qui fons aeternus vitae est omnisque salutis Author: jam bysso pura, jam lumine amicta Incedo: Christus stirps vora Dei, Deus ipse J am sibi me vinclo voluit sociare jugali

Continuo ille mihi sua porrigit oscula, queis nil Gratius esse potest, coelorum denique cunctis Expansis adytis mihi sacra arcana recludit, Seque mihi indignae totum donare fruendum Non renuit. Quae causa ergo tot signa doloris In vultu esse tuo? cur pullo operiris amictu? Olim laetitiae dulces sub pectore motus Volvebas dum loeta fui frontem{que} serenam, Indueram, cur factum ut jam tibi dispar acerbo Corrumpas gemitu, quod terque quaterque beata Aerumnae vivam immunis, curisque soluta? Si me diligeres tacito sub pectore totus Gestires me fati ereptam legibus esse, Meque videre Patrem summum, qui temperat orbem, Et cujus visu capiuntur gaudia summa, Ergo age nulla tuo suspiria ducito corde Amplius & nullas moestas expromito voces, Contentus posito luctu tua tempora comple, Erigere & laetus certam tibi sume quietem, Donec coelestis potiaris praemia vitae. Haec dixit sacraque sua sic voce locuta est, Plura videbatur dictura, jubarque coruscum Descriptura tibi longè radiantis Olympi, Et quae in coelitibus videantur lumina, queisque J am rutilet radiis Christus dulcissimus ille Servatcr, quem Judaei, gens impia, quondam Affecere probris variis ac denique dura Morte peremerunt ut crimina nostra subiret. At vero meminit divinis vocibus auri Humanae prorsus ignotis esse loquendum, Exprimere ut posset dignè miracula coeli: Praeterea meminit sibi cum mortalibus aegris Versandum non esse, & se nunc agmina sancta Spirituum J'ovam celebrantum laude perenni, Se Christam se summum Numen habere sodales, Atque unà cum illis sibi perpetuo esse loquendum. Idcirco sic fata, silet Christique recumbet In gremium, sanctam penetrant ubi gaudia mentem, Clara ubi sunt illam sua gesta secuta, labore Omni ubi nunc expers meritarum encomia laudum

Personat usque Deo. Nunc ergo maxime Langham, Expendas tibi moeroris num causa spersit Ʋlla, an tristitia oppressum decurrere vitam? Non te dedeceat? Macta esto, triumphat amata In coelis tua conjux, menti ipsius imago, Sancta tuae cum aderit vide ne suspiria corde Eliciat, potius divino pectus amore Incendat, mentemque tuam ad coelesti a tollat, Te desiderio suminaque cupidine totum, Impleat, olim ingentia coeli tecta videndi, Aeternoque Deum Patrem Dominumque canendi, Qui solo nutu mundi moderatur habenas, Quemque acies superum slammantes semper adorant, Et cui laus debetur, honos & gloria in aevum.

Sic pientissimae Heroinae manibus Parentebat tui nominis ac virtutum Cultor Humilimus D' Primirosius, Ecclefiae Londino-Gallicae Minister.

Epitaphium,

SIste viator iter, justa est tibi causa morandi, Spectare ut possis signatum hoc carmine saxum. Hic posita est mulier quae si Solomonis in aevo, Luce potita esset, judaeorum inclytus ille Princeps non esset conquestus quod sibi frustra Foe mineo in sexu sapiens quaesita fuisset Foe mina. Quippe in ea doctrina fidesque micabant, Dotibus heroicis, pollebat, origine clara, Dignis qua sata erat, miranda modestia cunctos Ipsius mores ornabat. Noscere si vis Illam, ipsi fuit Elisabeta Hastingia nomen.

IN PERPETUAL MEMORY Of the Most RELIGIOUS, TRUELY NOBLE, and VERTUOUS LADY, ELISABETH: WIFE to Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Knight.

I.

A Thousand times I try'd, but all in vain, Me thoughts my Verse came on but slow, And that which us'd to be all wing, could hardly go, I could not close one happy Strain, But e're it was half done, begun again.

At last, in rage, this once, said I, And but this once, whether it do, or no, I'll try; And all my aides I summon'd in, And bid them all their Treasures bring, Judgment, Invention, Art and Wit, Those to obey, and that as Queen to sit; With all the Offspring of the Brain, And all the numerous train Of quick Conceipts, that fancy breeds, or Poets feigne.

II.

I call'd, but could make none to heare, Nor Wit, nor Judgment would appeare, Fancy it self, till then my Tyrant, drew not near. Yet still I waited, till at last In stead of these, my Muse came in With Beauties, that I n'ere before had seen, Beauties, I dare not venture to express, Beauties, which words would make but less, And gently by me would have past, But never to return again, Whilst I the Vision wisht might longer last, And follow'd, more to make it so, then to complain. But as I that too, thought t' have done, And told my wrongs, e're she was gon, With eyes that spoke more pitty, then disdain, My Muse prevented mine, and thus her speech be∣gan.

III.

"What could'st thou hope amidst the Learned Crowd "Of Votaries that come, "With more then common service, to this tomb, "As if thy whispers could be heard, & they so lowd. "Go seek some other, whom thy Verse may raise, "Her Virtues are above thy Praise,

"Nor there can needed be "Where all already hath been said, "By them that knew Her, as she honoured is by thee "The living to instruct, or praise the Dead, "Yet her Own laurells, more then theirs have crown'd her Head. "To tell the Glories of her Name, "The Families she joyn'd, and whence she came, "Her Learning, or Her Piety "The Saint she was, and what shee's gon to be, "How little here she left unknown, "What she acquir'd, or what was born her Own, "The Languages she understood, "The best of all, and all that they had good, "The French, Italian, and the Tongue "Tully declam'd in, and great Maro sung, "Which Rome scarce half an age did see, "And longer Mistriss of the World could be, "Then Queen of that, yet never purer spoke than she, "These are above thy humble flight, "Whom meaner subjects better fit, "Only the Muse, that taught her how to speak, her praise can write.

IV.

"That shall my Province be, and her great name "I will enroll i'th' lasting Monuments of Fame; "Amongst my learned Daughters, who have been "The Honour of the Age they flourisht in; "And whom to Heaven I have preferr'd, "That thence, with greater awe they might be heard, "Like Thunder, both command attention, and be feard.

"I will immortall make her, I, who gave "Eternity to them, whom she admir'd; "My Priests, who triumph o're the grave "With a less heat, then hers, by me inspir'd. "Still in my sacred Rolls they live, "And all, but their own virtues, shall survive; "When proudest Sepulchers must dye, "And though they Heav'n and Age defie, "Low, as the putrid Ashes that they cover, ly. "They live, and all enjoy eternal day, "Which shall more glorious grow, and bright "By this addition of new light, "When she shall be a Sun, as well as they. "For so I'll make Her, not a Star, "As Caesar only was, and Heroes are "But a bright Sun, that shall below 2 "Its flames above, and all its influence bestow. 2 "You wrong Her if you think shee's dead "For she ne're liv'd till now.—This having said "The Muse in hast withdrew, and I inclin'd my head.

Sam. Woodford.

In Obitum Honorabilis Dominae, Dominae ELISABETHAE, JACOBI LANGHAM, Equitis Aurati conjugis praecharissimae, im∣maturum, quae quinto Calend. April. novissimè dilapso fatis concessit.

QƲi multae proavos ostentat imaginis, omni Virtutis propriae nomine saepe caret. Nobilis haec Domina insignes matresque patresque, Enumerat plures, extrahit undè genus. His ornata licèt, licèt ornatissima, cum sit Singula Regali sanguine vena tepens. Hujus opus tamen, hujus honos, apprendere Christum, Hinc sacra fit vitae pagina norma suae. Hinc praeteztatum pectus virtutibus auctum; Hinc quoque caelesti verba referta sale. Vita interstinctis quasi floribus insitus Hortus: Divite decursus messe refectus Ager. Tanta penes totum diffusa est gratia gestum, Ʋt nisi quod laudes, dicat agatve nihil. Tempora deficerent, si singula dicere tentem, Omnia, sunt meritis metra minora suis.

Mortua sed nunc est, quid dixi? mortua vivit, Vivet apud Dominum, tempus in omne Deum: Scilicet huic mors est liber status absque labore, Nullum ubi peccatum, sed mora labis inops.

Aliud Brevius.

SPonsam permittunt hanc tantum fata, sed ultra Vivere, & in terris usque manere negant. Talia, quae lux haec profert, spectacula monstrant, Rebus in humanis stansve moransve nibil. Ast simul ac Nati ferè, cogimur ire, redire, Nex ubi perpetua est, & sine fole Dies.

Thomas Martyn.

In Obitum ELISABETHAE LANGHAM, Insignis Nobilitatis Dominae, charissimae, JACOBI LANGHAM Equitis aurati, conjugis.

TRistia fata cano, cecidit flos Nobilis, eheu: Casta viro conjux, Docta, Modesta, Pia. Ossa Sepulchra tenent, animam caelestia Regna. Haec cinis: in cinerem tuque redactus eris.

Omnia vana fluunt terrestria. Gratia gratos, Sola Deo reddit, sola petenda tibi. Corpus parturiit corpuscula nulla, sed ingens Fructus adest animae; qui super astraviget. Non moritur sterilis, virtutum prole refulgens, Divini quas nunc ubera lactis alunt.

Vox Coeli.

SEal up thy Springs of Tears, my Dear Relict; With mournful sighs, no more thy Soul afflict. Weep not for me, but for thy selflament; With Holy Faith prepare for Heav'ns ascent. Whence spring thy Tears? that I behold Gods face? And reap the joy-fruits of my Saviours Grace? Is't love to me? then why, why does it grieve thee, That by this blest retreat, God does relieve me? Was I not born to dye? and when Death strikes, Shall that expected stroak draw forth such shrikes? What is my gain thy loss? my Joy, thy Sorrow? My Weal, thy woe? away, away, to Morrow Thou and thy Branches shall be planted here, Bove storms and Winters, free from Care and Fear. Oh dwell on this, for this provide: thy Lamp Trim with pure oyl; thy Soul with Grace new stamp Instead of cryes for my remove, make hast, Me to o'retake, and let not Tears run wast. Hast off rough Seas into the Hav'n of rest. Who soonest quit's this World, is soonest blest. What may not God fetch home his loan? and must Heav'n stoop to Earth? God's Rights to Mortals lust? If bad I seem'd, rejoyce thy ills are fled; If good, Joy, Joy, that I'm lodg'd in Christs bed.

Act Gratitude for thy enjoyment of me: This and not murmur is expected of thee. Bless God, who bless'd thee with so meet a mate; First serv'd thy hearts delight with this Rich Cate, And last himself, don't this content? then hither Ascend my Dear, and Joy we all together. Where both shall God, and God shall both enjoy, And both each other, where nought can annoy, Or part our blest embraces, pant, fly, mount, Enter Heav'ns Pallace: where we may recount Fresh Joys Sans measure, where ith' bed of Honour We'll sollaces exchange, and praise the Donour. Till then adieu, my Dear. Heav'ns Anthems hollow, Which call me off, & mundane thoughts up swallow.

Blest is the Death, that dyes into bless'd Life: Where Christ and Saints grow one, as Man & Wife. Vertue enobles: Grace on high blood graft; That Crowns with Glory, makes a polish'd shaft. Transcendent strains surmount my shallow reach, To flourish I aspire not, but to teach.

L. Goodrick.

To the PIOUS MEMORY Of the RIGHT HONOURABLE And no less Religious LADY The Lady ELLIZABETH, Wife to Sir JAMES LANGHAM. Who was marryed to that worthy per∣son, November 20. 1662. and dyed great with child, March 28. 1664.

FAith now or never help us; See what storms We are surpriz'd with, Thus Heav'n deals with Worms, Mounts them on pinacles of bliss, and thence Dashes them on the shelfs of Providence: Peace fretful murmurs, We should wrong the Saint Her self, should we wrong Heav'n by our complaint,

For Heaven is just; at least wee'l Rest in this Our loss makes up her gain, Our woes her bliss: But it was no surpize Heaven had forbore Her presence long, and Angels waited for Her flight—While here she staid could not we see That purer sparkle of Divinity. Her soul still towring upwards to the sphere Of blessedness, whence we might justly fear Earth could not keep her long; while here she shin'd Had we but mark't how her seraphick Mind Reach'd at perfectiou: How she us'd to dress Her Soul with graces; we might eas'ly guess It was a holy plot 'twixt Heaven and her To rob us of our joys. Her Heav'nly Dear, Wanting his Spouse, loses her marriage tie That she might come and live with him on high: 'Twas unto him her Vows were given ere Her Nuptial contracts here confummate were; And (whilest that little time in happiest bands Of wedlock she remain'd) yet her heart stands Fast to its former vows, and still she longs With earnest throbbings and unwearied pangs Of Love to finish those endearments she Had here begun in an Eternity Of Blessedness. Alas we thought when Heaven Had join'd this Noble pair, and freely given Pledges of bliss to each (unparel'd blisse Too great for my weak fancy to express) When we consider'd that same Harmony Of Minds, & hearts that chim'd their joys, whereby Two Heav'nly souls entwin'd in one great flame Of love: how we could wish that we could frame A Tabernacle for them, to inclose Their joices, and keep them in a long repose;

But she, that better knew the world than we, And knew where lay their true felicity, Seeing our Mistakes, and fearing we should wrong God and our souls, withdraws out of the throng Of friends and steals to Heaven; puts out the blaze Of all our joies and leaves us in a Maze. Could those indearments be so suddenly Cut of that linked hearts with such a tie! Would not Heav'n pity those same groans & tear That needs must follow such a loss. Ah! here's Great Love unseen; Our losses are our gain Oft-times when our enjoyments prove our bane: God can afford us comforts, but lest we Should surfeit, calls them back, that he might be Our chief desire and aim, this likewise knew That precious Saint who therefore hence withdrew Her self to Heaven, least such satiety In time should draw them to Idolatry. With what a servent holy jealousie Kept she her Vows to Christ! fearing lest she, Blessing her Nuptial state at any time With too much love, should fail in loving him: Thus ever tender of that Union That link't them both to God, she strives to drown The current of their loves and joies together In Loves true Fountain, Christ the fairest Lover. Methinks I hear her chide the Ardencie Of his affection, fearing lest that he Should wrong his God by too much loving her; Sith Christ admits of no Competitor. And lest he should (alas how could he do But love her where so much love was due) She leaves him, flies to Heav'n; then calls, My Dear And bids him if he lov'd her seek her there.

Well She is gon; But Markt we how she went Home to Her Joyes: A Pursivant was sent, That like Elijah in a Coach of Fire, Mounted her Spirit to the Holy Quire, Of Angels; there she Rests: Yet ere she went, We might perceive her Face that Firmament Of Beauty spread with stars hiding its light; Then we Began to bid our Joyes Good night, We knew our Sun was set and left us here To shine more Brightly in a higher sphere.

With her refulgent Rays while this our Sun, Glorify'd our inferiour Horizon: Those her Magnetick Beams (her Graces) Drew The love of all unto her that but knew, What Goodness meant; Those Exhalations, Whilst she was rising, follow'd her but once: Clouded and set dissolve again and Pow'r, Themselves on Earth again in a Briny show'r.

But Loose we thus the Phoenix of our Age Without succession; Had we not a Gage, A Pledge from Heav'n of one that should survive; And keep her precious memory alive: Or was that Dust so sacred that the young Rather than take a Resurrection, Should be content to Mingle't with its own? Earth was not worthy, Heav'n was Greedy to Possess so Rich a Purchase, both must go To Glory, Root & Branch, Whilst the glad Mother With One hand reaches at her Crown, the other Presents her foetus, with whose Innocence, Unsullyed yet by Earth, the Blessed Prince Of Purity delighted, Crowns it with a Brighter Crown than others. Thus the death,

Of Both gives them a glad deliverie From present and succeeding miserie; Leaving behind her all those pangs and throws She should have felt, to be supplyed by those, That big with Love, now suffer pangs of grief, And sorrows for their sister, daughter, Wife, And Friend. Yet may her precious memory Produce some sweeter fruits than these, to be Arguments of our Love; May we so live As she: So learn to grow in grace, and thrive In goodness; So t' improve our golden hours, So to deny our selves and what is ours To win a Christ, So to despise the Vain Honours and pleasures of the world to gain A Crown of Glory. So to love, as she, First God, and then our friends; (so charity In her kept to its rule) to imitate Those lustres that proclaim'd her truly great, Her Faith, Devotion, and Humility, Her meekness, sweetness, pity, charity And Love; Thus to imbalm her memory Serv's better far than tears. And thus to do After this life may make us happy too.

R. Tuke.

To the RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM IN MEMORY Of his most VERTUOUS LADY, The RIGHT HONOURABLE, The Lady ELISABETH,

AS is my Subject, such my Verse should be, Grave, sober, modest, full of Piety, Noble, yet humble, ev'ry way compleat, Would this my mirrour were but half so neat. Had I but wit and words, great as her name, All had commanded been to serve the same.

I want, a golden pen from Angels wing To write, their heav'nly notes, to sing Her praise: In whom vertue and greatness strove To make her merit reverence, and Love. Streams of most Royal Bloud did fill her veins, Yet she did boasting check with golden reins Of humble prudence. To the King of of Kings Ally'd by grace: That lasting honour brings. England's Elisabeth and Suffolks Jane, (Each Phoenix of her sex and age, those twain, Whose vertues, learning, crown'd their glor'ous Names Were match't by her, whose worth all others shames. But death both Saints and Princes doth controwl, And at the Cistern breaks the silver bowl. Could not thy dearest friends prevent their fears With all their potency of pray'rs and tears! Must all fall under deaths imperial stroke? Alas! alas! the word by deed is spoke. Were it not heresie, my heart could wis' A pythagorean metempsychosis: But such a metamorphosis would rob Her of glory, and bring her back to sob With us, who in this vail most mournfully Ly humbl'd under sin and misery. Rest then in bliss, and let us quiet rest With what's now done: for what God doth is best. We wish our souls with her's; and is it love To wish her soul below, and ours above? She was so soon, so wonderfully grown Above her self and all that here is known, That soon she was prefer'd and fixt on high, Above our sphere, to look like Majesty.

This earthly mould was not of comprehension, Th' impress desir'd, deserved more extension. This straitned tent could not contain her soul; Her heart to Heaven flew up and then did toll Her after it, to take desir'd possession Of that blest mansion here she had in vision.

(Most Worthy Sir) my Web's homespun indeed, A levidense with a gouty thread: A garb too coarse, to cloath your Ladies name, Therefore I fear, I shall derive your blame. I wish 'twere better, for I do impart, By this same symbole, symptoms of my heart. Such as it's I it present; it take Not for the Author's own, but Objects sake: Who dy'd once, yea twice, to die no more, Rose once, to rise, to live an endless score Of lives, by myriads to Eternity; To samplar us, that we so live, so die.

Rich. Hook.

P. M. S. Honoratissimae Heroidis ELISABETHAE Langham, &c.

FLete oculi & largos lacrymarum effundite rivos, Cordaque non fictus contrahat agra dolor, Ora tegat pallor, torpescat lingua, manusqne Dediscat cythara ludere dulce melos; Sed discat moestum moestissima tundere pectus, Edens occulti vulneris indicia. Sit procul à nobis cultus, laetaminis index; Hoc se ornent quos nil publica damna movent. Ferte citi vestes, queis circum vestiar, atras, Pullatum pectus dedecet alba toga. Heu! etenim patriae, sexus, aevique, domusq, Erepta est nobis Elisabetha, decus: Sponsi delitiae, desiderium{que} suorum, Solamen miseris, praesidium{que} bonis. Illa, inquam, cujus nuper connubia laeta Perfudere nova pectora laetitia. Occidit heu! terras{que} bomines{que} repente reliquit; Parvum interstitium est inter utram{que} facem. Quam brevia excipunt quam longi gaudia luctus, Ʋt nox longa brevi proxima solstitio est. Quantula votorum contingit portio nobis, Quanta mali moles nos inopina premit! Quam mera sunt adversa, insincerae{que} secundae Res, quam nostra hominum est lubrica prosperitas! Mundus hic immundus, ingloria gloria nostra, Illepidusque lepos, noster amaror amor. Scilicet hic nostris infixus mentibus error,

Quod nimium nobis exteriora placent; Atque aliquid quasi tentantes abradere rebus Ardentem unde queant corda levare sitim: Acrius ardemus, nimirum nostra cupido Fraenanda immodica est, & retinenda magis. Tandem igitur discamus to convertere mentes, Quo nos supremi vox vocat alta dei. Et cujus merito deflemus funus acerbum, Illius vitam factaque sancta sequi Contendamus. Ego vero quo carmine soler Cor aegrum & moerens, Inclyte sponse, tuum? Decreto aeterno patris parere necesse Cujus amorem in Te virga paterna docet. Hunc precor, ut Te constanti amplectatur amore, Ictuque absque gravi pectus ut Erudiat. Sponsam olim Tibi percaram signaverat antè Ipse sibi, donis, pignoribusque datis. Abstulit Ergo suum, tibi nulla injuria facta est, Ʋsus Jure suo est Arbiter Omnipotens: Cui, laus, obsequium, cui debita gloria soli, Cujus ad arbitrium, hic nascitur, ille perit. Hoc nobis sit opus, semel ista ut luce renatae Dilectae nunquam, bis percant Animae.

Mortua & Foelix alloquitur Amicos.

Veneranda Mater, sponse{que} suavissime, Frater, sorores, cari amici, quid tument Lacrymis ocelli? quidve singultus, sonos Querulos, frequentes ore pallido intersecant? Fugit renidenti ore cur risus, genis Rubedo, & omne gaudium vultu exulat? Carent lepore verba, cultui atque ahest Solitus honos, muta lyra est, ingratum melos?

Respondent.

Heu! luget, amissam parens tua filiam, Dulcisque conjux eonjugem, Te, singulae Cum fratre dilecto sorores in gemunt, Moerent amici, si peris, qui gaudeant?

Respondet iterum.

O caeca corda fragilium mortalium! Men' vos perisse dicitis? vivo procul A foece purgata omnium terrestrium; Melior superstes pars erit semper mei, Quam dente nigro mors ferox nunquam petet, Quam non senectus carpet, aut aetas teret. Egressa terris altiorem intro locum, Faelix quiesco, functa cunctis casibus. Mutate, mando, luctum acerbum gaudio; Multis procellis libera, & multis malis, Portum attigi, & puris fruor tandem bonis: Non est amici, rebus invidere, aequi, Florentibus, suorum: iniqui Judices! Morbum saluti, bella, si pacis bonis, Praeponitis; vel si lahorem ducitis Durum, quiete dulci amabilem magis, Poenam voluptate, atque inopia copia, Securitate antiquius periculum, Si dedecus praeponderare gloriae; Miseria si bonitate dulcior. Ergo; alma mater, sponseque suavissime, Frater, sorores, cari amici, discite Colere, alacres, perennem nostri memoriam: Metam & malorum à morte speretis, modo Christo marito nupta sit foelix anima.

Tho. Dominel.

ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, The LADY ELIZABETH LANGHAM.

THough the just Prayses of her House would be, Things nobler, than the handsom'st Flattery Ascribes to Others; since no Soul from Hence E're rose; but Liv'd Example or Defence Unto his Country, and nor any Name In the whole Race needs lean upon the Fame Of a great Ancestor; yet to this Tomb No pompous brag of Pedigree does come, Nor any Hist'ry of her Princely Blood, Writ big, to make the rest o'th' Epitaph good. She that outwent all Old, does claim New praise: And is't not due? the Vices of the Dayes She counterpoiz'd, though fresh ones hourly grew, With Vertues both as Many and as New;

So that we saw Religion did begin, At length to be on equal terms with Sin. She shew'd it was (whilest Other Arts do thrive) No dull and unadvancing One to Live. Nothing in Her was granted, nought deriv'd, Her Graces sweetly Flowing, not contriv'd. How did she Live! Not like dull Souls, that feel No Life or Spirit, but like a heavy Wheel Turn by Example, only or by Passion, Are implicitely vertuous, good in Fashion. Those Crimes, which weekly with rude heat we see, Or unconvincing stifness chidden be, Her Manners did so nobly reprehend, That by Her Actions all our Lives did mend: Ev'ry of which was so exempt from blame, She might on any One trust her whole Fame; Yet such Her Piety, that on them All, She would not bear her Conscience. O how small And limited were Her Indulgencyes To life, who scarce durst ever tast of Ease. Touch't but not Dwelt with Pleasures: no hour spar'd To Sleek her Life; it was severe and hard: Not outward or affected, whilest within The Soul lyes rioting in sloath and sin. Like a sowr Vot'ry, at whose Cell's grim Door, In publique notice layes her bloody store, Engines of sullen Penitence, whilest she Lyes snorting in her stall of Luxury. But she not needs that loathsome Vice stand by, To mend her Form: she's seen to every Eye By Her own Light, which flowes upon the sense, And dazles all our weak intelligence.

She, that liv'd thus, without the smalle st pause, To spoyle it by contriving Vain Applause.

She that was Great and Noble without thought Of being so, and never poorly bought Renown by little Ambushes of Good, Concea'ld, on purpose to be understood. She that being grown in every One so high, Could use so many Vertues rev'rendly; Enjoy'd so much of Heaven, by such Grace, She dy'd for mere distinction of the Place.

Samuel Willes.

A Monsieur Le Chevalier Jaques Langeham: Sur la mort de La Tres Noble, Tres Illu stre, & Tres Ver∣tueuse Madame Elisabeth sa Chére MoitiÉ—

LEs plus cuisans mal-hours trouuent allegement, Apres que le deuoir a rendu sagement Tout ce que l'amitie demande à la Nature: Mais lors que mon Esprit songe a vous consoler, Contre les sentimens d'v-ne perte si dure: Plus ie suis prepare, moins j'ay dequoy parler.

Je scay bien que vòtre ame touiours robuste & saine Auéeques son discours à combatu sa peine, Et qu'elle a seurèment treuvè sa Guerison; Y tascher apres vovs on nele peut sans Blasme: Car ie ne pense pas qu'on treuve enla Raison Que ce que vous treuvez mesmes dedans vostre ame.

Ne vous aigrisses plus d'vn chagrin si recent Que votre ame entraitant d'ennuy ce qu'elle sent; Pour sa Chere Compagne sans cesser ne soupire. Ainsi son Entretien ne vous serarendu Mais Le Ciel consolant vos pertes d'vn Empire, Vous donnera, vn jour plus que n'auez perdu.

I. D. dG.

IN Illustrissimam Heroinam, ELISABETHAM LANGHAM, Quae gravida obiit.

MEns pia luce mera radiosa perennat Olympo: Haec, bis nata solo; terque beata polo. Bina perillustri tumulantur Corpora tumba: Embryo, Matre sua; Mater & ipsa, sua. Mira bipartito memorantur Facta libello: Et quae non capiat, commemorare licet.

Idem contractius.

Corpora, Facta, Animam, capit, Urna, Volumen, Olympus, Bina, Serena, piam, tristis, Manuale, Refulgens.

S. M. Ʋt prius.

Anagramma

ELISABETHA LANGHAMIA

Ah! hei! Magna illa abest.

Analysis.

AH est dolentis utique pectoris sonus, Et HEI similiter ingemiscentis tonus. Utrumque Pulchrè convenit negotio Praesentis instituti, & aptè funebris Solennitatis exprimit tristes notas. Ʋbi ILLA MAGNA Herois & Miraculum Praesentis Aevi flentibus nobis ABEST. Quis non in isto flebili casu miser Salsas in ipsas solveretur lachrymas, Praesens & illam condolens absentiam Lugeret hisce voculis AH, HEI gemens!

CHRONOGRAMMA ELIsabetha LanghaM nobIs abLata Deo VIVIt. EPIGRAMMA.

CƲr impotenti conquerimur modo? Ʋltrave metas plangimus invidi? Ablata nobis chara Langham Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.

Posthac amictus tollite fordidos. Vultusque tandem ponite squalidos Ablata nobis chara Langham Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit

Ducat chorae as spirituum chorus ovent beati coelitus Angeli. Ablata nobis chara Langham Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.

Qui vultis illa perpetuo frui Ipsi supernas scandite semitas Ablata nobis chara Langham Elisabetha Deo (ecce) vivit.

T. H. ut priùs.

FINIS.

Upon the DEATH Of the LADY ELIZABETH, Wife to Sr JAMES LANGHAM, Daughter to FERDINANDO, Earl, and LƲCY, Countess of HƲNTINGDON.

COuld Noble Birth command Impartiall Death, Or court him to prolong this vitall Breath; A feaver had not scorch't those veins, where met The Blood of Hastings and Plantagenet.

If Beauty could have mov'd unto remorse, Or charm'd, with pow'rfull spells, the conqu'rors force, Those cheekes had sav'd her, where united were The Roses both of York and Lancaster.

If Vertues self, or Miracles could have done, She had liv'd still; for she her self was One. Vertue it self's Immortal; But alass The Vertuous in the Mortall croud must pass.

Her Husbands Riches wee'll not think upon, (His Mines in present, or Reversion) As being Richer in his Lovely Bride, Yet Death her snatch't from his unwilling side:

Nor yet those Treasures of a Nobler Mine, Which make him in the van of Learning shine: His Parts could not (Immortall though they be) Prolong his better Part's Mortality.

But why presume I to eclipse her Rayes Wronging Perfection with Imperfect Praise? Praises that fall below their subjects worth, Deface, and darken, what they should set forth.

To speak her Praise, her Husbands Tongues, and those Which her Incomparable Mother knowes, (Which are the Moderne and the Learned too) Are each of them too weak, and all too few:

Onely this comfort we have by the By; More Sweetness cannot live, and Goodness Dye: Nor shall the World again, in any one Lament the Loss of more Perfection.

She and her Spouse, in Life, chang'd mutual flames, Death should have chang'd her & her Mothers names: For had her Name been Lucy, 't had been right, Lucy the shortest Day, and longest Night.

See what terrestriall Constellations are! A Blazing now, and then a Falling starr! But Stars that set must rise again: for she Sleepes but to wake during Eternity.

Subscripsit Jo. Joynes.

Fecit Tristitia Versum.

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL Sir JAMES LANGHAM, Upon the DEATH of his most Ver∣tuous, and Matchless LADY, The RIGHT HONOƲRABLE The LADY ELISABETH.

WHat clammy Stygian Fog! What Chaos hurl'd O're every Climat of this Little World! Dark Soul!—Benighted thus!—Not one faint Ray From the Bright Orb of Light, to let in Day! All Hung with Blacks!—No Phoebus to inspire A Lab'ring Phant'sy, with Po etick Fire!

Light up the Virgin-Tapers;—Let me see, By those pale Flames, to write an Elegy. "('Tis much to see how in a Tragick Part, "A wounded Eye will make a Bleeding Heart!) There lies the Noble Corps;-Stand nigh the Hearse, And ('spight of all the Muses) Mourn a Verse. What though their Springs be Frozen!-Grief shall be An Over-flowing Hippocrene to Me. I'le Bathe in Tears;-And still fetch New Supplies Of Sorrow, from the Torrents of my Eyes.

Shall Noblest Blood,—Shall Saint-like Piety, Shall Humble Greatness,—Virgin-Modesty; Shall Un-Exampl'd Goodness, Wisdome, Parts, Shall Learned Skill in Languages, and Arts, Shall Honour, Sweetness, Meekness, Beauty, Youth, Shall Spot-less Innocence,—and Naked Truth, Shall Pure Devotion,—Shall Seraphick Love, (Scarce Understood—but by blest souls above) Shall all the Vertues,—all the Graces lie Enshrin'd with this Great Lady!—And shall I Be un-concern'd at this great Funeral! First Self-Revenge, and Indignation shall (In spight of Fate) make me Poetical. I must not thus ungrateful be (Dear Sir) Though, all I write, but serves to lessen Hir. And (might I plead excuse for such Neglect) 'Tis:—Her Sublimity, and my Defect. My weak-nerv'd Eyes will not confront the Sun; Nor Leaden Heels his rapid course out-run; I ne're could stride the Ocean with a Span, Nor,—with my finews cramp Leviathan: No more is't possible for Human Praise, On That exalted Head, to plant the Bayes. This—is a Task for Angels,—and the Quire Of Essences, compos'd of Light and Fire. The great admir'd Apelles ne're could think To paint the Glaring Noon-day Sun with Ink. But,—May not This Bright Sun reflected be, By Muddy shallow pudles, to the Eye? 'Tis true indeed;—And such is That Reflex, From us, on This Great Mirrour of her Sex: Grand-Childe of Kings,—Branch of the Royal Stem, And—Orient Sparkle of the Diadem!

Great Huntingdons Faire Daughter, faire as Light, With all resplendent Beauties shining-bright, Daz'ling, with Beams of Glory, Human sight! 'Tis She,—Bright off-spring of Great Lueia, That scatter's Darkness,—and restores the Day, Where She appear's;—Nor can our Hemi-sphere Boast of a more refulgent Foemal Peer: 'Tis She,—The Dearest Consort (late) and Life To Him, the best deserving Such a Wife, The Noble Langham,—Whose Magnetique Soul Tremble's—and Hovers toward the Starry Pole, Where Shee's on high ascended,—Nor can be Yet pacify'd,—without Her Companie: 'Tis She,—the Great Eliza,—Hastings nam'd, Yet-more for Goodness, than for Greatness Fam'd: 'Tis She my Verse should Treat of—But in vain, I see, it is, to row against the Main; And therefore here,—Draw or'e a Veil I must Of Sable Silence,—and Weep o're Her Dust.

Haec serio, quamvis sero, Et Madens adhuc Lachrymis Genas, Conquestus est Ʋtrius{que} tum Nobilissimae Hastingiorum, tum Am∣plissimae Langhamiorum Familiae.

Cultor Devotissimus Ferd. Archer.

Upon the Much deplored DEATH Of the TRULY RELIGIOUS And RIGHT HONOURABLE The Lady ELISABETH LANGHAM.

Epicedium intempestivè maestum.

THough Fun'ral Rites be done, The Sermon past; The Corps interr'd, the blessed Soul at rest: Cancel not Homage, though it speak so late; This Subjects-worth, ne're speaks it out of date. Nor can plain Dialect implead that Verse, Inflam'd with Rhetorick, from such an Hearse; Speak to the height of worth, and when we can Expresse no more, Her Name's the Vatican: But more pure Lines, and Lectures, here do lie Urn'd in this Ectype of Divinitie, Than Volumes now can teach, or mortals find, Wait 'till you come to Heaven, then read her mind. Transcribe we may, the Jewels Casque a little, But to the Pearl it self, bequeath no Tittle; Our muddy thoughts, would wrong what grace now crowns And work, instead of Plaudits, shameful frowns. Look not upon Seraphick-Spirit in Throne, 'Till tears be quite dissolved, Then look on, Which will not be (I think) 'till that time come, That man needs write no Epicedium.

Though at this sacred Shrine, some pious pay Of Tears devoted to that solemn day Have offered been, and some spent all their store; Yet, Time have had since then to gather more, Stock their Eie-vessels, in each Channel'd Vein With drops in Zeal, to weep her o're again. And must that stand for all? No, when that's gone To Ages; say, the mourning's but begun; When the salt-springs of Nat'ral tears are dry'd Up; And (in course) the mourning's laid aside; (Which (as to Fate) hath seldom been from hence, 'S if Heav'n had fix'd Blacks for Inheritance.) Despair not of an Artful Train, whose Hearts, In sable-sadnesse, will lament their Parts; And if that fail, the Rural sort will sing Their doleful Anthems to this gratious Thing. If any Bankrupt be, of Grace, and sorrow, Make bold (of those who are full stockt) to borrow; Trade in some tears and sighs; here such worth lies, To which thou ow'st the tribute of thine eies, That when thy self art dead, there may remain Some, that for this, will pay thee tears again. Let's not delay the time, where have ye laid This pretious Piece? Is this the vaulted shade Famous for what it holds? This is that Tomb, Whose ev'ry single dust in its cold Womb, Speaks louder worth, and is of value more, Than Mines of Potasie, and Ganges shore: Far Richer, is this Odour, than had all The Eastern Gardens spic'd Her Funeral; And to the consecrated ground, we'l add This, that her body here lies buried. Light up a Torch, whose beams may blaze as far, (As doth the portent or strange bearded-star)

To summon ev'ry Eie to come and see How Heav'n hath acted us, to Tragedie. But stay a while, until your thoughts can bring Consigned goodnesse for an offering; First read this Table, then unlock your eies, And drop your spirits into Elegies; So vast, so good, so fair, so full a Theam, Calls for a Cherubs quill, or Phoebus beam.

Tabella incondite sculpta.

Draw not too nigh, least you offend those Laws, Wherewith this Sepulcher affection awes; Dread to molest that sacred Ghost, whose soul Abjur'd the very name of Vain and Foul. What rude attempter ever durst advance Her presence, without check of countenance? The sliest stratagem, that Vice could plot, Felt the strong working of her Antidote. If in discourse, the least mistrust did lie, She stopt the rise with quick antilogie. Vertue stood sentinel, at ev'ry sense, Repulst assaults with Divine influence. They who did read her Phisnomy aright, Could not but read true Honours Margarite. Devote in Closet, yet in Chamber free To sweet Converse; Low in her high'st degree: Nothing indeed in her extract did shine, But what was truly noble and Divine. To run all Graces o're in short transact, Were, but t'epitomize, her fuller act; To speak them one by one, were but in vain, The project of whose soul's the Counterpain. She was the Cittadel, and center'd all That we can either Good, or Gracious call.

Nature, Art, Grace contesting; gently striv'd Which of them had her more embelished; At length admiring all, they cease the strift For her, in whom all had their equal thrift. This threefold Fabrick, so compos'd in one, Man could not judge which had Dominion; The last, was that indeed, which seem'd to sway, And Crown her morals, to her dying day. Clotilda's dead, and so's Eudoxia, Mariamne likewise, and Pulcheria, Choice Ladies in their daies: without offence, (And fawning laid aside) here lies the sence, And meaning of them all; In finer mint By how much more, there's truth of Vertue in't. Mirrour of Ladies, Virgin, Wife, and Child, For ev'ry stage so congruously compil'd; 'Twas hard to tell, which was her nobler part, She acted all with such prudential Art. Flattery she hated, as that base result, Of worthlesse spirits; truth was her grand consult. (If Priest and People, do not flatter some, First falls a frown, then next their day of doom) What, some the Crest, she counted Pest of honour, They must speak truth, that any thing spake on her: Her beauty was her own; Nor needed more, Her amorous dressings, were for inward store. She left the gaudy Plumes and Paints, for those Decoy's, that have no other worth than clothes And face, like Pageants to be seen and shown, With those oft borrowed trappings, not their own. Let others trim their out-sides, she made sure To polish that, which Heav'n was toimmure. As she thus liv'd, so thus she left her breath, Making her dying life, her living death.

Tabellae Catastrophe sive Corollarium Elegiacum. Ask ye, why so small Grace i'th' world is found? 'Tis because so much Grace is here intomb'd; Surely she scarce had Peer, (nor scarce will have) But those who went before her to the Grave. 'Twas she made up the sacred number seven; All Saints on earth together, now Saints in Heav'n. What more contributes Glory upon earth Than t' nurse a Constellation every birth? And what more calms the spirit, when passions high Than signals, which make good this Charity. Wrong not my Faith; their honour'd Lord, though dead, Lives t' wear this seven-star'd Coronet on his head. Well, since to Heav'n, they all have made such hast, Let the rest longer stay, but go at last Where Hierarchies, will welcome them, with more Joy, than with grief, we can their losse deplore.

Epitaphium succincte digestum.

Tears are the common pledge, then to this fall Bring tears of mirrhe and balm, or none at all. Acquit the debt we cannot, for here lies That which we lost, but what we cannot prize. Disburse what store we can, the more we may And pay that o're again, we paid to day; Deposite to the utmost drop, yet still There's more behind, for what's invalu'ble: A richer Piece on earth, could we not find, Were it the pensil could pourtray the mind. But since with that, our eies can't here be blest, We'l draw the curtain; leave her to her rest.

Sic ex animo defleuit. Jo. Rosse.

TO THE SACRED And Spotless MEMORY OF THAT RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY, THE LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM DECEASED.

POets, and Priests were anciently ally'd So neere in blood, that one, same name did hide, Or rather signifie both Functions; and They still (like brethren) solemn mourners stand Here at this Noble Herse (th' imbalming's sweeter That's made of Preachers Prose, and Poets Meeter) Not for to add, but onely to proclame The Odor of her Vertues, and her Name; Which, now her earthen Case, or Box is broken, (Like the Nard Pistick in the Gospell spoken)

Fills not some private Room with fragrant smell, But sweetens, and delighteth all that dwell Within the Circuit of those neighb'ring places, That blest were with the perfume of her Graces: Who was as Good as Great, as Chast as Wise, Borne this debauched age for to chastise By her example; to teach Wives t'amend, And know their Husbands only for their friend; She bad our wanton Madams all, avant, With Paint, and Patches, and their high Ga-lant; Bad them, for shame of Womanhood, forbear Thus to outface chaste Vertue, and take care They shame not both the Pulpit, and the Stage To touch upon the ryots of this Age, Acting such horrid crimes, even at high noon, As none dare touch with Tongs,—but foul Lampoon. But when she saw these sulph'rous flames encrease In spight of Med'cins, neither quench nor cease; Loathing this black * 1.6 Seraglio, up she high's Into the Snowy * 1.7 Nunn'ry of the Sky's, Carry'd in fiery Char'ot fitt's her mind, ('Tis but her Mantle we have left behind) Where the great King of Vertues doth her grace, And thus bespeaks her in that blessed place— In Cassiopeia's Chaire, come, sit thee down, * 1.8 And on thy head weare Ariadnes Crowne. * 1.9 There with sweet peace, and joys Coelestiall Feast, blessed Soul; the Guerdon due to all Pure Hearts, that scorned to obey the sense, Like Vassalls to that Beast Concupiscence: For they, whose Spirits here did not incline To serve the Flesh like Bruits, are now Divine.

S. Bold.

Upon the Death of the RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM.

THe joy of Angels, whom the World beheld Like to a blazeing Pattern that exceld In shineing Vertues, and in Graces pure, Adorn'd with Modesty, that would endure The touchstone, and the test of heavenly fire: So dear, that Saints did her sweet soul admire.

Even she whose amiable Sanctity And chastest Amiableness did vie And far out-vie the vertuous Presidents Of ancient and of modern Matrons, Lent A lustre of most glorious Piety With faith and patience joyn'd in amity.

Even she whose life a perfect coppy wrote Of Righteousness cloath'd with an holy coate: Whose stedfast faith and patience did conspire By wisdome, holy zeal to set on fire: Who never thought her time was better spent, Then in his service, who her life had lent.

Even she whose lovely Glances did enthrall Her Dcarest's phancy, and engaged all Her to admire; and bless his happy Fate Within whose armes such peereless beauties sate. She lov'd her God, in him her Husband she Lov'd with a pure and holy chastitie.

Even she (who while below, did live above) Is gone to dwell with Christ, the God of Love. Her earthly Husband she hath left below, Her Husband-Maker now doth her bestow. The world hath lost a Coppy, he a Wife, Whose vertues cloath'd his Love with heavenly life.

Sure happy she. Then let true love aspire To bear that loss that perfects her desire; 'Twas here to serve her God in holy Love: In Glory then, to reign with him above. Long was she pressing, now the Marke hath hit, Press to the same, You may enjoy her yet:

If not after a carnal manner, yet With holy habits you your self may fit In time with her in heavenly place to fit. Have care no discontent your entrance let. Though loosers, as we pray, yet say we must, Thy Will be done, though our Joy lies in dust.

This Lady, and her high borne thoughts are flow'n Unto her heavenly kindred, doth them owne. Whose teeming womb shew'd she was loth to mount To her great God upon a singl account. Her noble birth you counted honour here, Out of Your bed two soules are honour'd there.

Your loss tis by her gaines quite weighed down, You want her presence, she hath gain'd a Crown: A Crown of endless Glory. Let that cheare Your drooping spirits. Seek to meet her there. Let her advancement be to you a pawne, That in her happiness your hopes do dawn.

Let Patience have her perfect work, so we Entire and perfect, lacking nought shall be.

Impatience may provoke, it cannot gaine Grief-healing Med'cines, but increaseth pain. Increase in love to God, who doth assure That all shall work for good, that work endure.

These Meditations, and the like, I here Do to your soul commend, with filial fear, Least you should him provoke, whose Goodness lent The light of her most holy President, To guide your steps into the pathes of bliss; March in those pathes of joyes, You cannot miss.

S. Newton.

Upon the much Lamented DEATH of the RIGHT HONOURABLE The LADY ELISABETH LANGHAM Lately Deceased.

FArewell Conglobate Vertue, You are gone, To be some Glorious Constellation. One Star is but a taper to your light, A Glowe-worm, when your Virtues come in sight. Had Plato seen you, ripe, his wish had grown, And virtue visible, he might have shown.

Your Souls symmetry had old Poets known, Th' had chang'd their trine of Graces into one. Now Archimedes spheare shall useless grow, Your acts the heavenly motions better show, What Honour all men give to vertues shrine, To best examples, we will give to thine. Since you are Virtues standard, we will be Procrustes like, without his tyranny, By yours, like to his bed, we measure shall, Our Actions er'e we them do virtue call.

Alex. Jones.

In Obitum Nobilissimae Dominae, Dominae ELISABETHAE LANGHAM.

AƲdiat Ʋtopiae rudis incola, cujus ad aures Nondum pervenit nobilis historia Tam celebris Dominae! reputetur anonymus iste Qui tantum nomen nesciat, aut taceat. Conarer frustrà meritas tibi dicere laudes, Maxima, quum nequeunt id satis, ingenia. Defunctae tenuis calamus ne detrahat, ejus Vita nil potuit pulchrius exprimere. Caelebs dum mansit, cunctis virtute praeivit Ʋxorem nullam, novimus esse parem. In terris coelo charissima vixit, & inter Aethereos proceres jam tenet aureolam. Annos excessit pietas, tamen altius urgens, In coelis tandem purior emi••uit. Quare ue doleat conjux, bane esse beatam, Sed quod nulla, sibi quae foret aequa, manet.

John Davis.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  10 Stars were born by his former Lady in her paternal Coat.
• * 1.2

  Prov. 31. 29
• * 1.3

  Londinum vocatur Augusta ab Ammiano Marcellino.
• * 1.4

  Vox 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 quam Graeci Exod. 6. 23. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 dede∣re significat Deus meus est satietas.
• * 1.5

  Alluditur ad nomen domus Amplissimi Domini Langham quae Crosby-House dicitur
• * 1.6

  Stye of lust.
• * 1.7

  Sanctuary of vertue.
• * 1.8

  Rest.
• * 1.9

  Glory.