Rise with thy verse to celebrate the flood
Of those eternall torrents of his blood.
Nor lesse delight (things serious set apart)
Thy sportiue poems yeeld, with heedfull art
Composed so, to minister content,
That though we there thinke onely wit is meant,
We quickly, by a happy errour, find
In cloudy words, cleare lampes to light the mind.
Then blesse that Muse, which, by vntrodden wayes
Pursuing vertue, meetes deserued bayes
To crowne it selfe, and wand'ring soules reduce
From paths of ignorance, and wits abuse;
And may the best of English laureats striue,
Thus, their owne fun'rall ashes to suruiue.
TO THE WORTHY MUSE OF HIS NOBLE FRIEND, SIR JOHN BEAUMONT,
WE doe not vsher forth thy verse with these, That thine may by our prayse the better please : That were impertinent, and we too weake, To adde a grace, where eu'ry line doth speake, And sweetly eccho out, in this rich store, All we can any way pretend, and more. Yet since we stand engag'd, we this make knowne, Thy layes are vnaffected; free; thine owne Thy periods, cleare; expressions, genuine ; Muse most emphaticall; and wit, diuine.
A CONGRATULATION TO THE MUSES, FOR THE IMMORTALIZING OF HIS DEARE FATHER, BY THE SACRED VERTUE OF POETRY.
YE heau'nly sisters, by whose sacred skill,
Sweet sounds are rays'd vpon the forked hill
Of high Parnassus: you, whose tuned strings
Can cause the birds to stay their nimble wings,
And silently admire: before whose feet,
The lambs, as fearelesse, with the lions meet:
You, who the harpe of Orpheus so inspir'd,
That from the Stygian lake he safe retir'd;
You could Amphion's harpe with vertue fill,
That euen the stones were pliant to his will.
To you, you, therefore, my verse direct,
From whom such beames celestiall can reflect
On that deare author of my life, inspir'd
With heauenly heate, and sacred fury fir'd;
Whose vigour, quencht by death, you now reuiue,
And in this booke conserue him still aliue.
Here liues his better part, here shines that flame,
Which lights the entrance to eternall fame.
These are his triumphs ouer death, this spring
From Aganippe's fountaines he could bring
Cleare from all drosse, through pure intentions
drain'd,
His draughts no sensuall waters euer stain'd.
Behold, he doth on euery paper strow
The' loyall thoughts he did his sou'raigne owe.
Here rest affections to each nearest friend,
And pious sighs, which noble thoughts attend;
Parnassus him containes, plast in the quire
With poets: what then can we more desire
To haue of him? Perhaps an empty voyce,
While him we wrong with our contentlesse choyce=
To you I this attribute, sisters nine;
For onely you can cause this worke diuine;
By none but you could these bright fires be
found;
Prometheus is not from the rocke vnbound;
No Esculapius still remaines on Earth,
To giuc Hippolitus a second birth.
Since then such godlike pow'rs in you remaine,
To worke these wonders, let some soule containe
His spirit of sweet musicke, and infuse
Into some other brest his sparkling Muse.
But you, perhaps, that all your pow'r may speake,
Will chuse to worke on subiects dull and weake:
Chuse me, inspire my frozen brest with heat,
No deed you euer wrought can seeme more great.
VPON THE FOLLOWING POEMS OF MY DEARE FATHER
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT,
You, who prepare to reade graue Beaumont's verse,
And at your entrance view my lowly straines,
Expect no flatt'ring prayses to reherse,
The rare perfections, which this booke containes.
But onely here in these few lines, behold
The debt which 1 vnto a parent owe;
Who, though I cannot his true worth vnfold,
May yet at least a due affection show.
For should I striue to decke the vertues high, Which in these poems (like faire gemmes) ap
I might as well adde brightnesse to the skie, Or with new splendour make the Sunne more cleare.
Since eu'ry line is with such beauties grac'd, That nothing farther can their prayses sound : And that deare name which on the front is plac'd, Declares what ornaments within are found.
That name, I say, in whom the Muses meete, And with such heate his noble spirit raise,
That kings admire his verse, whil'st at his feete, Orpheus his harpe, and Phoebus casts his bayes.
Whom, though fierce Death hath taken from our sights,
And caus'd that curious hand to write no more;
Yet maruell not if from the fun'rall rites
Proceed these branches neuer seene before.
For from the corne arise not fruitfull eares,
Except at first the earth receive the same:
Nor those rich odours which Arabia beares, Send forth sweet smells, unlesse consum'd with flame.
So from the ashes of this phoenix flye These off-springs, which with such fresh glory shine; That whil'st time runneth, he shall neuer dye, But still be honour'd in this famous shrine: To which, this verse alone I humbly giue; He was before: but now begins to liue..
VION THESE POEMS OF HIS DEAREST BROTHER, SIR IOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET. WHEN lines are drawn greater than nature, art Commands the object and the eye to part, Bls them to keepe at distance, know their place, Where to receive, and where to giue their grace; I am too neere thee, Beaumont, to define Which of those lineaments is most diuine, And to stand farther off from thee, I chuse In silence rather to applaude thy Muse, And lose my censure; 'tis enough for mee To joy, my pen was taught to moue by thee.
ON THE HONORED POEMS OF HIS HONORED FRIEND, SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET. This booke will line; it hath a genius: this Aboue his reader, or his prayser, is. Hence, then, prophane: here needs no words' exIn bulwarkes, rau'lins, ramparts, for defense, Such, as the creeping common pioners vse When they doe sweat to fortifie a Muse. Though I confesse a Beaumont's booke to bee The bound, and frontier of our poëtrie; And doth deserne all muniments of praise,
That art, or ingine, on the strength can raise. Yet, who dares offer a redoubt to reare?
To cut a dyke? or sticke a stake vp, here, Before this worke? where Enuy hath not cast A trench against it, nor a battry plac't? Stay, till she make her vaine approches. Then If, maymed, she come off, 'tis not of men Tais fort of so impregnable accesse,
But higher power, as spight could not make lesse, Nor flatt'ry! but secur'd, by the author's name, Defies, what's crosse to piety, or good fame. And like a hallow'd temple, free from taint Of ethnicisme, makes his Muse a saint.
And haue already had this curse from vs,
That in their pride they should grow barbarous.
There is no splendour, that our pens can giue
By our most labor'd lines, can make thee liue
Like to thine owne, which able is to raise
So lasting pillars to prop vp thy prayse,
As time shall hardly shake, vntill it shall
Ruine those things, that with it selfe must fall.
AD POSTHUMUM OPUS D.
10. BELLO-MONTIJ,
EQUITIS AURATI ET BARONETTI, VIRI NOBLISSEM
HENDECASYLLABON
LECTUм discubui; biceps gemello
Parnassus bijugo imminebat: vnde
Fontes desiliunt leues, loquaces;
Pellucent vitreo liquore fontes.
Sudo sub Ioue, sydere & secundo
Discumbo. Teneras rosas pererro
Narcissum, violas odore gratas,
Vnguento Ambrosio has & has refectas
Quas inter Philomela cantitillat
Præpes, blandula, mellilinguis ales.
Quas inter volitant Apollinesque,
Et Musæ Veneresque mille, mille.
Insomne hoc sibi somnium quid audet?
Altùm effare noëma bello-montis :
Effatum euge! Poëma Bello-monti est
Dium, castalium nitens, politum ;
Libatum salibus, lepore tinctum.
Decurrens velut amnis alti monte
Feruet delicijs, ruit profundo
Beaumontus latice. Altiùs resultat
Fertur, nec tenui nec vsitatâ
Pennâ per liquidam ætheram, biformis.
Hic Phabi deus est, decus cohortis
Summum Palladiæ, iubar sororum,
Ipse & flos Venerum, resurgo; legi.
TO THE DEARE REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NOBLE FRIEND,
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.
THIS Posthumus, from the brane parents' name,
Likely to be the heire of so much fame,
Can haue at all no portion by my prayse:
Quely this poor branch of my with'ring bayes
I offer to it; and am very glad,
I yet hane this; which if I better had,
My loue should build an altar, and thereon
Should offer vp such wreaths as long agone,
Those daring Grecians, and proud Romans, crown'd;
Gising that honour to their most renown'd.
But that braue world is past, and we are light,
After those glorious dayes, into the night
Of these base times, which not one heröe haue,
Onely an empty title, which the graue
Shall soone denoure; whence it no more shall sound,
Which neuer got vp higher than the ground.
Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath,
Brought on too soone thy much lamented death,
But Heau'n was kind, and would not let thee see
The plagues that must vpon this nation be,
By whom the Muses haue neglected bin,
Which shall adde weight and measure to their sinne;
VPON THE HONORED POEMS OF HIS VNKNOWNE FRIEND, SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.
I KNEW thee not, I speake it to my shame : But by that cleare, and equall voyce of fame, Which (with the Sunne's bright course) did ioyntly Thy glorious name about each hemisphere. [beare Whiles I, who had confin'd my selfe to dwell Within the straite bounds of an obscure cell, Tooke in those pleasing beames of wit and worth, Which, where the Sunne could neuer shine, breake Wherewith I did refresh my weaker sight, [forth: When others bath'd themselues in thy full light. But when the dismall rumour was once spred, That struck all knowing soules, of Beaumont dead: Aboue thy best friends 'twas my benefit, To know thee onely by thy liuing wit; And whereas others might their losse deplore, Thou liu'st to me iust as thou didst before. In all that we can value great or good, Which were not in these cloathes of flesh and blood, Thou now hast laid aside, but in that mind, That onely by it selfe could be confin'd, Thou liu'st to me, and shalt for euer raine, In both the issues of thy blood and braiue.
Replies: "I should haue been asham'd to tell Fond dreames to wise men: whether Heau'n or
THE winter's storme of ciuill warre I sing,
Whose end is crown'd with our eternall spring,
Where roses join'd, their colours mixe in one,
And armies fight no more for England's throne.
Thou, gracious Lord, direct my feeble pen,
Who (from .he actions of ambitious men)
Hast by thy goodnesse drawne our joyfull good,
And made sweet flowres and oliues grow from blood,
While we, delighted with this faire release,
May clime Parnassus, in the dayes of peace.
The king (whose eyes were neuer fully clos'd, Whose minde opprest, with feareful dreames suppos'd,
That he in blood had wallow'd all the night)
Leapes from his restlesse bed, before the light:
Accursed Tirell is the first he spies,
Whom threatning with his dagger, thus he cries.
** How darst thou, villaine, so disturbe my sleepe?
Were not the smother'd children buried deepe?
And hath the ground againe been ript by thee,
That I their rotten carkases might see?"
The wretch, astonisht, bastes away to slide,
(As damned ghosts themselues in darkenesse hide)
And calles vp three, whose counsels could asswage
The sudden swellings of the prince's rage:
Ambitious Louell, who, to gaine his grace,
Had stain'd the honour of his noble race:
Perfidious Catesby, by whose curious skill,
The law was taught to speake his master's will:
And Ratcliffe, deepely learn'd in courtly art,
Who best could search into his sou'raigne's hart:
Affrighted, Richard labours to relate
His hideous dreames, as signes of haplesse fate :
"Alas!" said they, “such fictions children feare,
These are not terrours, shewing danger neare,
But motiues sent by some propitious power,
To make you watchfull at this early hower:
These proue that your victorious care preuents
Your slouthfull foes, that slumber in their tents.
This precious time must not in vaine be spent,
Which God (your helpe) by heau'nly meanes hath
lent."
He (by these false coniectures) much appeas'd,
Contemning fancies, which his minde diseas'd,
Or troubled nature, these effects hath wrought:
I know, this day requires another thought,
If some resistlesse strength my cause should crosse,
Feare will increase, and not redeeme the losse ;
All dangers, clouded with the mist of feare,
Seeme great farre off, but lessen comming neare.
Away, ye black illusions of the night,
If ye combin'd with Fortune, haue the might
To hinder my designes: ye shall not barre
My courage seeking glorious death in warre."
Thus being chear'd, he calls aloud for armes,
And bids that all should rise, whom Morpheus
charmes.
"Bring me," saith he, "the harnesse that I wore
At Teuxbury, which from that day no more
Hath felt the battries of a ciuill strife,
Nor stood betweene destruction and my life."
Vpon his brest-plate he beholds a dint,
Which in that field young Edward's sword did
print:
This stirres remembrance of his heinous guilt,
When he that prince's blood so foulely spilt.
Now fully arm'd, he takes his helmet bright,
Which, like a twinkling starre, with trembling light
Sends radiant lustre through the darksome aire;
This maske will make his wrinkled visage faire.
But when his head is couer'd with the steele,
He telles bis seruants, that his temples feele
Deepe-piercing stings, which breed vnusuall paines,
And of the heauy burden much complaines.
Some marke his words, as tokens fram'd t' expresse
The sharpe conclusion of a sad successe.
Then going forth, and finding in his way
A souldier of the watch, who sleeping lay,
Enrag'd to see the wretch neglect his part,
He strikes a sword into his trembling heart;
The hand of death, and iron dulnesse, takes
Those leaden eyes, which nat'rall ease forsakes:
The king this morning sacrifice commends,
And for example, thus the fact defends :
"I leaue him, as I found him, fit to keepe
The silent doores of euerlasting sleepe."
Still Richmond slept: for worldly care and feare Haue times of pausing, when the soule is cleare,
While Heau'n's Directer, whose reuengefull brow
Would to the guilty head no rest allow,
Lookes on the other part with milder eyes:
At his command an angel swiftly flies
From sacred Truth's perspicuous gate, to bring
A crystall vision on his golden wing.
This lord, thus sleeping, thought he saw and knew
His lamblike vnkle, whom that tiger slew,
Whose powerfull words encourage him to fight:
"Goe on, just scourge of murder, vertue's light,
The combate, which thou shalt this day endure,
Makes England's peace for many ages sure:
Thy strong inuasion cannot be withstood,
The Earth assists thee with the cry of blood;
The Heav'n shall blesse thy hopes, and crowne thy
ioyes,
See, how the fiends, with loud and dismall noyse,
(Presaging vultures, greedy of their prey)
On Richard's tent their scaly wings display."
The holy king then offer'd to his view
A liuely tree, on which three branches grew:
But when the hope of fruit had made him glad,
All fell to dust: at which the earle was sad ;
Yet comfort comes againe, when from the roote
He sees a bough into the north to shoote,
Which, nourisht there, extends it selfe from thence,
And girds this iland with a firme defence:
There he beholds a high and glorious throne,
Where sits a king by lawrell garlands knowne,
Like bright Apollo in the Muses' quires.
His radiant eyes are watchfull heauenly fires;
Beneath his feete pale Enuie bites her chaine,
And snaky Discord whets her sting in vaine.
"Thou seest," said Henry, "wise and potent lames,
This, this is he, whose happy vnion tames
The sauage feudes, and shall those lets deface,
Which keepe the bordrers from a deare imbrace :
Both nations shall, in Britaine's royall crowne,
Their diffring names, the signes of faction drowne;
The siluer streames which from this spring in-
Bedew all Christian hearts with drops of peace ;
Obserue how hopefull Charles is borne t' asswage
The winds, that would disturbe this golden age.
When that great king shall full of glory leaue
The Earth as base, then may this prince receiue
The diadem, without his father's wrong,
May take it late, and may possesse it long;
Aboue all Europe's princes shine thou bright,
O God's selected care, and man's delight!"
Here gentle sleepe forsooke his clouded browes,
And full of holy thoughts, and pious vowes,
He kist the ground assoone as he arose,
When watchfull Digby, who among his foes
Had wanderd vnsuspected all the night,
Reports that Richard is prepar'd to fight. **
Long since the king had thought it time to send
For trusty Norfolke, his vndaunted friend,
Who, hasting from the place of his abode,
Found at the doore a world of papers strow'd ;
Some would affright him from the tyrant's aide,
Affirming that his master was betray'd;
Some laid before him all those bloody deeds,
From which a line of sharpe reuenge proceeds,
With much compassion, that so braue a knight
Should serue a lord, against whom angels fight;
And others put suspicions in his minde,
That Richard, most obseru'd, was most vnkind.
The duke awhile these cautious words reuolues
With serious thoughts, and thus at last resolucs:
"If all the campe proue traytors to my lord,
Shall spotlesse Norfolke falsifie his word?
Mine oath is past, I swore t' vphold his crowne,
And that shall swim, or I with it will drowne.
It is too late now to dispute the right;
Dare any tongue, since Yorke spred forth his light;
Northumberland, or Buckingham, defame,
Two valiant Cliffords, Roos, or Beaumonts, name,
Because they in the weaker quarrell die?
They had the king with them, and so haue I.
But eu'ry eye the face of Richard shunnes,
For that foule murder of his brother's sonnes :
Yet lawes of knighthood gaue me not a sword
To strike at him, whom all with ioynt accord
Haue made my prince, to whom I tribute bring?
I hate his vices, but adore the king.
Victorious Edward, if thy soule can beare
Thy seruant Howard, I deuoutly sweare,
That to haue sau'd thy children from that day,
My hopes on Earth should willingly decay;
Would Glouster then my perfect faith had tryed,
And made two graues, when noble Hastings died.".
This said, his troopes he into order drawes,
Then doubled haste redeemes his former pause:
So stops the sayler for a voyage bound,
When on the sea he heares the tempests sound,
Till pressing hunger to remembrance sends,
That on his course his houshold's life depends:
With this he cleares the doubts that vext his minde,
And puts his ship to mercy of the winde.
The duke's stout presence and couragious lookes
Were to the king as falls of sliding brookes,
Which bring a gentle and delightfull rest
To weary eyes, with grieuous care opprest:
He bids that Norfolke and his hopefull sonne
(Whose rising fame in armes this day begun)
Should leade the vantguard: for so great command
He darcs not trust in any other hand;
The rest he to his owne aduice referres,
And as the spirit in that body stirres;
Then putting on his crowne, a fatall signe,
(So offer'd beasts neere death in garlands shine)
He rides about the rankes, and striues t' inspire
Each brest with part of his vnwearied fire:
To those who had his brother's seruants been,
And had the wonders of his valour seene,
He saith: "My fellow souldiers, tho' your sword
Are sharpe, and need not whetting by my words;
Yet call to minde those many glorious dayes,
In which we treasur'd vp immortall prayse;
If when I seru'd, I euer fted from foe,
Fly ye from mine, let me be punisht so:
But if my father, when at first he try'd,
How all his sonnes could shining blades abide,
Found me an eagle, whose vndazled eyes
Affront the beames which from the steele arise,
And if I now in action teach the same, [name;
Know, then, ye haue but chang'd your gen'rall's
Be still your selues, ye fight against the drosse
Of those, that oft haue runne from you with losse :
How many Somersets, dissention's brands,
Haue felt the force of our reuengefull hands?
From whome this youth, as from a princely floud,
Deriues his best, yet not vntainted bloud:
Haue our assanlis made Lancaster to droupe?
And shall this Welshman, with his ragged troupe,
Subdue the Norman and the Saxon line,
That onely Merlin may be thought diuine?
See, what a guide these fugitiues haue chose!
Who, bred among the French, our ancient foes,
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