Classic Poem

Re ceiue (deare friend) into thy tombe those teares;
Those tears which from my griefe-fraught eyes distil,
Whose drearie shew the true resemblance beares
Of those sad cares which inwardly me kill:
Take them deere friend, since sent from such a one,
Who lou'd thee liuing, wailes thee being gone:

No fained teare, nor forged sigh (God knowes)
I sacrifice vpon thy wofull hearse,
My mournings are according to my woes,
And correspondent to my griefe my verse,
My sighes are ceaselesse ecchoes, that replies,
For thy sad death my hearts relenting cries.

Aye me! how can I but regrait thy case,
Who in the full Meridian of thy yeares.
While strength of body held the chiefest place,
And while thy selfe, thy selfe euen, most appeares:
Death so vntimely should thy life bereaue:
Impouerishing thy friends, t'inrich the graue.

Ah! had thou not beene sociall, gentle, kinde,
Most louing, courteous, liberall by measure,
Riche in all parts, but most of all in minde,
Which thou instord'st with vertues precious treasure:
Had thou not beene I say repleat with those,
Lesse had thy praises beene, and lesse my woes.

In nothing more thy vertue proou'd her power,
Then in thy friendships well aduised choise:
Who lou'd thee once, still loues thee to this houre,
The graue their fight, but not their loue doth close,
And which was more, the mightiest of the land,
Shee ioyn'd to thee into affections band,

And well the greatnesse of thy minde did merit,
Euen that the greatest spirits should thee cherish,
Who of it selfe, did from it selfe inherit,
That which in great men do's but greatnesse perish:
" True worth is not discern'd, by outward show,
" Vertues Idaea by the minde we know.

Ah foolish they that bragge so much in vaine,
Onely by blood nobilitate to be,
While in their bosomes they do scarce retaine,
The smallest sparke of magnanimity!
I hold this for a generall Maxime good,
True honor comes from vertue as from blood.

And yet I cannot but confesse indeed,
That vertue in a generous stomack still,
Doth shine more cleere then when it doth proceed,
From out a base-borne brest, marke who so will,
For why thy worth had ne're so cleerly shin'd,
Had not thy birth beene equall to thy minde.

Without affection I must truely say,
Thou wast a well-borne Gentleman by birth,
Com'd of a race nere spotted to this day,
Thine ancestors were men of noble worth,
Famous in bloud, in vertue and in name,
And all, as thou, went to the graue with fame.

Whereof this comfort doth arise I see,
To those that lou'd thy life, condoles thy death,
Though thou be dead in part, all cannot dye,
Thy mindes braue conquest shall suruiue thy breath,
Death may well triumph on thy bodies fall,
But thy great vertue euer florish shall.

Then let thy ghost goe in eternall peace,
To the Elisian sweet desired rest,
There with the happy to enioy a place,
To taste the speechlesse pleasures of the blest:
Still surfitting those euerlasting ioyes,
That neuer feele disturbance, or annoies.

There liue still happy, while I haplesse heere,
Must celebrate thy exequies in sorrow,
Paying this tribute to thy tombe each yeere,
Of sighes and teares, which from my griefes I borrow:
And ah! no wonder that I doe the same,
For both I beare thy surname, and thy name.

Sonet on the death of his cousin , Adam Murray.

I Know not whether discontent or loue,
(Deere friend) hath bred this thy abortiue death:
Or if that both vnited shew'd their wrath,
To make thee this thy fatal last to proue,
But bee the motion what it list, did moue,
This thy vnlook'd for sad vntimely fal,
Yet with the losse of breath thou los'd not al,
Thy better part still liues the heauens aboue,
And here thy pen immortaliz'd thy name,
From time, obliuion, enuy, and the graue,
That to corruption now thy bones receiue,
But can no way deface thy glorious fame,
Which stil must fore on wings of endlesse praise,
While yeers haue months, months weekes, and weekes haue daies.