Posts tagged ‘1665’

Friday, 15 January 2016

Upon the Much Lamented Death of That Most Vertuous and Incomparable Lady Elizabeth, Daughter of the Right Honourable Ferdinand, Lord Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon. And Wife to the Right Worshipful, Sr. James Langham by Bathsua Reginald Makin

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 foul 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, happily
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 found.

From: Ford, Simon, Hesychia Christianou, or, A Christian’s acquiescence in all the products of divine providence, 1665, R.D. for John Baker: London, pp. 162-163.
(http://gateway.proquest.com.rp.nla.gov.au/openurl?ctx_ver=Z39.88-2003&res_id=xri:eebo&rft_id=xri:eebo:image:95588:95)

Date: 1665

By: Bathsua Reginald Makin (c1600-c1675)

Monday, 24 November 2014

Leave Of Yee Pittying Friends; Leave Of In Vaine by Lucy Apsley Hutchinson

Leave of yee pittying freinds; leave of in vaine
Doe you perswade the dead to live againe
In vaine to me your comforts are applied
For, ‘twas not he; twas only I that died
In that Cold Grave which his deare reliques keeps
My light is quite extinct where he but Sleepes
My substance into the darke vault was laide
And now I am my owne pale Empty Shade
If this your mirth or admiration moove
Know tis but the least miracle of Love
The effect of humane passion shuch as mine
Which ends in woe & death; But Love devine
Whose Sacred flame did his pure bosome fire
With more Stupendious working doth aspire
Untill it life & Victory Compleates
Fixing transformed men in blessed seates
This holy fire refind his happy Soule
And first did naturs Strong Impulse Controwl
Brought the wild passions Under Servitude
The haught fless & rebell Sence Subdued
Maide Carnall reason freely to lay downe
At the lords feete her Scepture & her Crowne
When this pure flame had burnt away the drosse
It maide him rich by universall Losse
Out of the Pile a Pheanix did arise
Enlightned with quick penetrating Eies
Which distant heaven into the mind did draw
And the disgiuzd world in its owne forme saw
At the emission of their pwerfull Ray
Th’ old Sorcerers Strong enchants fled away
The Groves the Pallaces the pleasant Pooles
Arbours sweetes musick beauties feast that fooles
Charmd by the mighty witch reale Esteeme
Appeard a loathsome dunghill unto him
Whoe through their deformd vizards too
And the dark mantle Sine about them threw
In prisons exile Sollitude disgrace
And death itselfe beheld a lovely face
On God alone he fixt his steadfast looke
Till God into himselfe his Creature tooke
Who all things elce with God like eies now viewd
And seeing them in God Saw they were good
Thus was delighted in the Creature Streames
While they were guilt with the Creators beames
But when that heavenly Sun withdrew no more
Did he the Inreflecting glasse adore
Nor in the Shadow Stayd but wheresoere
The glorious substance pleasd next to appeare
Thither did his attending heart remove
And Sollacd theire his Chaste his Constant love
Love which alone best relishes its sweetes
Where it least of the worlds disturbance meets
By whose Greate power he free in prison remand
And in the Bloody Tower with triumph reignd
Dispising his oppressors rage while they
By lusts enslavd in sadder Thralldome lay
This Conqured the assaults of wrath greife feare
This did his head above the wild waves reare
This Painted dismall rocks & barrin Sands
With beauties equall to the fruitefull Lands
This gave Calamity a lovely face
And put on honours Crowne upon disgrace
This did the feavers force & fire abate
His Soule in her last conflicts recreate
His perfect Sence from feeling paine did keepe
And gave him rest without the ayd of Sleepe
This sweetely carried of expiring Breath
And brought him new life in approaching death
Which Could not fix its horrors in his face
That Pale & Cold reteind a Smiling grace.

From: Millman, Jill Seal and Wright, Gillian (eds.), Early Modern Women’s Manuscript Poetry with an Introduction by Elizabeth Clarke and Jonathan Gibson, 2005, Manchester University Press: Manchester, pp. 99-100.
(http://books.google.com.au/books?id=FuUllPOJK9IC)

Date: c1665

By: Lucy Apsley Hutchinson (1620-1681)

Saturday, 30 November 2013

Tears, Flow No More by Edward Herbert

Tears, flow no more, or if you needs must flow,
Fall yet more slow,
Do not the world invade,
From smaller springs than yours rivers have grown,
And they again a Sea have made,
Brackish like you, and which like you hath flown.

Ebb to my heart, and on the burning fires
Of my desires,
O let your torrents fall,
From smaller heate than theirs such sparks arise
As into flame converting all,
This world might be but my love’s sacrifice.

Yet if the tempests of my sighs so blow
You both must flow,
And my desires still burn,
Since that in vain all help my love requires,
Why may not yet their rages turn
To dry those tears, and to blow out those fires?

From: http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/chirbury/tears.htm

Date: 1665 (published)

By: Edward Herbert (1583-1648)