I cannot blame thee if thou readst not right
Or understandst not, for I know thy sight
With weeping is imperfect, if not blind,
And sorrow does almost distract thy mind.

A Griefe onT HE DEATH OF Prince H ENRIE, EXPRESSED IN A BROKEN ELEGIE, ACCORDING TO THE NATURE OF SUCH A SORROW .

Good Vertue wipe thine eyes. Look up and see!
And wonder to behold it. Some there be
That weep not; but are strangely merrie, dance
And revell. Can the loss of him advance
The heart of any man to such a mirth?
Can his grave be the womb, from whence the birth
Of Pleasure riseth? Pity them. Their woe
Distracts 'em and they know not what they doe.
Yet note 'em better. Be they wicked men
Their shew of joy is voluntarie then,
For now the President of virtue's dead,
Vice hopes to get her courses licenced
Dead! 'Tis above my knowledge how we live
To speak it. Is there any faith to give
The promises of health or remedy?
Or any meane to be preserved by,
When temperance and exercise of breath
Those best physicians could not keep from death
The strength of Nature? Was Hee temperate? Whence
Then came hee subject to the violence
Of sicknesse? Rather was He not inclin'd
To pleasures? Infinitely: still His mind
Was on them infinitely; for His love
No objects had, but those which were above
The causes of vexation, such, as done,
Repented not the pleasures they begun,
But made them endless: Nothing had the might
To diseffect his actions of delight;
No, nor his sufferings. For although Hee knew
That sickness came from earth to claim her due
And to deprive him of that fortunate
Succession to the greatness of the state
Which Hee was borne to: that did likewise please
And added nothing unto His disease.
Of his contentments heere, that was the best,
Therefore the last, that it might crowne the rest.
But these are not the pleasures that decay
The body. How hath death then found a way
To one so able? Hee was yong and strong,
Unguiltie of all disorder that could wrong
His constitution. Doe no longer hide
It: t'was to us a plague whereof Hee died
A plague by much more common to us then
The last great sicknesse many more the men
Who suffer in it. That which now is gone
Was but the figure of a greater One
To follow. Since the first that e'er was borne
A fuller number was not known to mourne.
For all the old men of the kingdomes weepe
Since He that promis'd by His strength to keepe
Their children free from others violence
And, by example, from their own offence,
Is taken from 'em. And they would have died
When he did, but for tarrying to provide
A second care for that they would have left
To Him, of whose protection th' are bereft.
If we doe well consider their just woes
We must include our yong men too in those,
And grieve for ever. For our old men's teares
Are rather for the time to come than theirs.
If they that shall not live to suffer much
Under this cause of sorrow, utter such
A passion for it: more it does belong
To us that now are growing to it: yong
As if our generation had intent
We should be borne to feele the punishment.
Now let us willingly give griefe regard
Lest we be forc'd to do it afterward
By Heav'ns just anger. Stay a little. Why
Should yong men thinke the old shall sooner die?
His youth's great broken promise wee complaine,
Yet none was greater. And are ours less vaine?
Mistake not. As humanity now goes
Hee liv'd a man as long as any does.
For onelie in those minutes that wee give
To virtue wee are trulie said to live
Men, and no longer. If we reckon then
His good houres with the good of other men,
His time's whole added numbers will 'arise
To his that tells our fourscore ere he dies.
To proove this, looke as low as e'er you can
And hear the words of the dejected man
The souldier speaks them. Honour! Now I see
There is no hope that any age will be
So good and noble as the ancient were,
None so heroic ever shall appear.
For if that fate which cannot be withstood
Had not decreed there should be none so good
Shee would not have neglected such a worth
As His was, to have brought that great worke forth.
And having purpos'd it should never be,
And hearing everywhere by Fame, that he
Was making one, she kill'd him . Mark his eye
Hee weepes. He weeps that can more easilie
Weepe bloud than water. Then I wonder how
Or he or anye other souldier now
Can hold his sword unbroken, since Hee was
That gave them count'nance. That's the cause, alas,
They doe not breake them, and a just excuse
They wear them now, to keep them from abuse.
For that great favour now has made an end
That their despis'd conditions did defend.
Artes too are so discourag'd by their harmes
In losse of him who lov'd both them and armes
That they would all leave studie and decline
From learning, if those naturall and divine
Persuading contemplations did not leade
The one to Heaven, the other to the Dead.
Between whose parts they have divided his
And promise so to bring them where Hee is,
But I would have their studies never die
For preservation of his memorie.
How can that perish? That will ever keepe
Because th' impression of it is so deepe.
When any painter to the life that saw
His presence fullie, takes in hand to draw
An Alexander or a Caesar, his best
Imaginations will bee so possess'd
With His remembrance that as hee does limme
Hee'l make that worthie's picture like to him,
And then t'will be a piece of such a grace
For height and sweetness, as that only face
Will make another painter, that ne'er knew
Him living, follow as the other drew.
How great a character deserves Hee then
Whose memorie shall but expire with men!
When a Divine or Poet sets downeright
What other Princes should bee, He shall unite
What this was. That's His character which beares
My sorrow inward, to go forth in teares;
Yet some of joy too, mix'd with those of greefe
That flow from apprehension of releefe.
I see his spirit turn'd into a starre
Whose influence makes that His own virtues are
Succeeded justlie, otherwise the worst,
As at His funerall, should proceede the first.
His native goodness follows in his roome
Else good men would be buried in His tombe.
O! suffer this to be a faithfull verse
To live for ever, weeping o'er his herse.