{ KATHERIN STANHOP. THE LADY { MARGARET TUFTON. { ANN HALES.
Since Bookes seeme by custome to Challenge a dedication, Justice would not allow, that what either was, or concern'd Sir Henry Wotton, should be appropriated to any other Persons; Not only for that nearnesse of Aliance and Blood (by which you may chalenge a civil right to what was his;) but, by a title of that intirenesse of Affection, which was in you to each other, when Sir Henry Wotton had a being upon Earth.
And since yours was a Friendship made up of generous Principles, as I cannot doubt but these indeavours to preserve his Memory wil be acceptable to all that lov'd him; so especially to you: from whom I have had such incouragements as hath imboldned me to this Dedication. Which you are most humbly intreated may be accepted from
Your very reall servant,
I. W.
* * * * *
ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.
1651.
[Comedies, Tragi-Comedies, with other Poems, by Mr. William Cartwright, late Student of Christ-Church in Oxford, and Proctor of the University. London, Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his Shop, at the sign of the Prince's Arms in St. Pauls Church-yard, 1651.]
On the Death of my dear Friend Mr. William Cartwright, relating to the foregoing Elegies.
I cannot keep my purpose, but must give
Sorrow and Verse their way; nor will I grieve
Longer in silence; no, that poor, poor part
Of natures legacy, Verse void of Art,
And undissembled teares, CARTWRIGHT shall have
Fixt on his Hearse; and wept into his grave.
Muses I need you not; for, Grief and I
Can in your absence weave an Elegy:
Which we will do; and often inter-weave
Sad Looks, and Sighs; the ground-work must receive
Such Characters, or be adjudg'd unfit
For my Friends shroud; others have shew'd their Wit,
Learning, and Language fitly; for these be
Debts due to his great Merits: but for me,
My aymes are like my self, humble and low,
Too mean to speak his praise, too mean to show
The World what it hath lost in losing thee,
Whose Words and Deeds were perfect Harmony.
But now 'tis lost; lost in the silent Grave,
Lost to us Mortals, lost, 'till we shall have
Admission to that Kingdom, where He sings
Harmonious Anthems to the King of Kings.
Sing on blest Soul! be as thou wast below,
A more than common instrument to show
Thy Makers praise; sing on, whilst I lament
Thy loss, and court a holy discontent,
With such pure thoughts as thine, to dwell with me,
Then I may hope to live, and dye like thee,
To live belov'd, dye mourn'd, thus in my grave;
Blessings that Kings have wish'd, but cannot have.
IZ. WA.