Mirth in Mourning:
OR,
Joyes conquest of Sorrow, gotten by a Combate betweene griefefull Joy, and joyfull
Griefe; occasioned by the decease of our late Soveraigne Lord, King JAMES, who dyed the
seven and twentieth day of March, 1625. And the ever-happy declaration
of our thrice-Royall CHARLES, King of great Brittaine,
France, and Ireland, etc.
Together with a briefe recitall of the conveyance of his Corps from Theobalds to
Denmarke-house the 4. of Aprill.
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WHat man do's live, that lives devoid of strife?
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O, who can adde one minute to his life?
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Unmixed joyes to Mortals not befall;
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Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all.
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Death do's as well stab at the hearts of Kings,
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As at the brests of baser tempered things:
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The mightiest Monarch equally do's fall
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With basest Begger; for Death strikes them all.
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We all the selfe-same way draw in our breath,
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Though divers pathes we tread that leade to death,
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Of one mold all are made, therefore all must,
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Made all alike, alike goe downe to dust.
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If Birth, or Wealth, or Worth could claime a due,
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Longer to live, and Deaths stroke to eschue;
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Then Royall JAMES had longer with us stood,
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To be our Guide, who was both Great and Good.
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Matchlesse he was, in Wit and Learnings lore,
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Surpassing all Kings that him liv'd before;
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Justice and Mercy, in him both did meet,
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And all the Graces there did kindly greet.
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His Patience still did with his yeeres increase,
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And therefore rightly stil'd The King of Peace:
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His Vertues glorious Fame abroad was hurld,
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Through every corner of the peopled world.
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He was a King, who every erring thought
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Within his Rule, in due subjection brought;
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And govern'd all his Actions by the awe
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Of powerfull Reason, not by Passions law.
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The Wisdome that good Heaven to him assign'd,
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With faire Endowments did enrich his Minde;
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So that his like, the Earth ne're trod upon,
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For perfect worth, excepting Salomon.
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These rare Perfections could not him acquit
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From Deaths hart-wounding blow, which home did hit,
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And laid this Cedar flatling on the ground,
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Whilst lower Shrubs stood firme, untoucht and sound:
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For on the seven and twentieth day of March,
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About mid-day, this strong and mighty Arch,
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Which underpropt the weight of this our Land,
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Was plucked downe by Deaths unpartiall hand.
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The Newes whereof being fearefull, sudden, sad,
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In blackest Robes of griefe faire LONDON clad:
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Men did like shadowes walke, they knew not how:
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And pale-fac'd sorrow sate on every brow.
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The Court is darkned, and with blacke is walled,
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Nor shall againe in haste White-Hall be called;
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The heavy Clergie in their Pulpits mourne,
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And all true subjects looke like men forlorne.
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With brim-full eyes the Husband tells the Wife,
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That good King JAMES was quite bereft of life;
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The Mother tels her children; then they cry,
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And jointly all doe weepe for company.
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The Merchant and Mechanicke hang the head,
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And reason good; for now their Soveraigne's dead;
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The Sun is set, that once did give them light,
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And left them lapt in woes of weariest night.
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Griefe now, on all, the upper hand doth get,
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All creatures mourn'd; the senselesse stones did sweat:
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(That they with Earth true sympathy would keepe)
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The very Heavens, with me, did see men to weepe.
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No sooner yet was set this Mid-daies Sun,
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Whose absence did give up our States undone,
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But straight a Second did appeare in sight,
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Of wondrous Splendor, full as Faire and Bright:
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For towards night, a noise was heard to ring
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Through every street; Proclaiming Charles our King,
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With acclamations, and such joyfull cries,
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As brake the Aire, and beat against the skies.
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When this all-chearing rumour forth was spred,
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That Salomon was plac'd in Davids stead;
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And that content had closed up the day,
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Joy then stept in, and Sorrow slunke away.
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What tongue, what pen, what excellence of Art,
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Can speake the rapture of each good mans heart?
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Children and modest Maids, to all mens thinking,
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Were drunke with Joy, as others were with drinking.
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Matrons, that till then, scarce were seene to smile,
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To heare King Charles Proclaim'd, laught all the while:
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Cripples let fall their Crutches: Sicke and Lame
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Forgot their paines, when they but heard his Name.
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The Blind-man now lamenting, lowdly cries,
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He ne're, till now, griev'd for the losse of eies:
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The Dumbe-man now his want of speech bemones,
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And vents his Joy in teares, in sighs, in grones.
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The Bonefires blaz'd, the merry Bels did ring,
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And all to welcome Charles, our Soveraigne King:
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Whom God preserve by his Almighty power,
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And crowne his soule with Joy at his last houre.
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O may not one be wanting of his Race,
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To sway the Scepter in his Royall Place:
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Untill the Starres from their blue roofe doe drop,
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Or th'Earth surcease to yeeld her fertile crop.
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Lord, him instruct to number all his daies:
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Direct his feet, and guide them in thy waies:
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From Treasons hate, which at Kings bites and snarles,
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Good Heav'n protect our Soveraign Lord, King Charles.
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A briefe recitall and manner of the convei-
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ance of his Corps from Theobalds to Den-
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marke-house, the 4. of Aprill. 1625.
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O What a generall sadnesse was o'respred,
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When that his Corps from Theobalds was convaid
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To London, who, for that she could not speake,
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Emptied her heart by teares, that else would breake!
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The Citizens, as it past on the way,
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Did force from Night an artificiall Day;
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And further, to declare their deare affection,
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Did strive to bring Time under their subjection.
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They kept backe Night by Stratagem and force,
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Full two houres longer then her common course:
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Heaven wept for joy, the uselesse Sun retired,
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Fearing his Lockes should by their flames be fired:
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Or wearied in his journey to the West,
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Saw Day without him, and went downe to rest;
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Yea, Jove himselfe did call the gods about him,
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Fearing, the world had fir'd itselfe without him.
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But straight an head-strong Torrent did arise,
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Which overswel'd the bankes of each mans eies;
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Extinguishing those Lights, bedrencht in teares,
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And left us groping after hopes and feares.
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