None him, he all can grace; his very story
Gives laurel, to the writer crowns of bay;
The title of his name attributes glory,
The subject doth the author's skill bewray,
Enlarging still his theme and scope to say:

Nor is one found amongst a world of men,
Who perfect can his actions with his pen.

Had he himself like Julius Cæsar wrote,
While as he liv'd his own acts' commendation,
In fluent commentaries us'd to cote,
Each hazard's conquest by a true probation,
Exemplified with terms of art's relation:

Then had he wing'd in height of fame for ever,
His fame, his name, as now, been razed never.

Go, yet rich-stiled peer and overtake,
Thyself shalt privilege thyself by merit,
Thy soul's united ESSEX for whose sake,

Thou didst advance thy love, which did inherit
The dear reversion of his elate spirit:

Then go, great MOUNTJOY, lustre of this age,
Pace still thy name in pompous equipage.

When first his birth produced this prime of hope,
An imp of promise mild proclivity;
Gracious aspects even in his horoscope,

Predominated his nativity,

Allotting in his arm nobility:

That being nobly born he might persèver,
Enthron'd by fame, nobilitated ever.

Now when his infant years wax'd mellow ripe,
Balanced in pithy scales of youth's discretion;
As past the childish fear, fear of a stripe,
Or schools' correct with deeper grave impression,
He scorn'd the mimic thoughts of base condition:
By earnest documents fore-showing wholly,
His just contempt of unregarded folly.

For having suck'd the rudiments of learning,
Grammar's elixir juice and quintessence,
He soon approv'd his judgment by discerning,
Applying with industrious diligence,

To follow studies of more consequence:
Then, by a syllogistic kind of war,

He ruminates on thoughts which nobler are.

He learns sharp-witted logic to confute,
With quick distinctions, slights of sophistry,
Enriching his rich knowledge doth it suit,
And sounds the depth of quaint philosophy;
Himself the mirror of morality:

And proves by instance Aristotle lies,
Who young men's aptness to the same denies.

He studies it, yet is himself the subject,
Subject of civil virtues, chief of good,
Art's pith and nature's darling, honour's object,
As noble by his wit as by his blood,

Honour and wisdom on his forehead stood:

Thus now to court he goes there to remain,
For nobles none but court should entertain.

Noble he was, witness his elate spirit,
Whose unappalled stomach scorn'd compare;
Noble he was, witness his peerless merit,
Which stain'd competitors, witness his rare
Renown'd examples do the same declare:

Noble he was, in that he could not brook
To have his equal, or for sword or book.

O had his ancestors but heretofore

Dreamt such a son should spring from out their line,
They might have truly griev'd, and ever more
Have blush'd to think on it, that one divine
Should be their offspring, deeming it a sign

Of a less glorious happiness for them:

Better might they have drawn their race from him.

Then happy they that are, or shall be ever,

Deducted from the issue of this blood,
Immortal be this name, worn, wasted never,
The index to true fame, happy the good

Allied in him by kin, or brotherhood:

Such his desert, nor time nor malice term'd it,

His youth first promis'd, and his years confirm'd it.

For being now appendant to the court,

His presence was the court to draw it to him:

The saints of that smooth paradise resort
With pleasure to behold, beholding woo him,
And what their favours can they vow to do him:
Yea, he rejoiced the earth's great deity,
That such a subject graced her empiry.

Here he began to taste the fragrant smack,
The catapotion of heart-easing love;

Here he persever'd to assault the wrack

Of supple passion, proving to disprove,

That any soil firm-settled thoughts should move:

Here was he first who taught what should be done,
How ladies should be lov'd, serv'd, woo'd, and won.

In this secured solace of sweet peace,

He nurs'd his younger joys, nor wholly bent

To wanton, sick, lascivious, amorous ease,
But to more primer passions of content,

Of civil mirth and jocund merriment:

Mirth in his looks, and virtue in his tongue,

Fresh as the balm, smooth as the mermaid's song.

Activity abroad, dalliance in chamber,

Becomes a perfect courtier, such was he,
What maiden breast so nice, as locks of amber
Could not enchant with love's captivity?
Free spirits soon are caught when slaves go free:
What uncontrouled soul is so precise,

As may, yet will not, taste earth's paradise?

MOUNTJOY (the mounting joy of heaven's perfection)
Was all a man should be in such an age,

Nor void of love's sense, nor yok'd in subjection
Of servile passion, theme for every stage,
Honour for him did honour's pawn engage:

Be witness slander's self, who must avow
Virtue adorn'd his mind, triumph his brow.

Nor did the pleasure of these courtly sports,
Endear him to the softness of such ease;
His ever-mounting thought far more imports,
The thirst of fame such form'd ideas please,
The resty delicates of sweet disease:

To run a race at tilt, to catch the ring,
Did greater glory to his projects bring.

Let smooth-chinn'd amourists be cloy'd in play,
And surfeit on the bane of hateful leisure,
Let idle hours follies youth betray,
Unto the idle shame of boundless pleasure,
Such petty apes of silk want reason's measure:

Great MOUNTJOY saw such looseness of the witty,
Which seeing did not more disdain than pity.

No, his deep-reaching spirit could not brook
The fond addiction to such vanity,
Regardful of his honour he forsook
The smicker use of court humanity,
Of rural clownage, or urbanity:

He lov'd the worthy and endeavouring prov'd,
How of the worthy he might be belov❜d.

Now he delights to see the falcon soar
About the top of heaven; then to chase
The nimble buck, or hunt the bristled boar
From out the sty of terror: now the race;
Barriers and sports of honourable grace;
Not games of thriftless prodigality,
But plots of fame and fame's eternity.