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<DATE>2007-12-02</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B071116.tech.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="A86945">
<STC T="W">H3860</STC>
<STC T="T">669.f.12[84]</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99869714</BIBNO>
<VID>162877</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 14 -->
<HEAD>HYBERNIAE LACHRYMAE,
Or, a &s;ad contemplation on the bleeding condition of IRELAND.</HEAD>
<DIV2 TYPE="dedication">
<HEAD>To the Honourable and excellently well accom|pli&s;h
Sir Iohn Clotworthy Knight, and Collonel.</HEAD>
<L>I Shall not here Sir, poli&s;h or repeat</L>
<L>The &s;tory of your worth, nor tell how great</L>
<L>You are in goodne&s;&s;e as in fame; how immen&s;e</L>
<L>In your mindes faire Republique; how propen&s;e</L>
<L>Indulgent nature hath been of her &s;tore,</L>
<L>By enriching you, thus to make others poore:</L>
<L>The&s;e as e&s;&s;entiall Truths, I might infer,</L>
<L>From each Comma rai&s;e your Character;</L>
<L>But the&s;e &s;oft layes I leave to &s;uch &s;oft wits</L>
<L>Who teach their Mu&s;e the trade of Para&s;its,</L>
<L>To bomba&s;t ea&s;ie greatne&s;&s;e with, and plea&s;e</L>
<L>Their pampared Patrons with <HI>Hyperboles.</HI></L>
<L>My Mu&s;e weares no &s;uch ma&s;que, nor can her Rime</L>
<L>Lackey or hold opinion with the time.</L>
<L>Invited hither to performe that due</L>
<L>Tribute of thankes &s;he owes, and owes to you;</L>
<L>To you be&s;t Sir, who have a witne&s;&s;e been</L>
<L>Of what &s;he writes, to you Sir, who have &s;eene</L>
<L>Tho&s;e Tragedies &s;he treates of, and have knowne</L>
<L>The lo&s;&s;es of great <HI>Ul&s;ter</HI> in your owne.</L>
<L>Then &s;ince &s;he's thus a&s;pired, &s;he humbly prayes</L>
<L>To let her Ivie waite upon your Bayes.</L>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 TYPE="body of poem">
<L>VP &s;ad <HI>Melpomone,</HI> up and condole</L>
<L>The Ruines of a Realme, attire thy &s;oule</L>
<L>In &s;orrowes dre&s;&s;e; O let thy fountaines ri&s;e</L>
<L>And over flow the floodgates of thine eyes:</L>
<L>Fill up thy &s;anguine Ci&s;ternes to the brim,</L>
<L>Spread forth thy expanded armes, and &s;trive to &s;wim</L>
<L>In thine owne teares, that &s;o thou may'&s;t make knowne</L>
<L>The griefe of others fully as thine owne:</L>
<L>Oh! heere's a Theame indeed, if Mortals could</L>
<L>Not now lament, the Rocks and Mountains would,</L>
<L>The melting Heavens who&s;e influences &s;teepe,</L>
<L>The &s;tubborne &s;tone would teach us how to weepe;</L>
<L>The Blood-imbrued Earth doth blu&s;h to &s;ee</L>
<L>Such horrid Ma&s;&s;akers, and &s;hall not we?</L>
<L>Sure &s;hould we not, we had le&s;&s;e &s;en&s;e then tho&s;e</L>
<L>Hard hearts who were fir&s;t Authors of the&s;e woes.</L>
<L><HI>Di&s;a&s;trous State!</HI> How beautifull, how faire</L>
<L>Thy Buildings, and how foule thy Vices were?</L>
<L>How were thy glorious blo&s;&s;omes turn'd to du&s;t;</L>
<L>And bla&s;ted with the lighting of thy lu&s;t?</L>
<L>Brim'd with exce&s;&s;e, how did thy cups o'reflow</L>
<L>Fa&s;ter then all thy trickling teares doe now?</L>
<L>How did thy crimes eclip&s;e thee (and crying loud</L>
<L>For vegeance) ma&s;que thy forehead in a cloud?</L>
<L>Thy greatne&s;&s;e but encreas'd thy fall, and that</L>
<L>Which was thy glory, u&s;her'd on thy fate,</L>
<L>Thy wealth and plenty have but centuplyd</L>
<L>Thy greater plagues, and made the wound more wide,</L>
<L>And what &s;hould mo&s;t revive thee, and re&s;tore</L>
<L>Thine health, hath &s;erv'd t' exulcerate the &s;ore.</L>
<L>Thy &s;tately Forre&s;ts, which did once invite</L>
<L>The eye t'a fea&s;t of wonder and delight,</L>
<L>Prov'd but thy Funerall Faggots to con&s;ume</L>
<L>Thy glory, and t'exaggerate thy doome,</L>
<L>Whil&s;t all thy blazing Territories have</L>
<L>But Torches been, to light thee to thy Grave.</L>
<L>And &s;hall &s;he peri&s;h, and we langui&s;h thus?</L>
<L>And is there none t'helpe her, or &s;uccour us?</L>
<L>Shall &s;he pine thus unpiti'd? &s;hall her griefe</L>
<L>Thus dayly finde a voyce, but no reliefe?</L>
<L>O happy <HI>England!</HI> which wilt &s;carce confe&s;&s;e,</L>
<L>(Lull'd within a lethargy) this happine&s;&s;e:</L>
<L>Thy troubles were but triviall, and thy feares</L>
<L>But meerely Fanta&s;ies compar'd with here.</L>
<L>'Tis &s;he, 'tis &s;he hath &s;ufferd, and drunk up</L>
<L>Tho&s;e dreggs whereof thou'ha&s;t only kis'd the cup:</L>
<L>Tho&s;e puny plagues which partially have met</L>
<L>In thee, have been &s;o ample, &s;o compleat,</L>
<L>And numerous in her, that nothing more</L>
<L>Could once be heap'd or added to the &s;core.</L>
<L>But ah! complaints are &s;haddowes, and too briefe</L>
<L>T'expre&s;&s;e or &s;how the &s;ub&s;tance of thy griefe:</L>
<L>And &s;uch who&s;e fancy &s;trives to utter it,</L>
<L>Shew not &s;o much their &s;orrow as their wit:</L>
<L>Thou that wert once great Britaines chiefe&s;t glory,</L>
<L>Art now become a gazing &s;tock, a &s;tory</L>
<L>Exil'd from humane helps, and heavenly &s;miles</L>
<L>O're whelm'd, and &s;epulchred in thine owne &s;poyles.</L>
<L>How doth black fate inviron the about?</L>
<L>That hope cannot get in; nor horrour out.</L>
<L>Famine thou &s;i&s;ter of the &s;word, and &s;on</L>
<L>Of Death, how many worlds ha&s;t thou undone?</L>
<L>How do&s;t thou tyrannize, and keepe thy Leets,</L>
<L>And con&s;tant &s;tations in her open &s;treets?</L>
<L>Oh! how the palefac't &s;ucklings roare for food,</L>
<L>And from their milk le&s;&s;e mothers brea&s;t draw blood.</L>
<L>They cryd for bread that had &s;carce breath to cry,</L>
<L>And wanting meanes to live, found meanes to dye.</L>
<L>The Father ga&s;p: his la&s;t, and to his Heire</L>
<L>Bequeathes his pined corps, the Nur&s;es teare</L>
<L>And quarter out their Infants, whil&s;t they fea&s;t</L>
<L>Upon the one halfe, and pre&s;erve the re&s;t:</L>
<L>O cruel Famine! which compells the Mother</L>
<L>To kill one &s;tarved child to feede another.</L>
<L>Thus is thy glory vani&s;ht in a trice,</L>
<L>And all thy pomp lies buri'd in Aby&s;&s;e:</L>
<L>Thy joys are turned to &s;orrows, backt with teares,</L>
<L>Whil&s;t thou, poore thou, li'&s;t pickled up in teares:</L>
<L>Yet be thou ner'e di&s;mayd with boundle&s;&s;e &s;orrow</L>
<L>The&s;e Nights of griefe may find a joyfull Morrow.</L>
<L>Cleare then thy clouded countenance, and calme</L>
<L>Thy di&s;compo&s;ed looks; Heaven, Heaven, hath Balme</L>
<L>As well as thunder-bolts, and be thou &s;ure</L>
<L>Thou can&s;t not bleed &s;o fa&s;t as he can cure.</L>
<L>'Tis he, 'tis he can heale thee, and cru&s;h tho&s;e</L>
<L>That have in&s;ulted in thine overthrowes.</L>
<L>And thou proud Prelate (who&s;e ambitiou&s;ne&s;&s;e</L>
<L>A triple Diadem can &s;carch depre&s;&s;e;</L>
<L>Pro&s;trate at who&s;e proud foot&s;teps, Legions lye,</L>
<L>And fall as low as Hell to keepe thee high)</L>
<L>Shalt one day be &s;ubjected too, with all</L>
<L>Tho&s;e Complices tryumphant in thy fall</L>
<L>Sad Realme? A day there is when Heavens decree</L>
<L>Shall call them to account as well as thee;</L>
<L>And the time will come (if Souldiers may divine)</L>
<L>To worke their ruine that have thus wrought thine.</L>
<TRAILER>FINIS.</TRAILER>
</DIV2>
</DIV1>
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