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<DATE>2008-03-07</DATE>
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<NAME>John Pas</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B080213.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B05982">
<STC T="W">S5802A</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99885038</BIBNO>
<VID>182879</VID>
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<TEXT>
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 3 -->
<HEAD>THE ULTIMUM VALE, OR, La&s;t Farewell Of THOMAS Earle of Strafford. Written by him&s;elfe a little before his death.</HEAD>
<LG N="1">
<HEAD>(I.)</HEAD>
<L>FArewell vain world, farewell my fleeting joyes,</L>
<L>Whole be&s;t of mu&s;ick's but an Echo's noy&s;e,</L>
<L>And all the lu&s;tre of your painted light</L>
<L>But as dull dreams and fantoms of the night.</L>
<L>Empty your plea&s;ures too, nor can they la&s;t</L>
<L>Longer than aire-puft bubbles, or a bla&s;t.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="2">
<HEAD>(II.)</HEAD>
<L>Farewell you fading Honours, which doe blinde,</L>
<L>By your fal&s;e mi&s;ts the &s;harpe&s;t &s;ighted minde,</L>
<L>And having rais'd him to his height of cares,</L>
<L>Tumble him headlong down the &s;lippery &s;taires.</L>
<L>How &s;hall I prai&s;e or pri&s;e your glorious ills,</L>
<L>Which are but poy&s;on put in golden pills.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="3">
<HEAD>(III.)</HEAD>
<L>Farewell my blu&s;tring titles, ne're come backe,</L>
<L>You've &s;weld my failes until my ma&s;tings cracke,</L>
<L>And made my Ve&s;&s;ell reele again&s;t the rocks</L>
<L>Of gaping ruine, whole de&s;tructive knocks</L>
<L>Hath helple&s;&s;e left me, &s;inking, here to lie:</L>
<L>The cau&s;e? I rais'd my main-top failes too high.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="4">
<HEAD>(IV.)</HEAD>
<L>Farewell Ambition (&s;ince we needs mu&s;t part)</L>
<L>Thou great Inchantre&s;&s;e of mans greater heart:</L>
<L>Thy guilded titles that do &s;eeme &s;o faire,</L>
<L>Are but like meteors hanging in the aire:</L>
<L>In who&s;e fal&s;e &s;plendor, falling thence, is found</L>
<L>No worth, but water-like &s;hed on the ground.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="5">
<HEAD>(V.)</HEAD>
<L>Farewell the Glory, from which all the re&s;t</L>
<L>Derive the Sweets for which men &s;tile rhem ble&s;t,</L>
<L>That from one root in &s;everall branches &s;pring,</L>
<L>I meane, The favor of my gratious King:</L>
<L>This too, hath led my wandring &s;oule a&s;tray,</L>
<L>Like <HI>Ignis Fatuis,</HI> from its righter way.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="6">
<HEAD>(VI.)</HEAD>
<L>Farewell my Friends, I need not bid you go;</L>
<L>When Fortune flies, you freely will doe &s;o.</L>
<L>Wor&s;hip the ri&s;ing, not the &s;etting Sun.</L>
<L>The Hou&s;e is falling; Vermin quickly run.</L>
<L>Bees do from off the wither'd floures make ha&s;te;</L>
<L>The rea&s;on is, Becau&s;e th'ave lo&s;t their ta&s;te.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="7">
<HEAD>(VII.)</HEAD>
<L>Farewell the trea&s;ures of my tempting &s;tore,</L>
<L>Which of all Idols, lea&s;t I did adore:</L>
<L>Ha&s;te to &s;ome Ideots Coffer, and hee'l bee</L>
<L>Thy &s;lave, as I have ma&s;ter been to thee.</L>
<L>Heaven knowes, of all the Suiters that I had,</L>
<L>I lea&s;t priz'd thee, as counting none &s;o bad.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="8">
<HEAD>(VIII.)</HEAD>
<L>La&s;t; To my Foes farewell: for &s;uch I have,</L>
<L>Who do in multitudes wait for my grave;</L>
<L>Mong&s;t which I can't beleeve but &s;ome there be</L>
<L>That hate my vices only, and not me:</L>
<L>Let them pa&s;&s;e o're my &s;ame without a blot,</L>
<L>And let the Vulgar &s;cratch they know not what.</L>
</LG>
<LG N="9">
<HEAD>(IX.)</HEAD>
<L>Let them be&s;meare me by the chattering notes</L>
<L>(Poor &s;illy hearts)which echo through their throtes;</L>
<L>I'le pa&s;&s;e it o're, and pray (with patience too)</L>
<L>Father forgive; they know not what they do.</L>
<L>Yet O: I could have woo'd my treacherous Fate</L>
<L>T'have let me died without the publique hate.</L>
</LG>
</DIV1>
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<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P>London printed, 1641.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
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