_Pont._ Alasse! he knowes him selfe (in pouerty) lost: 35 For in this parciall auaricious age What price beares Honor? Vertue? Long agoe It was but prays’d, and freez’d, but now a dayes ’Tis colder far, and has, nor loue, nor praise, Very prayse now freezeth too: for nature 40 Did make the heathen, far more Christian then, Then knowledge vs (lesse heathenish) Christian. _Malo._ This morning is the funerall. _Pont._ Certainely! And from this prison ’twas the sonnes request That his deare father might interment haue. 45 _Recorders Musique,_ See, the young sonne interd a liuely graue. _Baum._ They come, obserue their order. _Enter Funerall. Body borne by 4. Captaines and Souldiers, Mourners, Scutchions, and very good order. Charolois, and Romont meet it. Char. speaks. Rom. weeping, solemne Musique, 3 Creditors._ _Char._ How like a silent streame shaded with night, And gliding softly with our windy sighes; Moues the whole frame of this solemnity! 50 Teares, sighs, and blackes, filling the simily, Whilst I the onely murmur in this groue Of death, thus hollowly break forth! Vouchsafe To stay a while, rest, rest in peace, deare earth, Thou that brought’st rest to their vnthankfull lyues, 55 Whose cruelty deny’d thee rest in death: Heere stands thy poore Executor thy sonne, That makes his life prisoner, to bale thy death; Who gladlier puts on this captiuity, Then Virgins long in loue, their wedding weeds: 60 Of all that euer thou hast done good to, These onely haue good memories, for they Remember best, forget not gratitude. I thanke you for this last and friendly loue. And tho this Country, like a viperous mother, 65 Not onely hath eate vp vngratefully All meanes of thee her sonne, but last thy selfe, Leauing thy heire so bare and indigent, He cannot rayse thee a poore Monument, Such as a flatterer, or a vsurer hath. 70 Thy worth, in euery honest brest buyldes one, Making their friendly hearts thy funerall stone. _Pont._ Sir. _Char._ Peace, O peace, this sceane is wholy mine. What weepe ye, souldiers? Blanch not, _Romont_ weepes. 75 Ha, let me see, my miracle is eas’d, The iaylors and the creditors do weepe; Euen they that make vs weepe, do weepe themselues. Be these thy bodies balme: these and thy vertue Keepe thy fame euer odoriferous, 80 Whilst the great, proud, rich, vndeseruing man, Aliue stinkes in his vices, and being vanish’d, The golden calfe that was an Idoll dect With marble pillars Iet, and Porphyrie, Shall quickly both in bone and name consume, 85 Though wrapt in lead, spice, Searecloth and perfume _1 Cred._ Sir.