Poem to Matthew Wentworth – 1 Jan 1676

An invitation to Sir Mathew Wentworth to haste out of Ireland into England, with a congratulation for that great estate that falls to him by the death of Sir T. W. [added in a different hand:] who died 5 Decr. 1675,



Thrice honour’d Sir, arise now spur away,

We have no patience for your longer, stay, 

Old Holofernes now is dead, and gone, 

His land is all away and flown; 

He is gone. Yea farewel he, 

He is <…> that great many nobility; 

Adieu hath put him in his boat, but where 

Charon led him, there’s many do not care; 

[Lord] Strafford now his keyes, his sword and all, 

<missing word> your own our countrey now doth call, 

<missing word/s> hands with Ireland never more to see 

<missing word/s > country, the <3-4 words obscured> there be 

<missing word/s > as safe, and pleasant, you may make: 

When you have sent away a female snake: 

Mount a swift steed on of an aery kind, 

A Spanish Gennet gotten with the wind, 

Come to the fore with all the speed you may, 

Ride faster than the wind can blow away

<word obscured> be ready to receive him there!

Great Neptune now comand thy wavs to cease

Rebuke thy <Gillows>! let there be a peace,

And Aeolus keep fast within thy fist!

Thy blustring winds lock them in iron chest!

Come forth, ye scaly troops of fish and strong,

Put too your shoulders Drive the ship along

Welcome to Lverpole! bait your feet, and stay,

But for a night, things new give no delay;

Hoyland! and Silkston! now your bells prepare!

To welcome home a wisht and joyfull heir:

Hoyland! ring till thy tott’ring steeple shake,

What if it fall great Wentworth now can make

A better new one! there is wood enuff;

The old Srs bargains <2-3 words missing>

Ringers shew skill, and make the bells to dance

A hy Levanto for Mathews advance;

But take of[f] hands! the bells themselves will play!

To welcome to in this great Sir Mathews day

Welcome to Brittain! I congratulate 

Your safe return to your great estate;

You have been lost on seas, and troubled <missing>

Now for an harbor safely you are come <missing>

Turn out the Madam! The great butter to <an .. missing>

And let her make her packs, and to be gone

But stop her too, Divide her baggs and staff

The half is yours, some say tis just enuf!

Let her be gone to seek some other joy!

Some sanguine darling, or some active boy!

Her rusty wealth long hid in blackest night:

Presto – great Madam now you may be gone

To dance your jiggs with Mab or Oberon:



Welcome your friends! let all your spouts run wine. 

Let there be no sad hearts but only mine!

And let some noble herald at your door!

proclaim, exit Sir Thomas, and say more

Intrat Sr Mathew Wentworth, Lord of all.

Thanks Death! Thanks Death! That did the old Sir call;



Give God his glory, a firme pillar raise,

In golden letters write there his due praise;

Fear God, and keep his laws most carefully,

You shall be <rest of line obscured>

Train up your son in wayes where he should go,

When he is old he’l not depart therefro:

Let such as serve the Lord your servants be,

The wicked ones before you never see:

May you bless God, and God bless you again,

And may these prayers of mine not be in vain:

I write no more, (when I have kist your hand)

But that I am your servant to command:



Vive vale o’ Sir Mathew. x



[added in a different hand]: this Sir Mathew brother of Sir Thomas, Died 1st August 1677

[another different hand:] William Radcliffe Rouge Croix



[annotated on cover in a later hand, possibly Alexander Sinclair’s:] Decr. 13th 1826

An old Letter [sic] to Sir Matthew Wentworth on the Death of his Brother Sir Thomas Wentworth by the Chaplain to bring him from Ireland