An ELEGY on the Death of the Great Duke of ORMOND.

An ELEGY on the Death of the Great Duke of ORMOND.

LAte in a lonely Melancholly Shade, Whilst all my Cares victorious Sleep obey'd; A Vision suddenly possess'd my Brain, And tortur'd Nature labor'd with the pain. My trembling Soul forgot her wonted trade, Nor could she call the Senses to her aid, Oppress'd with wonder and uncommon awe, At the Celestial Miracles she saw.

Methought upon a Lucid Cloud in State, As on a Throne an awful Monarch sate, Mysterious Glories shone around his face, And soon I knew by each Angellick Grace, And the Indulgence of a pitying Smile, 'Twas that lov'd Prince that lately rul'd this Isle, Attending Cherubs fann'd him with their wings; Whilst on each side a row of British Kings All met in Council for some grand Intent, Made up in pomp the Glorious Parliament. Great Edward, Henry, deathless in their Fames, Two Henrys more, and Learned Pious Iames, With that blest Martyr by his own betraid, Sate mute to hear what their great Off-spring said, Who with a solemn Voice and awful brow, And the same Grace with which he charm'd below; Whilst crowding Angels their Attentions lent, Thus made Oration to th' Omnipotent.

Great Sire of Angels as of Humane Race, All copied from thy own Celestial face, Who with a Breath canst Life and Death controul This hour Create, the next recal the Soul; Inspire a Clod, and from Earths common dust Winnow the Brave and Good from the unjust; Receive another Hero to thy store, And to thy Heaven add one Glory more, Ormond, the best of all Earths noble brood, Ormond, the Wise the Virtuous and the Good; The noblest Theme of each fam'd Poets Song, Tir'd with frail Nature he has worn so long, Implores to crown his Souls triumphant Fame In that Eternal Peace from whence it came, Through all the Mazes of ambiguous Life, Through foreign Battels and domestick Strife, Through Traitors Swords & Plots contriv'd in Hell, Through inmate Fiends that pray and yet Rebel; Ormond, undaunted has like Gideon pass'd, Preserving Faith and Honor to the last, Loyal as Brave, and Brave as Mortals were, Ere the first damning Sin begot base Fear, Nay, what's a Rarity we find in few, He was a Saint and yet a Soldier too.

To what a pitch must Fame his Glory raise, That all degrees of Heaven and Earth do praise, For his Youths Judgment by the wise admir'd, As much for Beauty by the Fair desir'd; For as each word would move a stander by, So every look could Charm a Ladies Eye; Cherubs and Seraphins his value know, And chant above what we repeat below, Tyrannick Time, that even does ravenous seem, To prey on others, did no hurt to him, But seem'd afraid a Fabrick to destroy, So long propp'd up by Sacred Geometry, In which all People took such general Joy; And that true Justice on my part appear, For where should it inhabit if not here. I when Intestine Foes my Crown besieg'd, Stood to his Virtue and his Faith oblig'd; He trac'd my Exile with unwearied Love, And to asswage my boundless Sorrows strove; Brave man that never fail'd my Cause to fight, Nor valued his when I had lost my right, Oppressed with pinching Grief yet still so good, Hee'd murmur not, though almost wanting food; But when his Coffers were exhausted dry, Fed on the Manna of his Loyalty: At last when by thy blest decree I came, To be restor'd, his duty was the same His Soul still wore the same unalter'd dress, Not swell'd with Power, nor less'ned by distress But modell'd by thy own Divinity, It still retains some perfect-Seeds of thee, Which now extract him to so pure a state, 'Twill cost but little trouble to translate: Admit then oh Eternal All in All, And to our state of Bliss, lov'd Ormond call, Reward his Zeal and Piety below With blessings here too good for Earth to know: No Star can better grace the Court Divine, Nor of his Magnitude can brighter shine.

Thus spoke the Godlike Monarch, and a grant From Heaven's dread Sovereign publish'd a consent. The Saints in waiting hum'd aloud for Joy, And Halelujahs fill'd the echoing Sky; When strait a glorious Light, methought was seen Just as another Sun had rising been, The dazling Splendor made Eternal day, And Ormond's Name Rung o'er the milky way, Straight the Majestic Soul was seated high, Deck'd in the Robes of new Divinity; Through all the Sacred Host was Joy express'd, At the Instalment of this Glorious Guest, On the left hand of Gracious Charles he sate, His mortal Cares crown'd with immortal State.

This joyful Scene scarce did my Vision show, But I was waken'd with their Crys below; And to my grief as well as theirs I knew Their mournful sounds had prov'd this wonder true, His Friends in Tears all made a loud Complaint, The World had lost, though Heaven had gain'd a Saint, And amongst all the numerous selfish Train, My self had not least Reason to complain; But wished with them a worthy held so dear, Had been less happy, and stay'd longer here. And here my Muse make thy peculiar moan, The best inspirer of thy Art is gone, Thy noble Patron that first plum'd thy wing. Inform'd and dipt thee in Apollo's Spring, And in Poetick numbers made thee sing, By Angels courted to his sacred home, Leaves thee to sigh thy Sorrows on his Tomb. In wisest Rules of moral Learning bred, He never thought it a disgrace to read, Nor true Applause to a just Merit grudge, Though not a Poet yet a Poets Judge, Could well instruct a Pegasus to fly, Shew where he flagg'd or where he soar'd too high Mourn, mourn, ye Sons of Phoebus, burn your Books, And let your hearts be sad as are your Looks; Forsake your Lyrick strains and let each Eye Drown in salt Floods your Patrons Elegy; Who? now the Muses lustre shall advance Above the scorn of sordid Ignorance, Who? shall their want of generous Friends supply Or raise the drooping head of Poetry: He's gone, he's gone, his Aid you ask in vain, Law and the Grave never refund again. Too late the mighty Loss is understood, Few know the value till they lose the Good; For eighty rowling Years he still was known The brightest Jewel in the British Crown, And with unblemish'd lustre grac'd our Isle, The value true, nor needed any foil; His Virtue made his Dignity more great, His Mein was graceful and his Language sweet, And none his noble Actions liv'd to see, But wish'd him greater than he wish'd to be. His early Cares to serve his Prince did tend, A faithful Subject, Counsellor and Friend, To th' Royal Line, when Faction high did rise, His Arm gave succour and his Heart advise; So once to Saul did the great Prophet do, Good Counsel gave, and fought his Battels too.

Happy those Heroes were that understood, Their Virtues made 'em nobler than their Blood, That 'twas the intrinsick Value of the Ore, And not the stamp that made the Merit more; With vain Ambition some themselves deceive, But to be brave and honest is to live; To be an Ormond is the Life sublime, The noblest Pattern of precedent Time, Whose Saint-like Pity, God-like Gentleness T' incourage Merit, and relieve Distress, No Wit can praise enough, nor Tongue express. Henceforth, vile Age, thy ill spent time redeem, Grow good, and let Great Ormond be thy Theme Let each vain Courtier break his flattering Glass, And in his Pious Mirror learn to dress; Whilst all the Muses with dejected Eyes, Offer whole Volumes of sad Elgies; A mournful Train with Cypress Garlands on, Methinks I see forsake their Hellicon, To sing the solemn Dirges of this day; But ah, bright Soul, what Tribute shall I pay! My Heart no respite to her Woes shall have, For when remembring thee, I idly rave, To think no Worth can charm, no Virtue scape the Grave.