University of Virginia Library

Upon the Right Honourable R. Earl of Lyndsey, General under King Charls I. at Edge-Hill (great Grand-father to the present Countess of Rutland) and Mountague Lord Willoughby, his Son, bestriding him, when fall'n in the Battel.

Glory! thou brightest of alluring things;
That add'st a Lustre to the Crowns of Kings;
A shining Vest, by Heroes only worn,
More rich than that which gilds a Summers Morn.
In this Attire illustrious Lindsey stands
In Keynton-fields before the Royal Bands:
Thus did the glorious Michael (arm'd with Light)
'Gainst Lucifer, and his damn'd Legions, fight.
That Act (tho great) a lesser Wonder brought;
A Mortal, like the immortal Warriour, fought,
Not much less Honour here great Lindsey gain'd;
Charles to obey, his Army to command.
'Tis true, he dyd; but conquer'd tho before:
That Northern Mars (Gustavus) did no more.
Whose lesser Fate th' advantage him deny'd
To have a noble Witness how he dy'd:
Two Armies Lindsey may for Witness call;
And crusht his Foes, like Sampson, in his Fall.
Nay, more than this! he had the brave Content,
To see his Honours Heir, and Ornament,
How (Cocles like) an Army he defi'd;
And his fall'n Father bravely did bestride;

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As, by that well-built Arch, he had some hope,
That Noble-ancient-falling Pyle to prop.
A Posture suited both those Heroes well;
Thus Clytus stood, thus Alexander fell!
Too true! he fell before the Fight was done;
His Conduct tho and brave Example won:
So Light is borrow'd from the setting Sun.
Those charming Beauties, Victory and Fame,
Courted his Favour with an equal flame.
With Grief distracted, when our Hero dy'd,
Each lay her down, and hugg'd his bleeding side.
Where ever since, fix'd by his powerful Charms,
They are Supporters to his noble Arms.

I now must claim the Reader's Vote,
After this Prospect, nothing's worthy note;
Unless it be
Great Lord, thy Piety;
Who not content, this stately Pyle
(The boast and glory of the Isle)
Should reach the Clouds, as tho it vies
Its shining Beauties with the Skies.
And yet Heavens Gate, the House of God,
(Wherein his Oracles make their abode)
Should have so mean a show,
And then the Castle be more low;
As Heaven did downward grow.
Nothing reserved to thy care,
But to adorn, and to enlarge
The House of Prayer.
Thrice happy thou! who hadst so blest a charge!
Altho the Glory and the worldly Fame
Are due to th' Founders Name;
The Crown and Blessing fell thy better share.
Stately ought the place to be
Where a Princess is inthron'd;
And who can justlier be a Princess own'd
Than that cœlestial Maid Divinity?

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Here, noble Lord, is only known
A Beauty greater than thine own.
Here thine with Reverence attends;
And every day rich Off'rings does bequeath;
Fragrant Incense of her breath;
Which form'd in Prayers, to Heav'n she sends.
By paying Heav'n its Honours due,
Fair Lady Heav'n will honour you;
Increasing your renown;
And on your head will set
(More glorious far than Rutland's Coronet)
An everlasting Crown.

Lo! where the precious Relicks lye;
Ostentuous Ensigns of Mortality!

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Reposited with cost and care;
Like China-ware,
To be rais'd up more shining, and more fair.
How great and stately are the Tombs?
For noble Guests, it's fit to have such noble Rooms.
And tis but just, that so great state
Attend their Fate;
Who liv'd in Palaces, when dead
In Palaces are buried.
Nor is this all!
If you will look on that Historic Wall,
You'l into admiration fall:
That we no Chronicles of those times need,
If we but these Inscriptions read.
Each Epitaph's a spatious page,
And tells the great remarks of its own age.
The noble Acts of all these worthies here,
With Englands acts, so complicated were;
As each was the Intelligence to Brittain's Sphear.
Most fit Records, such glorious Names to hold;
Whose Leaves are Marble, and whose Ink is Gold!