Olor Iscanus :: :: University of Virginia Library

I knew it would be thus! and my Just fears
Of thy great spirit are Improv'd to tears.
Yet flow these not from any base distrust
Of a fair name, or that thy honour must
Confin'd to those cold reliques sadly sit
In the same Cell an obscure Anchorite.
Such low distempers Murther, they that must
Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust.

But I past such dimme Mourners can descrie
Thy fame above all Clouds of obloquie,
And like the Sun with his victorious rayes
Charge through that darkness to the last of dayes.
'Tis true, fair Manhood hath a female Eye,
And tears are beauteous in a Victorie,
Nor are wee so high-proofe, but griefe will find
Through all our guards a way to wound the mind;
But in thy fall what addes the brackish summe
More than a blott unto thy Martyrdome,
Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands
More by thy single worth, than our whole bands.
Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought
In this sad losse, or wert thou to be brought

Back here by tears, I would in any wise
Pay down the summe, or quite Consume my Eyes.
Thou fell'st our double ruine, and this rent
Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent,
Learning in others steales them from the Van,
And basely wise Emasculates the man.
But lodged in thy brave soul the bookish seat
Serve'd only as the light unto thy heat;
Thus when some quitted action, to their shame,
And only got a discreet cowards name,
Thou with thy bloud mad'st purchase of renown,
And diedst the glory of the Sword and Gown
Thy bloud hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow
(Prophan'd before) hath Church'd the Castle now.

Nor is't a Common valour we deplore,
But such as with fifteen a hundred bore,
And lightning like (not coopt within a wall)
In stormes of fire and steele fell on them all.
Thou wert no Wool-sack souldier, nor of those
Whose Courage lies in winking at their foes,
That live at loop-holes, and consume their breath
On Match or Pipes, and sometimes peepe at death;
No, it were sinne to number these with thee,
But that (thus poiz'd) our losse wee better see.
The fair and open valour was thy shield,
And thy known station, the defying field.

Yet these in thee I would not Vertues call.
But that this age must know, that thou hadst all.
Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind
Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd,
That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights
All we can say, is this, They were fair nights.
Thy Piety and Learning did unite,
And though with Sev'rall beames made up one light,
And such thy Judgement was, that I dare swear
Whole Counsels might as soon, and Synods erre.

But all these now are out! and as some Star
Hurl'd in Diurnall motions from far,

And seen to droop at night, is vainly sed
To fall, and find an Occidentall bed,
Though in that other world what wee Iudge west
Proves Elevation, and a new, fresh East.
So though our weaker sense denies us sight
And bodies cannot trace the Spirits flight,
Wee know those graces to be still in thee,
But wing'd above us to eternitie.
Since then (thus flown) thou art so much refin'd,
That we can only reach thee with the mind,
I will not in this dark and narrow glasse
Let thy scant shadow for Perfections passe,
But leave thee to be read more high, more queint,
In thy own bloud a Souldier and a Saint.

------Salve æternum mihi maxime Palla!
Æternumque vale!------