University of Virginia Library

An Elegy on the death of the renowned, and victorious Gustavus Adolphus King of Sweathland.

Can the dry sound, Hee's dead, no more affright
The world with terrour, than had some meane knight,
Languish't to death in downe? or can the sound,
That Sweaden hath received a fatall wound
Passe by, and like the bullet, hurt no more
Than his stout brest, that felt the mortall sore?
Oh no! it rankles in each weak'ned part,
And strikes a chill amazement to the heart
Of feeble Christendome, that by his losse,
Puts on it's titles badge, The Christian Crosse:
And 'twas a great one too, yet let none wonder
That heaven forbore to ring his knell in thunder:
Or that some angry Meteor did not stare,
And to the world their publique losse declare.
No, no, some such Ambassador as this
Had beene too mercifull, and made us misse
Our just deserved punishment, for wee
Knowing our sinne begot this misery,
Might by a faign'd repentance have procur'd
A pardon for the Prince: but now assur'd
Of our owne weaknesse, we with teares may say,
We are losers, though our army wonne the day.
His death begot his conquest, and his foes
Mourn'd at his fate, witnesse those death wing'd blows
Which heaven by meanes of his impressure steele,
Did make their bleeding carcasses to feele.
Then what remaines? but that out prayers gaine
This be the latest losse we may sustaine.
And that no more of Heavens great Champions fall
Through our default, to so sad funerall.