 | Elegies on the Queen and Archbishop |  |
1
On the DEATH OF Her Late Sacred Majesty MARY Queen of England, &c.
A Pindarique Poem.
I.
Ah sinful Nation! Ah ungrateful Isle!See what thy Crimes at last have done!
At last thy Shechina is gone,
Thy beauteous Sun no more must on thee smile:
Thy Dove is shelter'd in the Ark,
The Heav'ns are silent all, and dark;
Dark as thy Fate, or where
Thro' horrid Rifts some Streaks of Light appear:
They bode a dreadful Flood
Of Fire and Blood;
So Sodom look'd when Lot was fled,
The wrathful Skyes wore such a gloomy red,
2
And only did the Signal wait
To pour their full-charg'd Viols down
On the devoted Town,
Scatt'ring wide Ruin, and inevitable Fate.
II.
Thus Sodom sinn'd, and thus it fell,Their Paradise transform'd to Hell,
Whose pitchy Streams, long in Earths Caverns lost,
Rise from the Shades of Death and Night,
And dare th' almost forgotten Light;
Agen they rise on Albions distant Coast;
And fear not we their Fate who all their Lewdness boast?
Each Age, each Sex, each Order and Degree
Full-ripe, and bending for Destruction stand,
And joyn their Crimes to sink a guilty Land,
Nor can, alas! itself th' Attoning Altar free.
Yes,—we their Fate in vain wou'd shun
If on their Crimes, and worse we run;
Already is the Plague begun;
Some Scalding Drops already fall
Beck'ning the rest away,
While those who might the Pile of Vengeance stay
Wise Heav'n aside does call;
From its strong Arm all Intercessors throw
For fear their stronger Prayers shou'd stop the Blow.
III.
It is resolv'd, said the All-high!Patience divine no longer now can bear,
Mercy itself no more can spare;
Soon shall they feel that Pow'r they now defie;
Henceforth I cancel their abus'd Reprieve:
In Hell, if not on Earth, they shall a God believe.
Go then, said he, to an Attendant Might,
The fairest Form of all the Sons of Light;
3
The same who hail'd the bright Judean Maid;
Go Gabriel! to that stubborn Spot which lies
Amid th' Atlantic Main,
Which that, and me who fix'd its Shores defies;
Go, since a Blessing, they like her, despise,
Go, bring my Pledge again!
Hast! For, till from the thankless Isle she's gone
Nothing must to the thankless Isle be done:
Gladly the pitying Mind for a Reverse had staid,
Might his important Charge have been delay'd;
But since the Doom was fix'd, the pitying Mind obey'd.
IV.
This soon was to our Guardian known, for whoHeav'ns mind e'er better knew?
Who, e'er among the Sons of Men?
Our Guardian now, our watchful Primate then:
Our Punishment he did too justly dread
Which in our Sins he plainly read:
Low on his Knees himself he threw
Before th' Eternals Throne
As Jacob, e'er he over Peniel past;
Still kept his Grasp, and held th' Almighty fast;
Agen th' Almighty said—Let me alone!
Still he persists, till toucht himself he found;
As Isr'el then, and lifeless struck the Ground:
Far more of hers than his own Fate afraid
Agen he rose, agen he pray'd,
Agen he askt she might not goe,
Nor was o'ercome, but with a second Blow:
Since she must dye he covets Life no more,
He saw 'twas Fate, and gladly went before.
V.
Thus half the mighty Work was done;One side of our blest Queen unguarded stood
For Fate to strike where e'er it wou'd;
4
How various Deaths, and yet how sure
(The first Design, against her e'er took place,)
Did she, undaunted, face?
How firmly did she all, and like her self, endure?
She only still remain'd unmov'd;
She only not her self admir'd and lov'd:
All Ages now th' almost forgotten Temples crowd,
And for her Safety and their own they vow'd;
To Heav'n they all her Virtues tell,
Which knew 'em but alas! too well;
It knew how ripe for Heav'n they were,
How much too good for this bad World to share.
VI.
See where a Host of Widdow'd Matrons come!Before the unpropitious Altars laid
In vain their Crys deaf Heav'n invade;
See where they tire the Stars for aid,
But can't reverse her Doom!
See where as many Smiling Orphans go
As yet almost too young to feel their Woe!
Yet do they raise their little Hands and Eyes,
Yet do they tell the unrelenting Skyes
They all must dye if their new-Mother dyes.
Near these, bright Confessors and Exiles stood:
Such Bounty from Our Country's Parent shown
As made 'em here almost forget their own;
Glorious with honest Scars, and sprinkled all with Blood.
These, and a thousand Miserables more
Who at her Palace oft did wait,
As those who at Bethesda sate,
Till them high Heav'n shou'd by the Angels Hand restore;
All these with interrupting Tears repeat
How far the Good in her excell'd the Great:
The much she did, and more she still design'd;
Which, like their Pray'r,
Was lost in Air,
And scatter'd into Wind.
5
VII.
How poor are all the Honours Art can give?The Heralds pompous Skill, how poor?
Nor can it grant, nor Fame secure,
Nor need it those, bright Saint! who like thee live.
Jewels and Stars themselves wou'd be
When in thy Arms false Heraldry.
Yet that bright Topaz of the Air
Which scatters round perpetual Light,
Hardly his Rays than her less bright,
The Sun himself is likest her:
As constant she her Blessings round her sent,
As silently did she her Alms dispence,
As Friendly was her Influence,
As deep she pierc'd, as wide her warmth and bounty went:
Yet with more care her Virtue did disguise
Than Learning Sinners take to hide their Vice.
VIII.
Tho' there alas! so short her stayThe Court it self sh' had learnt to pray:
The Court, a wild Serail no more,
Where Virtue a neglected Stranger grown,
As 'twas in reigns before;
Nor yet a dull monastic Cell,
Where sullen Superstition rears its Throne
A hive for the religious Drone,
Where silence never comes, and Discord loves to dwell:
A Pattern of the Active Life she reign'd;
Her Life like her fair Mind, unstain'd.
She needed not a Crown to've made her shine
Her Goodness scatter'd something more divine.
Slowly she took what Heav'ns wise Bounty gave,
Three sinking Realms, and half a World to save.
And with more pain to Empire she her self resign'd
Than at the last sad Hour to Heav'n her peaceful mind.
6
Less sought, tho' more deserv'd, by none:
Wherever plac'd, ev'n Envy had confest
She still had been the greatest and the best:
Glorious Eliza we no more prefer,
Eliza's self was but a Type of her:
Only the Gleanings of her praise;
If to be seen
In any other Queen
Wou'd give a double Crown, and her t'a Saint wou'd raise.
IX.
Majesty she and sweetness reconcil'd,Shone like the Sun, yet like the morning smil'd,
How easie was her State! how awful, yet how mild!
She reign'd above the mean Disguise
Of vulgar States and Policies,
Whom their meer dulness drives on Cheats and Lies.
Goodness and Truth were the chief Arts
By which her Friends she charm'd,
Her Foes (if any cou'd be so) disarm'd,
Commanding her glad Subjects Hands and Hearts.
Steddy and chearful still she steer'd
While we amidst contending Seas
Enjoy'd the Calm of Peace,
Nor Rocks, nor Tempests fear'd.
The pond'rous weight of Empire, did she share,
With Cesar's self divide th' important Care,
Not Cesar's self his part cou'd more unshaken bear:
Alcides did great Atlas ease,
And she our greater Hercules:
While he in eager chace of Fame
Does Tyrants quell and Monsters tame:
She bears the glitt'ring Orbs on high,
She bears the stress of Earth and Sky;
She bears unmov'd the precious weight
Of Altar both, and Throne,
Equal to both, tho' she, alone
The prop of Church and State.
7
X.
Since this and more her worst of Foes confest;How were her Merits and their Grief exprest
By those who with her sacred Friendship blest!
How did the Orphan-Church, how justly show
Her deep Concern at th' unexpected blow!
See where EUSEBIA, sad, yet fair appears,
(None than EUSEBIA, Mary better knew,
And knowing needs must love her too.)
How charming ev'n in Grief, how beautiful in Tears!
(So looks the Silver Moon, when pleas'd to shrowd
Her modest Rays in a thin watry Cloud.)
She try'd to ward the blow, and fain
Wou'd Wrest away Heav'ns Bolts but try'd in vain:
She Sigh'd, yet dar'd not of just Heav'n complain:
Low in the Dust her self she flings,
And breaks her Harps, now useless Strings;
Her decent Garments sully'd with a Flood
Of Sacred Tears, as once of Sacred Blood.
—Yet will I tell, said she,
If Life so long will last,
And Sorrow flows not in too fast,
What she has been, what others ought to be:
Against the weeping Stones she lean'd her beauteous Head,
And thus, as ebbing Tears gave leave, she said:
XI.
O! she was all that others wou'd be thought!All that the present Age in antient Rolls have read
Or from their Fathers have receiv'd,
But scarce believ'd
Of the illustrious Dead;
All, all her shining Life, and blest Example taught:
What Honours did she on my Sons confer,
Who while they preach'd themselves, still learn'd from her?
Just to their Order, tender of their Fame,
Like Heav'ns dread Messengers she treated them:
8
If any Faults they made
She hid 'em all in a well-natur'd Shade,
And what her Judgment saw, her Goodness wou'd not see.
Ah! who shall now adorn, or them defend!
Who shall advise, encourage, or commend!
Yet still they've left a surer, greater Friend:
While William here does his kind Aid afford,
And guards 'em with his Shield, and guards 'em with his Sword,
In Heav'n his stronger Arm their Cause maintains,
Who never sleeps, who never dyes, who always reigns.
XII.
Sure she was form'd by Heav'n to shewWhat undissembled Piety cou'd do,
To what a height Religion might be rais'd;
(She hears not now, and therefore may be prais'd)
Wou'd Virtue take a Shape, she'd choose t'appear
And think, and speak, and dress, and live like her.
Zeal without Heat, Devotion without Pride,
Work without Noise did all her Hours divide:
Wit without trifling, Prudence without Guile
Pure Faith, which no false Reas'nings e're cou'd spoil
With her, secur'd and blest our happy Isle.
One harsh, old-fashion'd Truth to Court she brought,
And made it there almost believ'd agen;
Her Practice shew'd her Judgment thought
That Princes must be sav'd like other Men.
No single World cou'd her great Soul imploy,
Earth her Diversion was, but Heav'n her Joy.
If ought with that her Thoughts cou'd share
'Twas her ungrateful Subjects Care:
Our hov'ring Fate she saw, and step'd between,
Deserving all her great Forefathers claim'd,
The Faiths Defender more than nam'd,
More than in Title the Most Christian Queen.
9
XIII.
Say, all ye Seraphs who did her attend,When daily kneeling at the Throne
That's only brighter than her own,
And say, thou Guardian Friend,
Who didst so long thy darling Charge secure,
And her with Walls of Fire immure,
Saw you in all your Provinces below,
Or see ye now in Edens self, above,
Where rise the secret Springs of Joy and Love,
And in immortal Rivers flow,
A Mind more firm and pure?
Or saw you e'er her Heart or Eye
By any Object here amus'd,
When she from Earths dull Clog almost unloos'd
So oft before so near approach'd her Kindred in the Sky?
O happy you! and happy they
Tho' cloath'd as yet in mortal Clay,
Happy alike, who waiting there
Did her Devotion see and share,
Since ev'n an Atheist at the sight of her
Had turn'd almost Idolater.
Say! did you ever see before
Your own blest Courts resembled more,
Where those whom she, alas! too soon must meet,
Down—Down—Down—Down
Each casts his Crown,
His Crown and self at the Redeemers Feet.
XIV.
Thus the fair Mourner part of MARYS Praise exprest:But who, who dares presume
T'approach her private sacred Room!
To pry into the Ark, and learn, and tell the rest!
That may the Vestal Muse, the Muse alone may dare,
For she, tho clad in humble rustic gray,
Tho' neither beauteous she, nor gay
10
Nor her rude Duty did that best of Queens refuse,
Nor did she wear a Frown
To make her self unknown,
Nor did she justly blast th' aspiring Muse.
Her Pardon she, and more did give,
The golden Scepter shew'd, and bade, and made her live.
XV.
Forgive! O sacred Shade! Forgive once moreThe same Presumption that you did before!
And let the Muse, whose piercing Eyes
Thro' present, past, and future spies,
You, in your blest retirement show,
And tell what none but Angels know.
And see the dazling Scene arise!
Away Profane! you must not gaze,
Away! without the hallow'd Bound!
'Tis Death for all th' unpurg'd to pass,
'Tis Death to touch the sacred Ground.
But come, you Just, you Pious Few,
To whom her Name is ever dear,
Who more than fashionable Mourning wear!
Come hither all, and trembling see
The Queen! It can be none but she,
Raise every Hand! bend every Knee!
The Queen and Heav'n have there an Interview;
The last e'er Faith is chang'd to Sight,
And for our Eyes she grows too bright.
See that attendant Angel there,
Who bids her for new Crowns prepare,
At awful Distance he stood by,
She farther rais'd her Heart and Eye
To him from whom can nothing secret lie.
—Happy the Man whose well-purg'd Ear
Cou'd all of their blest Converse hear!
But this alone
(Whence may with ease be guest
How well she'd learnt the Language of the blest)
11
As fleeting Suns thro sailing Clouds appear:
[—On me! me only let the Stroke descend!
Let my devoted Head thy Wrath asswage,
But spare my People, spare thy Heritage!
And for their sakes, my Lords dear Sacred Life defend!]
Let my devoted Head thy Wrath asswage,
But spare my People, spare thy Heritage!
And for their sakes, my Lords dear Sacred Life defend!]
XVI.
She said, her Pray'r th' All-high, with pealsOf loud attesting Thunder seals;
Her Pray'r obtains a new Reprieve;
We may, tho Mary must not live.
The Angel, who no more cou'd stay,
Bows, and beckons her away.
Gladly the Message she receives,
Gladly all but WILLIAM leaves.
This only her firm Virtue tries,
No pains she felt, or cou'd all pains despise,
But what her Royal Heart
Endur'd, with him to part:
There, there her last convulsive Agonies.
With more of ease her Soul cou'd from her Body fly
Than those far closer Bonds unty.
But that too sure Commission Fate did give
How cou'd she dye, how cou'd he live?
'Twas easie, Fate! thy Prey to miss,
He was her Soul, and she was his.
—'Tis done—thro Deaths dark shades she wings for Day,
Nor can her other Soul behind her stay,
But clambers with her more than half the Ethereal way.
XVII.
There had they shin'd, two Stars as brightAs ever did their friendly Rays unite,
To bless th' admiring world with peaceful Light;
Had not those Pow'rs who for poor Mortals care
Remember'd Maries pious Pray'r,
And all the Godlike work behind
For their lov'd Hero's Arms design'd.
Nor Nature two such Losses in one Age cou'd bear.
12
Here must we draw a Veil
Since all our Art wou'd fail
To show how much her Death, and his own Life he mourn'd.
XVIII.
Accurst are those, nor can they more be curstWho hate the best of Princes, love the worst:
Who on themselves fix an eternal Brand
And cast Confusion or'e the blushing Land.
Their Prudence these and their Good-nature show
At their ignoble Triumphs at our woe.
None such a Loss like William's Soul cou'd feel
No weight but such as this, cou'd bend his Steel.
How decent all his Grief! how just appears!
How freely flow the Nations Sympathetick Tears!
Nor can his Foes esteem it Base
That he to Fate it self gives place,
And reels, and staggers at th' unequal blow,
Since they to their confusion know
They never yet cou'd raise his Grief or Fears.
XIX.
See from the Dust the twice-born Hero rise!See where he throws around his languid Eyes
Which never droopt before:
In vain he throws 'em round—She's now no more!
As much in vain his Souls Efforts did prove
When Lifes weak Taper trembled to remove,
And reach and joyn its Consort-Flame above.
O why lov'd Prince! dost thou pursue so fast!
Why makes thy strugling Soul such eager hast!
When e're you meet, how late so e're for thee,
Too soon alas for us, and for the World 'twill be.
—Nor yet shall Death the Conquest gain
Such strong Revulsives still remain:
Sound sound a Charge! Let Wars loud Thunder roar
And shake the trembling Gauls perfidious Shore!
13
With what a generous-Heat
His rallying Spirits beat
To Arms! to Arms!
His Grief will soon to Martial Fury turn,
And France our Loss shall undissembling mourn.
XX.
So, might we Great compare with Less,So when the Forrest's King, whose Voice can make
The Beasts, the Trees, the solid Mountains quake
Is robb'd by Fate of his lov'd Lioness;
In his broad Breast imperfect Thunders groan,
He stalks along the silent Shades alone:
But if he chance from far
To hear the gath'ring War,
The Hunters shout, the Coursers neigh,
The Eager Hounds more loud than they;
He casts his flaming Eyes around
Impatient to engage
And lashes his strong sides, and wakes his dreadful Rage,
And spurns the Sand, and fills the Air, and rends the Ground:
Th' ignoble Covert now disdains,
And rushes out, and roars and frights the trembling Plains.
See! the Coward Hunters fly
O'er thick Brakes and Mountains high:
O'er the Fallows, thro' the Woods,
O'er green Lawns and Crystal Floods;
Fast they fly, Fear mends their Hast,
But Grief and Rage pursue more fast:
See! the Troop he overtakes!
See what Ravage there he makes!
Horse and Horseman both o'erthrows;
These with his strong Paws he rends,
These with his Train to Earth he sends,
And proudly stalks along o'er heaps of panting Foes.
14
XXI.
'Tis glorious in undaunted FightT'assert an injur'd Nations right;
'Tis yet more glorious, more divine,
With Earth and Heav'n against a common Foe to joyn;
To Vindicate the World from some proud Tyrants Chain:
—So lov'd, so fear'd does our Great William reign
“While France and Hell cross his strong Fate in vain.
Yet ah! how gladly his dread Sword he'd sheathe,
Or with it here at home engage
The Monstrous Vices of the Age,
Wou'd not the while the Gallic Hydra breathe.
For Peace the angry Warrior fights,
In Peace kind Heav'n it self delights,
Peace grows on Eden's happy Plains
Where now in Peace blest Mary reigns:
XXII.
How was Heav'n mov'd at her arrival there!With how much more than usual Art and Care
The Angels who so oft to Earth had gone
And born her Incense to th' Eternals Throne
For her new Coronation now prepare!
How welcome! how caress'd
Among the blest!
—And first mankinds Great Mother rose,
Give way, ye crowding Souls! said she,
That I the second of my Race may see!
But e'er she came the First did Interpose;
(Whom next my God and King,
Next, and but next I'll sing,)
The other Mary, who to meet her goes:
How like their Charms! how full of Grace!
O better Mother of our sinful Race!
How great her Meen! how sweet her Air! how bright her Face!
15
XXIII.
The Worthies of the Hebrew LineDid their adopted Brethren joyn,
Her sight a Concourse did engage
Of every Sex and every Age:
Here did brave Deborah appear,
Pulcheria there, Eliza here:
Our Edward, their Josiah, near ally'd
Their Fates, both blest, the World no more they try'd,
Blest that they liv'd so well, nor thought too young they dy'd.
Here houry Patriarchs, and Apostles stand;
The Martyrs there, a goodly shining Band,
These near the Altar, near the Sons Right Hand:
Vast was the Altar, wond'rous to behold!
With living Gems it slum'd, and heavenly Gold;
From under whose broad Base, which did present
The beauteous Arch of some new Firmament
The kneeling Souls who when for Truth they dy'd
Had Mercy ask'd for those
Who were their causless Foes,
Now, all, as loud for Vengeance cry'd:
“Holy and True! How long!
(This was their matchless Song:)
“How long must the proud Whore in triumph reign,
“Her scarlet Robes in Blood still deeper stain,
“How long shall Earth blaspheme! how long will Heav'n refrain!
When from the Throne a Voice was giv'n
Which shook the Poles of Earth and Heav'n:
“There rest in Peace! our Friends! it said,
“And wait for all the martyr'd Dead!
“Nor must our Bolts so soon be sent,
“You're not complete, Man may repent.
“The while ascend one Order higher,
“And joyn the still-encreasing Quire!
Forward they move, while Angels bring
A Harp, a Robe, a Crown
Installing every one
A Poet, Priest, and King.
16
XXIV.
But who are those! that mighty ThreeDistinguish'd from the rest,
Who marching up abreast
Approach, great Queen! to welcome thee?
The most Majestic there
A double Crown, the rest a single wear.
Two, Branches seem of the Nassovian Line,
Aurange! Coligny!—Yes, they're they!
Such Beams around their Temples us'd to play.
The third is Martyr'd CHARLES, still more Divine.
It must be Martyr'd CHARLES, he looks so good,
His Ermins dy'd with his own sacred Blood.
By sacrilegious Hands, all Victims fell,
All sent too soon to Heav'n by Monsters rais'd from Hell:
All their great Kindred welcome and embrace,
But CHARLES, the most and best,
Who thus her Merit, and his Love exprest,
—“Welcome, thrice welcome to this happy place!
“Whose Praise nor Envy shall, nor Age deface,
“Thou best! thou dearest Name of all my Race!
—And more he wou'd have said, but hears
Th' Intelligences tune their Spheres
And knew they wou'd some wond'rous thing
At her Reception sing:
All in their Hands the Harps of God they take,
Nature be still! No Voice beneath
The Clouds be heard! no Wind to breath,
No Leaf to shake!
XXV.
“—How wondrous are thy Works! how bright,“O of unbounded Pow'r and Might!
“Yet if we ought can add unto thy Praise,
“We for the Truth and Justice of thy Ways,
“O King of Saints! will nobler Trophies raise.
17
What Mind! to thee as weak as they
Can in thy angry sight appear
Or at thy Voice can choose to Fear?
If once thy Voice they not obey
It soon can take the Life it gave,
Tho' rather, thy delight to save!
O Holy Father! Spirit! and Son!
—Dread Holy Three! Dread Holy One!
Thy Eyes, how perfect and how pure!
All those approve
Who Virtue love
Nor can the smallest Stain of guilt endure.
Tho' long the stupid World has been
Enslav'd to Error, lost in sin,
Did long thy saving Health despise,
Now the fair years in comly Order rise:
The stupid World shall worship Fiends no more
(Their Temples by th' Almighties Frown,
Their smoaking Altars thunder'd down)
But thee and thy dread Son, O King of Kings I adore.
18
A POEM On the Death of his Grace JOHN Late Lord Arch-Bishop OF CANTERBURY.
I
Find me some place yet more remov'd from Day,Impervious to the Suns all-cheering Light;
Where Comfort casts no Gleam, kind Heav'n no Ray,
Lost in the double Shades of Grief and Night.
II
There will I mourn till I grow old in Tears,Till I th' unkind, the spiteful World have shown
'Tis a true Black my unbought Sorrow wears,
'Tis for my Countrys Loss, and not my own.
19
III
When he whom Deaths hard sleep in vain did bind,In his dark Grotto immaturely slept
A greater Mourner than if all Mankind
Shrouded in black had waited, JESUS, wept.
IV
He taught us Tenderness where e'er 'twas due,Nor e'er cou'd Tomb to more than this pretend;
Which shall this Truth to Grandchild Ages shew,
Here lies, Mankinds, and God's, and Cesar's Friend.
V
Say Envy's self, if Envy's self can say,If to his God he was not pure from Blame!
His Soul shin'd thro' with so divine a Ray,
As clear confest the Heav'n from whence she came.
VI
Just, all his Thoughts of God, all great and bright,Mild Majesty with awful Goodness vail'd;
Such as might Man allure and not affright,
All, worthy him who Heav'ns great Lord is hail'd.
VII
No black Idea, form'd from Guilt or Fear,Or by illnatur'd Ign'rance, ill-defin'd;
But such, as pure, unmatter'd Angels wear,
Such he himself, now rais'd to perfect Mind.
VIII
Humbly he lov'd, whom gladly he obey'd,Serene his Pray'rs, unclouded as his Brow;
Beneficent, and Good, to all he made
He taught him then, and such he finds him now.
20
IX
Him, he thro all the Maze of Matter trac'd,In every Particle his Footsteps found,
Who first a shore to the wild Chaos plac'd,
And Atom, close to Brother-Atom bound.
X
In Heav'ns wide Arch he found, and show'd him thereAdorn'd in all his Furniture of Light;
Then, here transcrib'd, in Strokes almost as fair,
In lasting Characters, almost as bright.
XI
O'er this vast Globe did his bold Pencil showHow all his Works did spread their Makers Fame;
How aged Mountains stand, and Waters flow,
And every Flow'r and Insect wears his Name.
XII
No flatt'ring Colours on weak Reasons laid,No drossy mixtures with the purer Ore;
Strongly he built, and firm Foundations made
From Truths, and Natures unexhausted Store.
XIII
Yet his strong Reason to his Faith he bent,By new Elastic Pow'rs still stronger made;
Yet more-than-nat'ral Truths had his Assent,
Who where he cou'd not comprehend, obey'd.
XIV
Ah miscall'd Reas'ners! who wou'd Reason bringTh' Eternal Word and Reason to dethrone!
Your Faith refuse to your Almighty King,
Protection take, yet no Allegiance own.
21
XV
Who a Man-God, a Sub-Supreme, create,Not to the great God-man just Honours pay:
Rob the Creator of his Kingly State,
And yet to one you think a Creature pray.
XVI
When left by God how vain a Thing is Man!How weak his Mind from its true Center thrown!
Christ's Mysteries you can't believe, but can
Such pure mysterious Nonsence of your own.
XVII
Not so this Champion of his Saviour's Name,Whose weighty Pen did Heresy confound:
Secur'd his own and th' injur'd Churches Fame,
And laid the Polish Monster on the Ground.
XVIII
He knew ev'n Natures self had MysteriesToo deep for shallow Reason's finite Line:
Nor lookt against the Sun, nor clos'd his Eyes,
Nor equall'd humane Knowledge with divine:
XIX
Nor all believ'd who from th' Eternal King,Commission plead, but can't produce his Hand;
A false, a forging Race, who only bring
His miscall'd Vicars ill-dissembled Brand.
XX
Tho all Mankind he lov'd, he cou'd not thoseWhose monstrous Faith's full contradiction-size,
Who on the Sense of all Mankind impose,
And with implicit Faith believe in Lyes.
22
XXI
Who old deform'd Idolatry new paint,And Images to their lost Shrines restore,
(The Name just chang'd, the Hero turn'd to Saint;)
Where Demons lodge as quiet as before.
XXII
Whose whole Religion, turn'd to Cheat and TradeDid all devou'r, like Babels Idol Thief:
Who to the Rich all Lewdness venial made,
But damn'd th' insolvent Poor without Relief.
XXIII
None e'er with neater Sense, or closer laidUnmask'd their Frauds than thou, Great Man! hast done:
As once the French of Talbots name affraid,
We'll still th' Italians now with TILLOTSON!
XXIV
Yet no wild Motions e'er disturb'd his Breast,His Reason, not his Passion kept him warm;
No warring Winds his peaceful Soul opprest,
Where blew a gentle Breeze, but not a Storm.
XXV
As he already liv'd in ParadiceAll-equable his happy Hours did flow;
Unruffled he by Int'rest, or by Vice,
He never knew a Thought or Care so low.
XXVI
Pardon dear Country! if that Heat I blameWhich but too oft our Freeborn Minds enslaves!
Let Rome alone th' unerring Title claim!
Why shou'd I storm because another raves?
23
XXVII
Or wash'd by Seas, our Fire, like Etna, glows;Or the strong Spirits within too closely pent
Prey on themselves for want of other Foes,
And, fuming, to unnat'ral Warmth ferment.
XXVIII
When th' angry Brothers did Heav'ns Bolts desire,Justly did them the Prince of Peace reprove,
Taught 'em to conquer with a milder Fire,
To conquer with the kindlier Warmth of Love.
XXIX
If this a Fault, ev'n that Apostle err'dWhose great soul stoop'd, and all to all was made;
Who Charity to Faith it self preferr'd,
And yet no Truth deny'd, of none affraid.
XXX
Thus this true Follower of his Saviours LifeWho in his shining Paths exactly went,
Taught without Noise, and differ'd without strife;
Soft were his Words, but strong his Argument.
XXXI
Not holy Cranmer easier cou'd forgive,Or more of heav'n-born Charity express'd;
Firm to his Friend, a surer ne'er did live,
Tho' most to Truth, the greatest, and the best.
XXXII
Such great Armagh, who perfect long beforeAmid the blest a Starry Mitre wears;
Such many a Confessor and Martyr more,
And such that Saint who now demands our Tears.
24
XXXIII
What grateful Crowds did him in Glory waitWhom his calm Reas'nings thither show'd the Way!
How Blest his share in that unchanging State!
How bright he shines in those bright Realms of Day!
XXXIV
What Clouds of Pray'rs did waft him to that PlaceWhere Seraphs sing with heavn'ly Ardour fir'd
Ay-gazing on the Beatific Face!
The first Preferment that he e'er desir'd.
XXXV
In him the Orphan a new Father found,While Widows scarcely their lost Lords lament;
A gentle Surgeon he for e'ery Wound;
Exiles with him enjoy'd their Banishment.
XXXVI
None, ever, griev'd did from his Presence goe,The Poor with such a Godlike Sweetness rais'd
They scarce cou'd blame their Fate that made 'em so,
While Heav'n and him their just devotion prais'd.
XXXVII
Favour'd by God and Man, and full of Grace,By all his Wrongs unbroken, all his Cares
Eternal Youth smil'd in his reverend Face,
Tho' pure as Virgin-Snow his Silver Hairs.
XXXVIII
To Heav'n he pay'd, or to the World he lentThat Time which he so justly did divide;
On both so much, and yet so well he spent
That, like the Loaves, you'd think it multiply'd.
25
XXXIX
How clear his Soul! how firm his gen'rous Breast!How vast the Compass of his mighty mind!
How, fairly all in his grave Looks express'd!
Not for himself, but born for whole Mankind.
XL
Where'er Heav'n call'd, and his great Genius wentHe still excell'd, in Pulpit, Church and State;
To all a bright, a lasting pattern lent
For most t'admire, and some to imitate.
XLI
A Statesman free from Int'rest or Design,A Prelate watchful, painful, humble, wise:
How did he then when in the Pulpit shine,
Commanding Mortals Ears, and Angels Eyes!
XLII
So Moses spake when he from Sinai cameAnd Isr'el did high-Heav'ns Credentials show;
So look'd, his Temples crown'd with radiant Flame,
On all the dazzled Auditors below.
XLIII
Tho' peaceful, like his Lord, this Saint appear'd,No strugling Thunder rais'd, or Mountains rent:
A still small Voice like whisp'ring Winds, was heard,
Which pierc'd the secret Soul where'er it went.
XLIV
'Twas Music, Poetry, and Rapture all,The Sweets of his orac'lous words to share;
As soft they fell as balmy Dew-drops fall;
As smooth as undisturb'd etherial Air.
26
XLV
In him how many various Graces meet!Hooker's weigh'd Periods, not perplex'd or long:
As Waller's Sense, correct, or Numbers, sweet;
Cleaner his Thought than Wilkins, and as strong.
XLVI
One Word you cannot add or take away,Compleat, as Virgils, his Majestic Sense;
To twenty Ages if the World shall stay
The Standard he of English Eloquence.
XLVII
To all he writes one Demonstration givesWhich gently draws, and yet compels assent:
Good Life, which shows that he himself believes,
Good Life, the most persuasive Argument.
XLVIII
How cou'd the blackest Malice e'er opposeSo fair a Fame, a Goodness so divine?
Meekest on Earth! cou'dst thou have any Foes?
But God and Cesar have, and theirs were thine.
XLIX
Scarce better that brave man his Love express'd,Or dearer Marks of Loyalty did show,
The poison'd Knife aim'd at his Sovereigns breast,
Who stepp'd between to catch the fatal Blow.
L
A manly, not a brute Submission paid,Abhorr'd the Rebel, as abhorr'd the Slave;
From Love, not Fear, his Sovereign he obey'd;
Who is not Loyal, never can be brave.
27
LI
When false Licinius fled, or did resignHe, had the Christians Oaths who fill'd his Place;
Still Loyal to the generous Constantine,
Tho' injur'd by the faithless Pagan-Race.
LII
Shou'd some old lost Plantagenet arise,And plead his lineal Title to the Throne
Who'd not his antiquated Claim despise,
And still the brave the just Possessor own?
LIII
So he who claims our Song, and claims our Grief,Who now the Prey of over-hasty Fate,
Of all the Mitred Worthies justly chief,
The firm Supporters of the Church and State.
LIV
Whole Clouds of fiery Darts by Malice castAnd forg'd in Hell, aim'd at the Sacred Head,
Most glanc'd on him, some short, some over-past,
Some dropt disarm'd, and at his Feet lay dead.
LV
How calmly smil'd he, at Hells fruitless Spite!How sure, and yet how easie his Defence!
Fearless he stood, and dar'd infernal might
Under his seven-fold Shield of Innocence.
28
LVI
So generous Scæva, who for Cesar fought,And stood with Groves of Deaths encompass'd round
While Groves of Deaths on his broad Shield he brought
Disarm'd the adverse Host without a Wound.
LVII
Unmov'd by all th' ill-natur'd World cou'd do,When curs'd, he blest; he pray'd as they revil'd;
So well his Saviours Life and Laws he knew,
Abus'd, he turn'd the other Cheek and smil'd.
LVIII
If any Blot in all his Life's fair Field,'Twas height of Goodness made his Judgment stray:
Of his black Foes he like the Father, held
There might be room in Heav'n for such as they.
LIX
But he was all-a-Saint, and cou'd forgive;Not so the Muse, who does just Bolts prepare,
Ah no! his Hands, as while he here did live,
Still stop the gath'ring Thunder in the Air.
LX
Since then we pity some, tho some detest,No farther Muse! in this sad Scene proceed!
Here draw a modest Veil before the rest!
Ah gently touch the Wound which still does bleed.
29
LXI
Calm, as his Life, end then our grateful Song!Calm as his Soul, when she to Glory went:
Be the worst Word to those who him did wrong,
His own last Wishes, may they all repent!
LXII
While those near warmer happier Regions bornWeave costlier Garlands of immortal Verse;
The best poor Flow'rs our barren Hills adorn,
Thus, wash't in Tears, we bring to crown his Herse.
FINIS.
| Elegies on the Queen and Archbishop | |