Elegies on the Queen and Archbishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

Elegies on the Queen and Archbishop

By Samuel Wesley

Wesley, Samuel (1662-1735)

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On the DEATH OF Her Late Sacred Majesty MARY Queen of England, &c.

A POEM On the Death of his Grace JOHN Late Lord Arch-Bishop OF CANTERBURY.

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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.

III

When he whom Deaths hard sleep in vain did bind,

11. S. John 35, 38.

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.

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 there

His Sermons against Atheism.

Adorn'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 show
How 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 bring
Th' Eternal Word and Reason to dethrone!
Your Faith refuse to your Almighty King,
Protection take, yet no Allegiance own.

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,

His Sermons against the Socinians.

And laid the Polish Monster on the Ground.

XVIII

He knew ev'n Natures self had Mysteries
Too 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 those
Whose monstrous Faith's full contradiction-size,
Who on the Sense of all Mankind impose,
And with implicit Faith believe in Lyes.

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 Trade
Did 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 laid
Unmask'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 Paradice
All-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 blame
Which but too oft our Freeborn Minds enslaves!
Let Rome alone th' unerring Title claim!
Why shou'd I storm because another raves?

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'd
Whose 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 Life
Who 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 before
Amid the blest a Starry Mitre wears;
Such many a Confessor and Martyr more,
And such that Saint who now demands our Tears.

XXXIII

What grateful Crowds did him in Glory wait
Whom 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 Place
Where 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 lent
That 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.

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 went
He 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!

1 Pet. 1. 12.

XLII

So Moses spake when he from Sinai came
And 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.

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 gives
Which 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 oppose
So 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.

LI

When false Licinius fled, or did resign
He, 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 cast
And 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.

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.

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 born
Weave 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.