University of Virginia Library

Upon the Lamentable, yet Gallant Glorious Death, of that singularly Pious, and eminently Faithful Servant, and truely Loyal Subject of the King of Saints, fervently Zealous for the Interest of his Masters Glory, and otherwise universally well accomplished Gentleman Thomas Ker of Hayhope; Who was cruelly murthered in a Rancounter with a Party. commanded by Co-Struthers, near Crockome, a Village upon the English Border.

Come all ye Hero's, come each Vertuous Sp'rit
Each gen'rous Soul approach, come lets meet
Come let us meet with tears: This Fate allowes
You lofty Heavens, contract your clowdy brow
Turn Vapours into Tears, that we with you
May mourn, and mourn again, since it is true
That he is torn from us by rapid Fate,
By so perfidious hands, at such a rate:
Whom, if we well consider, we shall find
That he his Equals have left few behind,
But ah I shrink! could I surmount as far
Parnassus mountain, as the highest Star,
The Stygian lakes could I Devotion lay
As open to Mens veiw as light of day.
Could I describe true valour, true discretion:
Could I on kindness put due Estimation;
Then should I rack my fancy, stretch my quill,
That my Engine might correspond my will,
Ye who with airy Quiddites vex your wit,
Lay by your trivials, here's a Theme more fit:
Of this brave Heroe let this doubt be tost;
When deadly wounded when his blood was lost,
How he, ev'n then most valourously behav'd,
Shedding that blood which him of life bereav'd.
Ye who about the Helicon resort,
Leave off your canting in Romanick sort:
Here is a Subject; here concern'd are ye;
Pen Elegiacks; here's a Tragedy:
Here lyes a Heroe in humanly torn:
He to lyes the Muses friend, who did adorn
His Poems with a soaring stile: Here lyes
Kindness abolish'd; here the Widow cryes;
Here bowls his Kinsfolk; here his Friends hang down
Their dumbled eyes, the Church doth faint and swon,
For lack of him, who spent his time, his strength
Into her quarrel, clos'd his day at length.
Ye who write Annals, and all ye that treats,
Of high Exploits, and memorable Fates,
Pray do not miss, record this signal Strife,
It's memorable; pen his Death and Life,
That our Successors may in mourning, do
What our Marmorian Hearts can not win to.
When hollow silver, or pure brass doth raise
The noise of War, and soundeth Heroes praise,
Be not ungrate; Amongst the first allow
To him a triple Quier; for it's due.
Ye who delight to entertain the Views
Of groveling Mortals, by your specious Hews
Prepare your pencils; set some time a part;
With twice thrice lively Colours help your Art;
Draw ye this Noble Hero on his Knees,
Sending the latest Rayes of his fair Eyes
Towards these Regions, where pure Spirits sing;
Thrice blessed Hallelujahs to their King;
Spending his newest breath, in forming sounds;
Not to lament the pangs of death, or wounds;
But posts them foreward, while his Soul did stay,
Taking her last farewel of what was clay:
Pray, draw in vive Characters (do not miss)
These streas of blood, which fro that breast of his
Came trickling down, that these who chance to see
This Tragick Sight, may weep his Elegie,
O Heavens! O Earth! O Floods! O roaring Seas!
Ye losty Mountains, Groves, and stately Trees;
Ye rampant Lyons, and ye savage Bears,
Ye cruel Tigers, all burst forth in Tears.
It radient Sun, fair Moon obscure your face,
Ye Minor Splendors, hold your Rayes a space:
Ye soaring Eagles, that do mount on high,
Conveen your subjects, raise a doleful cry,
So that the Clouds alarmed by your Voice,
May send you Tears to equalize your Noise.
But ah! why erave we aid? since lifeless things
Beggs our asistanee, numerous Tears doun springs
Frō Heav'ns overclouded brows, on mounts & trees,
Which shortly posts them to the Floods and Seas;
Which altogither mourning, roaring make,
And make their Banks to sympathize and shake.
The Clouds colliding raises hideous sounds,
Which from the rocks, in mournful wise rebounds
The starrs seem to disdain, to grant a smile,
To dead, dull Mankind, till they mourn a while.
The sun hides his fair face: The Moon's obscur'd
The Earth's astonish'd: Only we're obdur'd,
Let others pen his praises, who do soar,
In thoughts sublime, I halt, and say no more;
But only thus abruptly will conclude,
O hight of Kindness, Nature mild and good!
O true Religions son! O Nations Lover!
O soul sublimer, than these Heav'ns could cover!
O Noble Ker! O Patern of Renown!
We groan on Earth, thou wears a Heavenly Crown.