A Second
ELEGY
On that Incomparable HEROE,
THOMAS Earl of OSSORY:
Who died on Fryday the 30th of July 1680.
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HEs dead true---I question it no more;
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Nay rather feard than doubted it before:
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But Grief for OSSORY is ner too late,
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Since future Ages will bewail his Fate.
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Even this late Sorrow, which my Muse puts on,
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Had been less true, had it appeard more soon;
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For nimble sorrow quickly change their show,
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The long-livd Grief is in its Birth most slow.
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When first I heard Great OSSORYS dismal Knel,
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A stupid horror straight upon me fell,
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Wrapt all my Senses in Astonishment,
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Nor did so much as leave for Tears a Vent.
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Like Niobe, I seemd to be in one,
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Both Mourner then and Monumental Stone.
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Nor certainly, had I that Swoon survivd;
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But must have dyd, had not my sorrows livd.
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Yet no weakness: Charles himself, we hear,
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Withdrew, and shed for Ossory a tear.
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What Heart more great? Yet evn that could not hold,
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When to his Eares so sad a Theam was told.
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Were any Heart in all his Kingdoms found,
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Which the sad News with sorrow did not wound?
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A Traitors Death he justly might receive,
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That with his King and Country would not grieve.
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When on the Sickly Bed Great OSSORY lay,
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And Fear had not quite took all hope away;
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How eagerly the pious people strove,
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To shew a fear, which shewd so much of Love,
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Livs he said they---when, yes, the Doctor sed,
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How many Blessings showrd they on his Head.
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He lives---the Eccho or all England flew;
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Evn fierce Moroccos King did fear twas true.
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As on cold Oetas Top, the Son of Jove!
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With double Heat of Fire and Poyson strove;
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And all the World stood trembling for his sake:
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Only Eurystheus hopd the rest would take:
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Such pains our Hero did that time endure,
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Tormented with a direful Calenture.
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While three great Nations trembled for his Head;
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Only the barbarous Moor could wish him dead.
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Thy loss brave OSSORY, Tangiere deplores,
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Worse at thy Death dismaid, than at the Moors.
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The English Gallants there dejected stand.
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Wanting to their stout Hearts, thy Valliant Hand.
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Trelaunys Ghost walkd sadly by the Mole,
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And Shriekd instead of Thee, to meet thy Soul:
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He hopd thave been Revengd by thy sharp Blade
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And thou, as Pale as He, dost walk---a Shade.
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The English-Church, that had no better Friend,
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(Next Heavn & Charles, who doth her Faith defend)
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Grieves at thy Death and fears her own sad Lot,
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Since Fates, thus accessary to the Plot.
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He whose Ambition all or world Alarms,
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Looks now for more success unto his Arms,
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Since Thou, who didst at Mons such acts of Praise,
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Hast yielded now to Death the Victors Bays.
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Thy Sire, great Ormond, in thy Life more great,
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(Because by thee preservd, from Envys hate)
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Like some vast Oak now robd ofs leaves doth stand
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Bys Trophies scarce securd from Woodmans hand
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Yet He (though Envy burst) is still secure,
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Not ins own Worth so much, nor Vertues pure,
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(Tho they the strictest Test may well endure;)
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No nor in Charles his great Affection;
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But only, he had so great a Son.
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Why were the Heavens to England so severe,
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As not to let thee Flourish longer here?
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As thus to cut Thee off in thy full prime,
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And give Thee so much Good for so short time?
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Only to show thy Worth in Field and Court,
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and then to snatch Thee hence, as if in sport?
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Had we not known Thee, we had been content;
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But who could know---and not thy loss lament!
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Yet since thy Death was fixd by rigid Fate,
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And to desire thy Self is now too late;
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Thanks mighty Hector of our second Troy,
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Thanks for Astyanax, thy hopeful Boy,
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Young James, who influencd with Charles his Care,
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May shortly prove in Valour too thine Heir,
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