ENGLANDS Lamentation
FOR THE
Duke of Monmouths Departure:
Reflecting on his Heroick Actions.
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IS Monmouth banisht? must HE not stay here?
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Can he, Eclipsd, so quickly disappear?
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Methinks we sink, and our disjoynted State,
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Rowles headlong down the Precipice of Fate:
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Our Anchors weighd, and this great Island-Boat,
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Like the famd Delos, on the Sea does float,
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A Sea whose Waves bear a far redder hue,
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Than those which Pharohs mighty Host or-threw;
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In which each Papist like a Rock dos sit,
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Ready to split us, when we dash on it.
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That Kings unsafe, who sits upon a Throne,
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Whose strongest Pillars lost, and leans, alone,
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On the weak shoulders of a yielding Crew,
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Who never yet a greater Burthen knew,
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Than their own flesh, which they could scarcely save
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From falling in the Dirt, before the Grave.
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That King art thou, great Charles, now Monmouths gone,
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Monmouth was truly Loyal to thy Throne,
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Woud Atlas-like, with his strong Shoulders bear
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The Weight of our declining Hemisphere:
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Who, maugre all Shocks of mighty Foes,
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Stood fixt, nor valud all the Threatning Blows.
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He, whom the Scots next to their God and Thee,
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Feard, and Adord, like a new Deity.
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He, who so lately quelld the numrous croud
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Of fresh spawnd Rebels, that Proclaimd aloud,
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War gainst the Government, nor could they fear,
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Till within Scotland Monmouth did appear;
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Whose very Sight shot Death among them all,
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More seemd with Fear than by the Sword to fall.
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This is the least our Glorious DUKE hath done,
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France lovd that Valour once which Maestricht won,
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With which, like the Pellaean Conquerour,
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Himself his Standard on the Rampiers bore,
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Whilst the amazed French stood idly by,
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Deserving not to share the Victory.
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They Wondred then, and since as much have feard,
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When He at Mons so Terrible appeard,
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Like Mars, all or with Blood and Dust besmeard,
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When He, like the Great Trojan Hector fought,
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And wheresoer he came, such Wonders wrought,
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That as of old, now Jove, with Scales in hand,
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Weighing each Fate, did on Olympus stand,
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And found the English, though in number less,
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In Valour equal, could not chuse but bless
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Th Attempt: whilst smiling, he might see from far,
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The Bloody labours of the God of War:
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Till Luxemburgh was forcet his Ground to quit,
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And Victory, which on a Hill did sit,
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Doubtful to which she might her Favor shew,
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Now clapt her Wings, and to the English Flew,
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The English who deservd her best, and knew,
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Best by their Valour always to maintain,
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That which their Valour nobly did obtain.
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Thus the brave DUKE provd English Spirits are,
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In Fight, as daring now as ere they were.
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And thus he got himself Renown, to be,
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For that sent hence, as the States Enemy.
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Sure, Poysonous Envy did their Breasts invade,
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Who did your Majesty to THIS perswade;
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You were abused when you banish[]t thus,
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Him, the Delight of Your Self and us.
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They knew, whilst he did in your Bosom lye,
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Their Daggers could not reach Your Majesty:
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Therefore t effect their Villanous Intent,
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He, who alone could their dire Acts prevent,
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Must be removd, that so your Breast might be,
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More open to each daring Enemy.
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Know then, Great Charles, Thou art more hurt than He,
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For th Wise and Valiant ner can Exild be.
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