GReat Soul, whoever writes Thy Loss, should be
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As great in Thoughts, if not in Deeds as Thee,
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To tell Mankinde thy true deserts of Praise
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In purer Numbers then the common phrase.
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For how can straind Imagination finde
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Words of apt Sense to fit so great a Minde?
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And Verses in low-seated Fancies bred,
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Like Streams, do ner ortop the Fountains head.
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The common ways of Praise (ability
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Of heart and body) is too coarse for Thee,
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Since every common Hector of the Rout
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Acquires the Epithets of Strong and Stout;
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Endowments which our Maker did intend
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As Instruments to serve another End
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Then vulgar Praise, To give rough natures Law,
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And teach assuming mindes to stand in awe,
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And stoop to what Heavns Majestie hath sent
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For humane preservation (Go[v]ernment.)
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This was Thy Work (great Duke) to save a State
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In Civil Broyls, prest down wit[h] Rebels weight.
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Its Body by ill humours grown [?]o sick,
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It had forgot the name of Politique;
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Destitute both of Rule and Ruler too,
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Divided into Sects, of one minde few:
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And to help on its Ruine nearer hand,
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Each of those Sects sought the Supreme Command.
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Whatever ill Confusion might bring,
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Or horrid War, came sayling with spread wing:
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But being by Thy Watchful Soul descryd,
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Receivd its mortal wound (i th train) and dyd.
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Thy mighty Merit now the World may know,
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If they Peace as a Benefit allow.
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The Roman Senate have decreed to men
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Crowns, for redeeming of one Citizen.
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Preservers of their Country, Gods became,
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And got their Adoration by their fame:
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But thy Deserts (besides thy Princes love)
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We doubt not but have their Rewards above;
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And have prepard a Diadem for Thee,
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Who weighd three Kingdoms sunk in Misery.
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