AN
ELEGY
ON THE
USURPER O.C.
BY THE
AUTHOR
OF
Absalom and Achitophel,
published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the POET.
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AND now 'tis time for their Officious hast,
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Who would before have born him to the Sky
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Like eager Romans e're all rites were past,
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Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly.
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Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame,
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Joyn'd with the lowd Applause of publick Voice,
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Since Heaven the praise we offer to his Name,
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Hath rendred too Authentick by its Choice.
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Though in his Praise no Arts can lib'ral be,
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Since they whose Muses have the highest flown,
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Add not to his Immortal Memory,
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But do an Act of Friendship to their own.
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Yet 'tis our Duty and our Interest too,
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Such Monuments as we can build to raise,
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Least all the World prevent what we should do,
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And claim a title in him by their praise.
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How shall I then begin or where conclude,
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To draw a Frame so truly circular?
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For in a Round what Order can be shew'd,
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Where all the parts so equal perfect are?
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His Grandeur he deriv'd from Heaven alone;
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For he was great e're Fortune made him so,
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And Wars like Mists that rise against the Sun;
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Made him but Greater seem, not Greater grow.
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No borrow'd Bays his Temples did adorn,
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But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring;
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Nor was his Vertue poison'd soon as born,
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With the too early thoughts of being King.
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Fortune (that easie Mistress of the young,
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But to her Antient Servants coy and hard;)
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Him at that Age her Favorites ranck't among,
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He private, mark't the Faults of others sway,
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And set as Sea-marks for himself to shun,
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Not like rash Monarchs who their youth betray
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By Acts, their Age too late would wish undone.
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And yet Dominion was not his design,
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We owe that Blessing not to him but Heaven,
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Which to fair Acts rewards unsought did joyn;
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Rewards which less to him than us were given.
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Our former Cheifs like Sticklers in the War,
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First sought t'enflame the Parties, then to poize,
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The Quarrel lov'd, but did the Cause abhor,
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And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.
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War, our Consumption, was their gainful Trade,
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We inward bled whilst they prolong'd our pain,
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He fought to end our Fightings, and Essaid
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To stanch the Blood by breathing of a Vein.
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Swift and resistless through the Land he past,
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Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue,
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And made to Battle such Heroick haste,
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As if on Wings of Victory he flew.
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He fought secure of Fortune as of Fame,
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'Till by new Maps the Island might be shown,
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Of Conquests which he strew'd where e're he came
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Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown.
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His Palmes though under weights, they did not stan[d]
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Still thriv'd, no Winter could his Lawrels fade,
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Heaven in his portraict shew'd a Workmans hand,
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And drew it perfect yet without a shade.
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Peace was the Price of all his Toyls and Care,
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Which War had banisht and did now restore,
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Bolognia's Wall thus mounted in the Air
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[?] safety rescued, Ireland to him owes,
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[?] treacherous Scotland to no In'trest true;
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Yet blest that Fate which did his Arms dispose,
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Her Land to civilize as to subdue.
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Nor was he like those Stars which only shine,
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When to pail Mariners they Storms portend,
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He had his calmer Influence, and his Mein
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Did Love and Majesty together blend.
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'Tis true, his Count'nance did Imprint an Awe,
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And Nat'rally all Souls to his did bow,
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As wands of Divination downward draw,
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And point to Beds where Sovereign Gold does grow.
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When past all Offerings to Pheretrian Jove,
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He Mars depos'd, and Arms to gowns made yeild;
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Successful Councels did him soon Approve,
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As fit for close Intreagues, as open field.
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[?] suppliant Holland he vouchsaft a Peace,
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[?] once bold Rival in the Brittish Main,
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[?]w tamely glad her unjust claim to cease,
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[?] buy our Friendship with her Idol gain.
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[?]e of th' asserted Sea through Europe blown,
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[?]de France and Spain ambitious of his Love,
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[?]a knew that side must Conquer he would own,
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[?] for him fiercely as for Empire strove.
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[?] sooner was the Frenchman's Cause embrac't,
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[?]n the light Monsieur the grave Don outweigh'd,
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[?] Fortune turn'd the Scale where it was cast,
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[?]ugh Indian Mines were in the other laid.
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[?]en absent, yet we conquer'd in his right
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[?] though some meaner Artists Skill were shown,
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[?]ningling Colours or in placing light,
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[?] all the fair designment was his own.
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[?] from all Tempers he could Service draw,
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[?]e worth of each with its allay he knew,
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[?]d as the Confident of Nature saw,
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[?]ow the Complexions did divide and brew.
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[?]he their single Vertues did survey,
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[?]ntuition in his own large Breast;
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[?]re all the rich Ideas of them lay,
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[?]t were the Rule and Measure to the rest.
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[?]en such Heroick Vertue Heaven sets out,
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[?]e Stars like Commons sullenly obey;
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Because it dreyns them when it comes about,
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And therefore is a Tax they seldome pay.
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From this high Spring our Forreign Conquests flow,
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Which yet more Glorious Triumphs do portend,
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Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe,
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If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend.
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He made us Freemen of the Continent,
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Whom Nature did like Captives treat before,
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To nobler Preys the English Lyon sent,
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And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar.
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That old unquestion'd Pirate of the Land,
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Proud Rome with dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard,
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And trembling, wisht behind more Alps to stand,
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Although an Alexander were her Guard.
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By his Command we boldly crost the Line,
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And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise,
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We trac'd the far fetcht Gold unto the Mine,
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And that which brib'd our Fathers made our Prize.
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Such was our, Prince yet own'd a soul above,
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The highest Acts it could produce to shew;
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Thus poor Mechanick Arts in publick move,
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Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go.
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Nor Dy'd he when his ebbing Fame went less,
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But when fresh Laurels courted him to live,
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He seem'd but to prevent some new success,
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As if above what Tryumphs Earth could give.
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His latest Victories still thickest came,
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As, near the Center, motion doth encrease,
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'Till he, prest down with his own weighty Name,
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Did like the Vestal under Spoils decrease.
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But first the Ocean as a Tribute sent,
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The Gyant Prince of all her watry herd,
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And th' Isle when her protecting Genius went,
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Upon his obsequies lowd sighs confer'd.
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No Civil Broils have since his Death arose,
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But Faction now by habit does obey;
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And Wars have that respect for his repose,
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As Winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea.
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His Ashes in a peaceful Urn shall rest,
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His Name and great example stand to show
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How strangely high endeavours may be blest,
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Where Piety and Valour Joyntly go.
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POSTSCRIPT.
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THe Printing of these Rhimes Afflicts me more
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Than all the Drubs I in Rose-Alley bore.
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[?] shows my nauseous Mercenary Pen
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[?]ld praise the vilest and the worst of men.
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[?]ogue like Hodge am I, the World will know it,
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[?]ge was his Fidler, and I John his Poet.
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[?] may prevent the pay for which I write;
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[?] for pay against my Conscience fight.
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[?]st confess so infamous a Knave
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[?]do no Service, though the humblest Slave.
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Villains I praise, and Patriots accuse,
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My railing and my fawning Talents use;
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Just as they pay I flatter or abuse.
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But I to men in Power a Turd am still,
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To rub on any honest Face they will.
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Then on I'le go, for Libels I declare,
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Best Friends no more than worst of Foes I'le spare,
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And all this I can do, because I dare.
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He who writes on, and Cudgels can defie,
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And knowing hee'l be beaten still writes on, am I.
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