AN
ELEGY
ON
JAMES SCOT,
Late Duke of MONMOUTH.
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THOU Plague, and Bane of Mortals, Flattery,
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Of Humane-kind, half are undone by Thee.
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How is th' Unfortunate Wrack't Merchant lost?
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From thy false Hope of some Rich Indian Coast,
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Betray'd by Thee, to perish in a Wave;
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Thine the hid Rock, and Thine his watry Grave.
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Why does the Traytor Plot, or Rebel Storm,
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And Canting Zealots Church and State Reform?
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Led only by Thy Visionary Dreams;
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Till in persuit of Crowns and Diadems,
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With many a Restless Night and tugging Groan,
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They mount a Scaffold whilst they seek a Throne.
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Nor by Thee only loaded Gibbets bow,
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And yawning Graves attend Thy Fatal Blow;
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For even by Thee Aspiring Angels fell:
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False Hopes of Heaven made the first step to Hell.
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Such, Monmouth, was Thy Fall; this Tempter stood,
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Poysoning thy Ear, and cank'ring all thy Blood;
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To thy Fond Eye with Artful Phantoms fill'd
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The Treacherous Magnifying Mirrour held;
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Show'd a poor Shrub a Royal Cedar-Plant,
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And beautifi'd thy Glass to Adamant.
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Here, poor lost Monmouth, lay the Fatal Snare,
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Thy Life, thy Fame, thy All, were Shipwrackt here.
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Once the Bright Leader of a Shining Train,
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The Constellations in Great CHARLES his Waine;
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Till from thy Forfeit glittering Orb of Light,
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By Black Ingratitude, t' Eternal Night,
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Too Justly doom'd, and down all headlong driven,
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A Falling-Star from thy once Native Heaven.
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On what Foundation does Ambition rise?
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In all its Luster, Crown'd with Victories,
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Yet cemented with Blood, By Treason built,
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An Airy Glory rais'd on Solid Guilt:
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But Crush'd and Damn'd by Heav'ns revenging Hand,
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To Publick Shame, and an Eternal Brand:
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What a dull Page in the Black-Book of Fame
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Will Monmouth fill with a poor Blasted Name?
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Where's all th' Hosannah's of the Shouting Crowd?
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Will their kind Sorrows speak but half so loud?
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No! wretched Thing, that Popular Wind's blown o'er:
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HEAVEN and Great JAMES do their lost Sense restore,
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And the old Prince o' th' Air now reigns no more.
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Unmourn'd farewel, thy Hearse even unbedew'd
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By thy own once Adoring Multitude.
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And if a Tear falls from a pittying Eye,
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The Mournful Cause does that sad Drop supply,
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Is not thou dyed'st, but didst deserve to Die.
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Deserv'd indeed: for never Man possest
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Of such vast Royal Smiles, so rais'd, so blest,
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Apostatiz'd like Thee. --------
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Nay, even thy Tears had learn'd to forge so well,
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That when at CHARLES and JAMESs Feet they fell,
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Thy very Penitence play'd the Infidel.
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So fal'n from Faith, thou turn'dst Perfideous too,
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Even to thy own assisting Rebel Crew;
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Whilst thy Argyle and Rumbolds latest Breath
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Damn'd thy false Vows and Curst Thee even in Death.
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But let thy Buried Faults forgotten lie,
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And Monmouths Crimes with bleeding Monmouth die.
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And to allow Thee still thy Just Applause,
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We'll praise thy Valour, though we loath thy Cause.
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Nay, and to make thy Fame yet larger Room,
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And strew some Sweets even on a Rebel's Tomb;
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Thy Storm but rose to drive our Clouds away,
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And thy Black Morn began our Halcyon Day.
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Whilst Thy Rebellion does Our Bliss compleat,
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A Kingdom Happy made, and Monarch Great;
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For Treasons to Eternal Silence doom'd,
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And grinning Faction in thy Urne entomb'd;
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Whilst Angels to Great JAMES his Guard move down,
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And Jacobs Ladder waits on Caesars Crown.
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Some Honour then is even to Treason due;
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So Judass Crime some Glory challeng'd too.
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Whilst even that Guilt, where the perfideous Slave
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Betray'd his GOD and Master to a Grave,
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Was Instrumental a whole World to save.
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