AN ELEGIE
On the Death of that most Noble and Heroick KNIGHT,
SIR CHARLES LUCAS,
Governour of Colchester, and Generall of the Essexian Forces, who was Murthered
by the Excellent Rebell Fairfax, the day on which Colchester
was Surrendered, August 27. 1648.
|
I Cannot weepe, their Ponniards that doe fall
|
My eyes, refuse to drop: but were my gall
|
Transparant, all might see, a bitter flood
|
Wasting my soul away, with Lucas blood;
|
Though but a Rivelet, more strong then Nile
|
The Loyall Blood, that flow'd from him and Lile,
|
Like a huge torrent, beares Rebellion downe
|
To Carisbrooke, conveighing Charles his Crowne.
|
Have all the Gods, sign'd Edicts unto Mars,
|
And covenanted, for perpetuall Warres,
|
That we must wade in Blood, and dive in Gore,
|
And all for lesse, then for a Spartan Whore?
|
Menalaus fought 'gainst Illium, for a face
|
We boar each other, but to win disgrace,
|
A square Cap, pair of Linnen Sleeves and Hood
|
Drawes Swords, swels Battailes, and destroyes all Good.
|
Say ye slie Sophisters, whose Votes are Acts,
|
Who plow up Pluto's mansion with your Facts:
|
Who Flaunt in Gawdy Tryumph, feeding hie,
|
Lucullus-like to heighten Luxurie,
|
Whom tumble on your Yvorie Beds, whose will
|
For to Act mischief, doth surpasse your skill;
|
Whose madnesse make you Antick, such as they
|
Who tast the bite of the Tarantula.
|
Must Brittaine's Caesar, be a Monk forever,
|
An Anchorite, Manumited never?
|
Whiles Hammond's worship feeds Him with a bit,
|
Sometimes a knock, if he remember it,
|
While you his gracious Masters think it meet
|
To tosse to Aire, three Kingdomes with your feet.
|
Dam'd Nero-like, minding your Sports and Games,
|
While Ireland swallowed by devouring Flames.
|
And England, though by Mulciber not burn'd,
|
Yet by your Jarring, to a Chaos turn'd:
|
The fierie Anabaptist is in Fight
|
Perpetually with the cold Adamite.
|
The hardy Independent doth make War
|
Against the easie natur'd Presbyter:
|
And both of them fight jointly with the Arian,
|
Against [the truly good] Episcoparian,
|
Whiles that Religion, with Astraea's gon
|
For to seek out some safer mansion.
|
'Tis so; you have agreed still Kings to be,
|
Although you crack the Kingdom's Axeltree:
|
'Twill break if you sit long, mean time all those
|
That love their Soveraign, are the Kingdomes foes:
|
Strange Paradoxes these, that those must die
|
As Traytors, who graspe steel for Soveraigntie:
|
And those who drench their Swords in Loyall Blood,
|
Are the sole seekers of the Kingdomes good:
|
Some Sphinx salve this AEnigma unto me,
|
And by the Gods, I will a Rebell be.
|
But all my Faith, although conjoyned in one,
|
Cannot perswade me 'tis Religion
|
To murther pious Kings; to Plunder lie,
|
And to grow Great, by Blood and Treacherie;
|
To fat myself, augmenting others woes,
|
Selling the needy, for a pair of shoes.
|
Pim's spectacles with a Geneva Print,
|
Although fresh coin'd in learned Calvins Mint,
|
Must not so tame my sense, but that I'le sweare
|
There's no true Subject, save the Cavaliere.
|
But you most mighty Monsters, who out-vie
|
The strange man-eating Anthropophagi,
|
With Cataline, have sworn to Levell all
|
To your distinction Diabolicall.
|
Was't not enough, ye Vipers, that ye flew
|
Tomkins and Challoner in open view?
|
Suckt Bourchers blood, and took great Burleighs breath,
|
By Wild, Steel, Steel and Wild betrai'd to Death
|
Against the course and current of the Lawes,
|
Which doomes to Death, your curst Rebellious Cause,
|
That you this seven yeares, whil'st none controules,
|
Have quafft our purple Blood in mazor Bowles.
|
But to conclude, your cruelties immense,
|
In butchering true spotlesse Innocence,
|
Wounding fair Truth, and dooming Zeale to die,
|
By murthering Lucas for his Loyaltie;
|
Whose worthy farewell challengeth applause,
|
Though dead be, yet survives (Fame pleades the Cause)
|
Falne in his middle Age; but what of that?
|
He fell full ripe, snatcht by the hand of Fate.
|
Goodnesse doth measure Age. Ile cease to moane:
|
He lived long, although he dy'd so soone.
|
When Fates impartiall hand shall summon me,
|
It will increase my joy to visit Thee.
|
Blame not the THREE for this sad fate; They doe
|
Consume themselves in teares as well as you.
|
They had resolv'd, upon the common Stage,
|
He should have Acted out old Nestors age:
|
But Jove would have him neere him, and decreed
|
He by the hands of Perjur'd slaves should bleed:
|
No other way there was, for him to come,
|
With happy speed, to blest Elizium:
|
Where next Jehovah's Throne, he now doth sit,
|
Beholds the Rebels Acts, and smiles at it;
|
Knowing, at last they shall receive their Hire
|
With Cataline, in never dying Fire.
|
|
|
|
|
|