A NEW ELEGIE
In Memory of the Right Valiant, and most Renowned Souldier, Col. RAINSBOROUGH, late Ad-
mirall of the narrow Seas.
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SEest thou that starre, which newly has its station,
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In bright Coronaes heavenly Constellation.
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It's gallant Rainsboroughs passageway to blisse,
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Who as he past, guilded the Orifice.
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Leaving thy sight, another glimpse of Glory
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If the ancients may, be credited in story.
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Sure had those Horse-leeches that drew his bloud,
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Fore-seene how much, their malice did him good.
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The self-same envy, that did cause his death,
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Would have enforc't them to prolong his breath,
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But as Cain dealt with Abell, the Jewes with Christ,
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And with the Saints, as dealeth Antichrist.
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So these to him, intending greatest evill,
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Do him most good, are cheated by the Devill.
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But though Saints dying, gain the living loose,
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And so are left Ambiguous for to choose.
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Self-love affects thy presence, though it prove
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A greater wrong to thee then heart can move.
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Due love to thee, doth willingly consent
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To have thy absence, then seemes to relent.
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However in this, we have had so great a Crosse,
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That death of Thousands will not quit the losse.
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Who ere thou art, that did'st this horrid Act,
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Unlesse most bitter teares redeeme the fact.
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As to thy soul thou art th' accurs'ds wretch
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That e're did merit feelingly to stretch.
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The strongest halter ever Catine wore,
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Who had a Thousand Murders on his score.
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But if thou glory in thy sin and feare,
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Thy Conscience more, then thou mayst justly fear.
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That the enraged, dismall, currish kind
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Of the three headed Dog, will tear thy mind.
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With damned furies, and this soul surpriz'd,
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May never feel joyes that bee atermiz'd.
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But tis a friend, t'was more then one, that three,
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Were Partners in this sin, Axrinitie.
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Of feinds incarnate, great ods, three to one,
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And he in's shirt; unweaponed, all alone.
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They arm'd compleatly; had his valiant hand
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As erst bin furnish't hee'd a made to stand.
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Whole Troopes of such base villains, and have sent
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Some of their Ghosts to Plutoes Regiment.
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Had you dealt fairely, it had your honour bin,
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And had your case bin right, you'd had no sin.
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But to destroy him basely for no cause,
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But maintenance of Parliament and Lawes,
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Which you pretend to, and for no other thing,
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But just defence of the same Crowned King.
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Which seemingly you stand for, this oh this
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Would wrong, the patience of a Job, even his.
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And then to shew their pedigree and Syre,
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Whom truth hat stil'd, a murtherer and lyer.
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From the begining, you murther by a lye,
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And so fill up your grosse iniquity.
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Moreover still to agravate their guilt,
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Marke but the day, on which his bloud they spilt.
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The Lords own day, none else would serve the turn,
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For which I fear the furnace where you'l burn,
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Must have a seven-fold heate because you durst,
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Prophain that seaventh, not fearing to be curst.
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And so I leave you, and myself addresse,
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To those who lov'd and wish'd his happinesse.
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Yea worthies high grave Senators of State
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Who for your Countries good, early and late,
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Sit and consult on, with your sable hue,
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In sad laments, they much concerneth you.
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Yet stand upright, let not be said for shame,
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That now you have lost a Member, 'yare groan lame.
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Beware the Foxes, who have hurt you more,
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Then Lyons, Tygers, or the Bear, or Bore.
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If Heavens successe deny, they'l down to Hell,
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By Treacheries or Treaties, any spell.
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To work their ends, as many samples shew,
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But more conspicuously this fatall blow.
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Ye honest Seamen, ye may weepe and wayle,
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When such sheate Anchors do begin to faile.
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And sadly look, when Heavens so do lowre,
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That violent stormes have broke in your best Bowre.
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Well may you labour wisely to prevent,
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Ensuing mischiefs, when such Masts are spent.
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Your glorious towest of the tallest Trees,
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That ever England bred, whose Victories.
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Can scarce be numbred, who have bravely born
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The envy of presses, turn-coats, Pulpits scorn,
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Whereby was stopt the current of his praise,
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Who wrought by you such wonders in our dayes.
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Your merits high, Heaven's your noble choice,
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Therefore your soules most truly may rejoyce.
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Yet when you see cut down so great an Oake,
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By hellish rage I need not to provoke.
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Your tender hearts to sighes, or eyes to teares,
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Your gravest heads to Councells, oh the feares.
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Saints look about you when such Cedars fall,
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It sometimes provoketh Epedemicall.
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But be you as you may, both just and wise,
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His fall may prove a glorious sacrifice.
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I wish his Epilogue of earthly glory,
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Prove not the Prologue of a sadder story.
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And so conclude, placing his Tombe about,
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These lines of truth, ne're to be razed out.
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Here lyes brave Rainsborough great in Warres Command,
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Envyed of Traytors, both by Sea and Land.
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Scourge of Malignants his Countries Champion stout,
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As Bristoll, Ragland, Barkley, and the Rout,
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Of Rebels well can witnesse, beloved of all,
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From meanest Souldier, to the brave Generall.
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Here lyes the Cabinet, the Jewells, Sword on high,
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Till both shall meete to all eternity.
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