AN
ELEGY
On the Right Honourable
William Earl of Pembrook
Who deceased on the 29th, of August 1683.
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WHat are the Glories that by Fame acrue
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What are the Praises that to Virtues due?
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Which Mortals do enjoy, till't pleases Death,
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To Damm the Channel, of enlivning Breath.
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Just as the winged Attoms fly with light,
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So they do fall when that approaches Night.
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So when grim Death our Vitals doth invade,
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We turn to Dust; our former Deeds will fade.
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The Censure of the living is but hard,
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And Hero' of their due of times debar'd
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Posterity doth seldom rightly Deem,
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And Envy alway lessens the Esteem,
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That we for Generous Spirits ought to have,
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When't pleases Fate to lay them in the Grave.
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But what do I hear? brave Pembrook's Dead,
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And from its Mansion, his great Soul is fled.
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Yet 'Spight of Death, his Name shall never Dye;
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Whilst others sink his shall surmount the Skie,
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Ah! Cruel Death, what made thee thus Surprize
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Him who was Loyal, Noble, Just and Wise,
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Him who was Valiant, Liberal, and Good,
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Whose Bounty did extend to all that stood
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In need; and those whom Fortune did oppress,
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He timely Succor brought to their Distress.
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Yet these his Virtues, Envy sought to Raize.
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Stirr'd up Detraction, to defeat his Praise:
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Pernicious Brood! that doth infect our Soyl,
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And hath engendred home-bred Strife, and Toyl.
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Who are continually with Vipers fed,
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To sting the Living, and devour the Dead.
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Yet spight of their Attempts, great Pembrook's Name
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Shall eternized be, by truer Fame.
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Great Souls they all partake of whats Sublime,
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And though some Actions tainted be with Slime
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Yet this doth not retard their course at last,
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They stem the Tide, o'recome the threatning blast;
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Great Pembrook's Course is ended, and now he,
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A Hero is, to all Eternity.
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His Memory will last, for from his Dust;
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The Epithet will rise, of Wise and Just.
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WIthin this Urn inclosed lies,
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Mortal remains of Just and Wise:
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His better part hath taken flight,
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And Hope abides, where's no more Night.
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He who a Tear denyes,
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Hath little pitty, hardned Eyes
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