AN
ELEGY
ON THE
Death of the Right Noble PRINCE
HENRY HOWARD,
Duke of NORFOLK,
Who Departed this Life the 13th day of this Instant January, 1684.
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NORFOLK is Dead like Lightning, which no part
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O'th' Body touches, but first strikes the Heart!
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This Sound is Fatal, for there's not in all
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The stock of Sorrow, any Charm can call
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Death sooner up; there's Musick in the breath
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Of Thunder, and a sweetness in the Death:
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It brings with it, if we with this compare,
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All the loud Noises that torment the Air.
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They Cure (Physirians say) the Element,
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Sick with dull Vapours, and to Banishment,
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Confine Infections: But this Dismal shriek,
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Without the least Redress, is utter'd like
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The last day's Summons, when Earths Glories lie
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A scatterd heap, and Time itself must Dye.
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What now hath it to boast of? can we have
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A thought less dark then th' horrour of the Grave?
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Now thou dost dwell below; as brave a Soul,
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As humane sighs and tears did e're condole:
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Sprung from those great Progenitors, whose Name
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Shines high and glorious in the Book of Fame:
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Renown'd for Martial Deeds, true English born,
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Such as for ever shall our Isle adorn;
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Who in their great Example still do live,
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And to brave Spirits still Instructions give:
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Pointing the way to Honour, by true worth,
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Such as themselves did to the world set forth.
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Howard! a Name which France has forc'd to shake,
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The very Sound has driv'n whole Armies back;
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But all their Prowess and Heroick Might,
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No Death the Universal Monarch, fright;
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To Fate their Glorious Heads at length did bow,
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And God-like Men like Beasts, in Dust lye low;
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Nor was Great Norfolk then his Fathers less,
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But all their Vertues did at large express.
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Of the first Magnitude a fixed Star,
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Never Excentrick in the Brittish Sphere;
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But always Loyal to his Prince, he stood
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In every Shock of State, and stemm'd the Flood
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Of Popular Rage, and did himself approve,
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To his own Honour, and the Royal Love;
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Blest with great Titles, Wealth, and ample Power,
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And by his own great Regarded more.
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Valiant and Wife, in Dangers often tost,
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But yet his God-like Courage never lost.
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When Fortune frown'd, he found himself then most
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Resolv'd, and with collected strength abides
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Th' impetuous rage of Winds and adverse Tides;
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Always undaunted, and his Noble Mind,
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Not blood est threats cou'd force, nor flatteries blind.
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A Hero so compleat, not every day
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Is form'd, but Heaven does once an Age display
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Some wondrous work, a while to bless our eyes,
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And then destroys, lest we should Idolize.
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But yet the Memory thereof remains,
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And we're allow'd in tears to ease our pains.
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Our loss is Universal, all should weep,
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A Anniversary our eyes should keep,
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To some sad Numbers tun'd, some solemn Verse,
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That may his Glories and our Griefs rehearse;
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Nor should we cease to grieve and to admire,
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Until our wearied Souls, like his Expire.
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HEre is true Eloquence,
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The Grave alone speaks Sense;
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It says that Mortal Joys,
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Each blast of Time Destroys,
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But he that has Liv'd Just,
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His Glory keeps in Dust.
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