AN
ELEGY
Upon the Marquess of
DORCHESTER,
And EARL of
KINGSTON, etc.
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IF to some Silent Tomb we laid our Ear,
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Fancy might such Oraculous Whispers hear;
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Must Souls with Bodies dye? must Virtue rust?
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And Honour perish in a bed of dust?
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If of Nine Muses Eight were faln asleep,
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One might stand Centry, and the Capitol keep;
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'Tis I that One, weep o're a Learned Herse;
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Some will my Duty praise, tho' not my Verse.
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Farewel Great DORCHESTER born to Inherit
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Thy Father's large Estate, but larger Spirit:
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Who fatally by his Own Party slain,
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Was by Your Loyalty reviv'd again.
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'Twas You maintain'd his dying Cause and Breath,
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Eluding all the Fallacies of Death:
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Doubly possest his Merit and Estate,
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By right of Primogeniture and Fate.
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But now the Kingdom with strange Whirlwinds tost,
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And fatal Naseby after Triumph lost;
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The King (Saint-like) into Temptation led,
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From profest Foes, to Friends less Faithful fled.
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Oxford is close begirt, Stout hearts grow tender,
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And Loyal Pulses beat for a Surrender.
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Then did our Marquess, (to his High Renown)
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Bravely advise still to defend the Town?
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If Heaven pleas'd, for His Majesties future good,
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Worthy the Ransom of more Lives and Blood.
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You were its greatest Ornament and Grace;
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Lov'd best, because best understood the Place.
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You comprehended in Epitomy,
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The Learning of that great Academy.
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Alstedian thoughts are narrow and confin'd,
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Compar'd to the Vast Circle of your mind;
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Which, like that First Intelligence above,
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Did all Inferiour Orbs contain and move.
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Philosophy here, (both Moral and Divine)
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Did with the Lustre of all Graces shine;
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Here Law did in its Inner-Temple dwell,
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With Mathematicks to a Miracle.
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Here Opticks shin'd, here Jacob's powerful Wand
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Did all the Armies of the Stars Command:
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Survey'd both Globes, and wisely took from thence
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Just Measures for his High Magnificence.
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Whereas some, (clog'd with Earth and Ignorance)
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Can ill adjust their own Inheritance.
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T' improve the barren Theory of these,
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In steps great Galen and Hippocrates,
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You judg'd (tho' Envy might its Poison dart)
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There cou'd be no disparagement in Art.
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Your Charitable Dodonean door
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Sent Echoes to the Prayers of the Poor.
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Your well-spread Table still for Guests did call,
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Was Charities great Burse and Hospital.
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Those Guests (amidst Philosophy and meat)
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(More Ear than Appetite) forgot to eat.
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But these Perfections (Glorious in their Sphere)
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May make us Famous, not Immortal here.
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Both Small and Great, Learn'd and Unlearned must
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Submit their Talents to be weigh'd in dust.
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Now DORCHESTER, Great DORCHESTER is dead,
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And all his Parts laid Level with his Head.
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But though his Years summ'd up the Age of man,
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Largely extended to a Giant's Span;
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It might some Circumstances interpose
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(Like latter Frosts) and kill a drooping Rose.
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This Turtle miss'd his dearest KATHARINE,
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As Good, as Great; and only not the QUEEN;
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Divorc'd by Death from his most Saint-like Wife,
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His Palsy'd Soul allow'd but half a Life.
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Then you that wonder at his Matchless Parts,
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Acknowledge Love above the Power of Arts.
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