AN ODE On the DEATH of WILLIAM Duke of Gloucester.
By W. B. of St. John's, Oxon.
Ostendent terris hunc tantum Fata, ne (que) Ʋltra Esse sinent. Immodicis brevis est aetas, et Rara Senectus.
LONDON Printed, and Sold by J. Nutt, near Stationers-Hall, 1700.
AN ODE On the Death of the Duke of Gloucester.
I.
MOURN all whom Humane Misery can move,
Who Tread in Virtues Pathes, or Honour Love.
Since Virtues surest Guide is Fled
To the bright Realms above;
And Honour's Earliest Champion Dead.
Hard Fate! That one to Empire Born,
Whom all the Graces did Adorn;
Who Virtues Nicest Precepts Understood,
Divinely Great, and Greatly Good,
Should shrink into a Winding Shroud,
And Undistinguish'd Lye, clos'd in a common Urn.
II.
A New Philosopher of late,
Rais'd by a Wild Enthusiastick Heat,
Deny'd the Power of Death, and the great Works of Fate;
Affirm'd, We only dye because we Fear:
Else, like the Prophet heretofore,
In Flaming Chariots we should mount the Air,
And bear Deaths bitter Pangs no more:
That Courage hath the Power to Save
The Earthy part from Mouldring in the Grave:
Fond Fancy all!
For were this Notion true,
How cou'd Great Glou'ster fall?
His Body, like his Soul, had been Immortal too.
III.
Nor will the Body be the same,
But to the Dust returns,
When the Enlivening Soul is gone that Actuates the Frame,
The Soul that our low Mansion Scorns,
And mounts to the bright Orb from whence it came;
There does God-like Glou'ster sit
Amidst the Angelick Choir,
[Page 3] With Looks compos'd, and Aspect sweet,
Mildly Majestick, and Serenely Great;
He hears with Extasie, and listens with Desire;
Attentive to the soft melodious Song,
There hee'l Eternally possess
An inexhausted Treasury of Bliss,
And boundless Happiness;
Be ever Blooming, ever Young,
Feel Pleasures lasting, Raptures strong;
Each moment shall present before His Sight,
A wondrous Scene of vast ineffable Delight.
IV.
Nor wonder that He Dy'd!
For Death's the Race we all must run;
And we must once arrive
The Goal we fear to Reach, and strive to Shun;
And his wide Rule will last till Time it self is done:
Tho' thy pure Virtues did resplendent shine,
Thy hopes of Life cou'd ne'er succeed,
Tho' thou wert half Divine.
How coudst thou Charm
Deaths unrelenting Arm,
When once the great THREE-ONE
(For Humane Frailty to Attone)
Even the God of Nature, Bled?
[Page 4] He wou'd not from his Wisdom derogate so far,
To infringe the Laws himself had made,
But gave him power to wage perpetual War,
And all the World Invade.
Strange Prodigy!
That all the World cou'd not supply
His vast Ungovern'd Luxury,
That nothing else cou'd satisfie,
But that he too who gave him Power, shou'd feel his Tyranny.
V.
A gaping Fury always waits,
At Deaths Inhospitable Gates,
With eager fierceness to devour,
When he hath mark'd the fatal hour:
Alas! the bitter Gilded Pill,
Which when successful was Infallible,
Is Useful now no more;
But Wounds the Patient it was meant to Cure.
Nor can the Artist's Power, or Skill,
Elude, or stop Death's Arbitrary Will.
So when rapid Whirl-winds blow;
When Billows roar, and Tempests toss,
The Pilot's Art is at a loss.
Even great Gibbons, who cou'd see
Thro' Natures inmost Treasury,
[Page 5] Who the Minutest Parts does know,
How the Purple Currents Flow,
And Circulate thro' every Vein,
Who Understands the whole Anatomy of Man;
Death cou'd Deride the great Physitians Art:
His whole Endeavours prov'd in Vain,
Nor cou'd he Ease the Hero's Pain,
Or move the Pointed Dart,
When Fates unerring Hand pierc'd his Unerring Heart.
VI.
Not the Old alone suffice,
But Fate is Deaf to Tender Infants Cries
Tho' Floods of Tears do fall from the sad Parents Eyes.
Here, Royal Princess, wou'd my Muse relate
The Sorrows which Your Sons Unhappy Fate
Does in Your Anxious Breast create;
The inward Pain, and bitter Smart,
The Anguish of a Bleeding Heart.
But who alas can tell
Grief Unexpressible.
VII.
When Ephigenia once in Greece,
For Virtue, Goodness, and for Beauty known,
The Incensed Deities to Attone,
Was Doom'd a Sacrifice;
Timanthes saw the sad Procession go,
In all the Solemn Pomp of Woe:
Mov'd at th' unusual Sight,
At once with Sorrow and Delight,
His Pencil the great Artist drew,
And took each Posture as they came in View:
[Page 6] And first he drew the Gadding Multitude,
In awkward Grief and Clamour loud.
Whose Grinning Looks and sad Grimace:
(If Grief can be without a Thought)
Thoughtless Sorrow seem'd to Express.
Next to his View, the Priests were brought,
With Modest Looks compos'd and Grave,
As they were touch'd with Inward Sence
Of the Virgin's Innocence,
As if Compell'd to Kill one they desir'd to Save.
The Virgin Victim next appear'd,
In Robes as white as Alpine Snow,
And when her drooping Head she rear'd;
Her Beautious Face
Seem'd like a Lilly in a Christal Glass,
The Artist mix'd his blended Colours here,
And Wisely chose
To joyn the Lilly to a Rose
Which added Beauties to the Fair.
But when the Father touch'd his wondring Eye,
Surpris'd at Awful Majesty,
He threw his useless Pencil by;
Nor did he know,
To Express such vast Magnificence of Woe:
He took his Pencil up again,
Oft Essay'd, but still in Vain;
'Till knowing he shou'd ne'er succeed,
He cast a Veil all o'er his Aged Head.
A greater Reason may be shown
Why a Veil o'er You be thrown,
Your Mourning Beauty, so Transplendent bright,
Wou'd dazle the great Artist's Sight,
While Your sad Griefs and Sufferings pierce his Heart.
VIII.
Tho' for his Death whole Floods of Tears shou'd fall,
Our Grief cou'd never be Profuse;
For he deserves 'em all.
Did we reflect how Good, how Just he was,
We should Lament th' Irreparable Loss;
And not as common Mourners use,
With well Dissembl'd Sorrow Grace the Funeral.
Assist me, all you Mighty Nine,
All your United Forces joyn;
Fill my Soul with Noble Heat,
Thoughts sublimely Elevate:
And let your Inspiration be Divine,
Lest I should Deviate from the Noble Theme,
Or something Write Unworthy Him.
Where shall I End, or where Begin?
His Life has one continued Scene
Of Transcendant Glory been;
Always Effulgent, always Bright,
Without a Glimmering Spark of borrow'd Light,
On all his Lustre did bestow,
Always Unobscur'd till now.
Shall I proceed by Definitions Rules,
Or the mean Pedantry of Schools?
No, from the bright Original, I'll trace,
Of his Great Illustrious Race.
Words cannot reach th' Extent of his Capacious Mind,
And what is Unexpressive, cannot be Defin'd.
Take all the Actions which are truly Great,
All the vast Enterprizes draw,
From the first Norman Conqueror to the Great Nassau.
Which had Great Glou'ster Liv'd, had been in him Compleat.
IX.
The Norman had a vast Ambitious Soul,
A Thirst of Glory nothing cou'd Controul:
He grew by long Experience Wise,
And Learnt by knowing Dangers, Dangers to Despise.
Next the first Richard, let us Name,
Worthy the Records of Fame.
He left his Native soil to free
The Holy Land from Infidelity:
And when the Glorious Act was Done,
At the Surrender of the Town,
The Austrian Banner on the Wall was set
As if they only did the Infidels Defeat:
F [...] with Resentment, and a Sence
Of Virtue wrong'd by Insolence,
As if a Share in Conquest he Disdain'd,
Only by his Valour gain'd,
He tore the Sawcy Standard thence,
And Trampled it beneath his Royal Feet.
X.
Next my Muse of Edward Sing,
Who from Edward's Branch did Spring;
Edward the Son and Parent of a King;
But sure his Conquering Arms will break the Muses string.
Descriptions force is useless here,
Where I shou'd Court the Readers Ear,
With Sound of Horrent Arms, and all the Glorious din of War.
I see his lucid Armour shine,
I see his Helmet from afar,
I fee his glittering Spear,
[Page 9] I see whole Showers of Forked Arrows fly;
Like Light'ning through the Spissive Air;
I see the Coward Slaves dissolv'd with Fear,
Fly like Hunted timorous De [...]
I see the Field with Slaughter cover'd ore;
And all the fertile Ground distain'd with humane Gore:
While the Glad Father at a distant View,
Sees the Martial Prince pursure,
Swift as the Wind, the Conquer'd Foe;
Nor does he wish to share his Victory:
But when the Gallant Youth return'd,
All gay with Blood and Wounds Adorn'd,
He hugg'd him in his Arms, and own'd him for his Son.
Had Godlike Glou'ster liv'd to ride,
By Victorious William's side:
He a greater Wonder far,
Nephew to the God of War,
Had far great Wonders done.
XI.
The great Fifth Harry next appears,
The Terror of the Gallick shore:
I see him wondrous Acts perform, surpassing Youthful Years:
He sits upon the Throne,
And wears the Imperial Crown:
While the poor Tributary King,
Bows to superiour Power,
And Owns him Conqueror.
Had Gloust'er liv'd, and durst they break
The Peace that they were forc'd to make;
Rais'd by a small Advantage dare,
Provoke us to unequal War;
[Page 10] Great William should his Fleet and Armies bring,
A second Glorious Conquest Gain;
And Glou'ster his Vicegerent Reign,
Nor shou'd the Kingdom ere be Titular again.
XII.
To the Sixth Edward next, my Muse encline,
For tho' his Life was short, 'twas all Divine:
A Reformation he began,
And scarce a Boy, his Vertues writ him Man:
Pious and Young he did remove,
Like Glou'ster to the Realms above:
Too like alas was his too Early Fate!
Nor must we Great Eliza's Worth forget;
Her Vertues once did Undiminish'd shine,
And tho' she wore a Female Dress,
And had a Beautious Female Face;
Her vast Heroick Soul was Masculine.
But lo! Maria rears her Sacred Head,
And drowns like Blushing Noon her paler Dawn:
Her Brightness is Obscur'd and Fled,
And all her' Splendor gone:
As Stars that Disappear before the Sun;
Here wou'd my Drooping Genius raise,
And Dwell eternally on Great Maria's Praise;
But why do I a Task pursue,
Which tho' it Please, will Wound us too?
For while a Just Account I give,
What Benefits we did from her receive,
It will her sad lamented Death renew,
And that, if possible, Augment our present Woo▪
XIII.
Here I'm reminded of great William's Name,
Tho' mention'd Last, the First in Fame:
How shall I stop the Muses Horse?
Resolv'd to run his Furious Course,
He Champs the Foaming Bit, and here disdains
The Riders Feeble Hands, and breaks the slender Reins,
Bending his winged Course around the Fland'rian Plains.
How shall I justly write the Hero's Praise,
His Virtues Rhetorick cannot Raise,
Nor Defamation make 'em Less:
And tho' no strong Poetick Ardour shines,
Fair Truth shall grace the Coming Lines.
XIV.
Who that can draw a Sword, or hold a Shield,
Will e'er forget the Fight of Landens Bloody Field?
To this great Action let us join
The mighty Wonders at the Boyn.
Horatius gain'd a vast Esteem,
A Never-dying Fame;
He plung'd in Tyber's rapid Stream,
To avoid a Conquering Foe:
How then can we bestow,
On Great Nassau his Praises due,
Who waded thro' the Boyn, the Conquer'd to pursue?
How shall we Celebrate his Name;
WHo kept his Neighbouring Foes in Awe,
And gave Proud France a Law;
And forc'd their King resign the Forts he did unjustly claim?
Tho' his bright Arms strike Horror from afar,
Tho' he's the Thunderbolt of War,
Yet can he make Confusion hear his Voice,
[Page 12] And dreadful Uproars cease,
So well he Understands the Arts of Peace:
By him we all Rejoyce;
By him with Plenty Blest,
In Undisturb'd and Quiet Slumbers Rest.
XV.
He Came, Accepted Empire here,
When it was hardly worth his Care:
When the whole Nation felt the Stroke
Of Arbitary Power;
And bent their Servile Necks beneath the Roman Yoke:
He Came and set us Free,
From Superstitious Fear, and Vain Idolatry:
And from Remorseless Cruelty,
Nor did he sit
Upon his Throne supinely Great,
Lull'd in the Slothful Arms of Peace;
But made our Quarrels his,
And Conquer'd all our Enemies,
As if His Life was not His Own,
But born for Us alone,
Born to preserve the Brittish Laws, and wear the Brittish Crown.
XVI.
Wert thou of the Trojan Line,
The Trojan Virtues all were thine:
Wert thou of the Roman Race,
Or of the Families of Antient Greece,
All the Nations thou do'st Grace;
The Hero's of the Roman State,
Were but Comparatively Great;
[Page 13] Since Thou, the Great Columbus, did'st Explore
Bright Tracts of Glory, never known before;
And must be own'd without Dispute,
O'er all the World, for Glory Absolute.
XVII.
Oh! Had the God-like Prince we now bemoan,
Liv'd to Succeed, and Wear the Brittish Crown,
What might we not expect?
But Fate, alas! does our vain Wish reject:
For Nassau's Self, who can command
Even all our Powers, cannot Deaths Power withstand,
But must resign his Triumph up to His all-Conquering Hand?
And tho' his Soul can never die,
Which fill'd with Heavenly Fire,
In Bliss must Reign among his Kindred of the Sky,
Yet must his Mortal part Expire;
And a Third Heroine sit upon the Throne,
To which by Virtue she has Right, and not by Blood alone.
Goodness and Generous Actions are,
To her alone Peculiar;
Not only when with Need oppress'd,
The wretched Suppliants Cry,
Their bitter Wants she does supply:
But they are oft with Unexpected Bounty bless'd.
The Grateful Muses must her Favours own;
To them may her Indulgence still be shown;
The Muses best can make her Vertues known,
Great Williams Acts, and Hers they shall proclaim,
A long Laborious Toil of Fame,
And to the utmost Thule shall spread their glorious Name.
XVIII.
Here I must beg the Reader to Excuse
The Errors of an Injudicious Muse:
Tho' I cou'd mount the Tow'ring height,
Of Pindars Steady, yet Unequal Flight,
I now shou'd sink beneath my Sorrows weight:
Even Ovid, who when e'er he strove,
The strings of the touch'd Heart cou'd move,
And bend the yielding Soul to Love;
When Sorrows did his lofty Genius bow,
His Thoughts were mean, and his Expressions low;
How then can I, when Uninspir'd,
Nor with Poetick Rapture fir'd;
Who ne'er cou'd the Meanders trace,
Or intricate Delightful Paths Explore,
Expect a harsh Censorious Age to please?
Alas! I only strive to shew,
What all in Gratitude are bound to do:
And leave it to the mighty Few,
who trod the Muses pleasant Maze before:
Let them the Glorious Task pursue;
A Mausoleum raise,
A Monument of Everlasting Praise:
Let Congreve, or some greater Genius tell,
(If any Congreve can excell)
How much Belov'd he Liv'd, how much Lamented Fell.
FINIS.