MEMENTO MORI:
AN ELEGY, On the much Lamented Death of His Grace, the DUKE of Beauford, Who Departed this Life, at His Seat at Badminton in Glocester shire, on Sunday the 21st of January, 1700. Being near the 70 Year of His Age.
MEMENTO MORI::
BID Mirth adiue, and chearful Harmony,
And with me Tune a doleful Elegy:
A Star is Faln, an Orb does Disapear,
Was once the Glory, of our Hemisphre;
Sad News is Heard, and Dismal Tidings Spread!
Alass! Alass! Great Beauford he is Dead:
You little think what Prize, fate has Engrosst,
Or what our selves, or what the World has lost,
His Pious Dutches Mournfully does stand,
In silent Anguish, and uplifted Hand:
His Son, and Grandson, sadly do Lament,
And hardly know which way their Greif to Vent;
His Daughters three, great Ladies of Renown,
Are much Perplex'd with Greif and Dismal Moan,
Only they've round them Vertue for their Guard,
And makes that Easie, which we think so Hard;
Design, and Strife, were Strangers to his Heart,
[...]ut Peace and Truth, and that were ner'e Apart.
Anger might Knock, but there no Enterance found,
It durst not Tread that Path, twas Holy Ground:
His Temper was to Pietie so True,
Not his whole Life. one Rapi'd Motion knew,
Like a Smooth Stream it did untroubled Roul,
Clear as His Eyes, and Even as His Soul:
Through Traitors Swords, and Plots contriv'd in Hell,
Through Inmate Friends, that Pray and yet Rebel;
Beauford, undanted has like Gidion pass'd,
Prefering Faith and Honour to the last;
Nay whats, a Rarity, we find in few,
He was both Pious, and a Soldier too:
Too soon this mighty Loss is Understood,
We know the Value, when we lost the Good:
His Loyal Care to Serve his Prince did tend,
A Faithful Subject, Counselor and Friend;
'To'th Royal Line when Faction high did Rise,
His Arms gave Succour and his Heart Advise,
So once to Saul, did the great Prophet do,
Good Counsel gave, and Fought his Battels too.
Henceforth Vile Age, thy ill spent Time Redeem,
Grow Good, and let Great Beauford be thy Theam;
In taking Him, Fate leaves us Poor and Bare,
This mighty Worth is more than we can Spare;
For common Losses, common Tears we showre;
But his great Merit will command much more:
For this great Loss we ought to have Regard,
The Loyal and the brave are seldom Spar'd:
In Props of Vertue, we are not so Rich,
But such a Pillar gon, will make a breach;
Crowds may drop off, like Hair of no Esteem,
But when one Hero goes we lose a Limb;
Great Ormond's Duke, in Sable Robes appears,
With his fam'd Dutches, who abounds in Tears;
And none knows when their mighty Sorrow ends,
Who lost the best of Fathers, and of Friends:
Their Noble House, and Antient Family,
Are Dress'd in Sorrow's sadest Livery;
His high born Kindred round about the Nation,
Appear in Mourning, on this sad Occasion:
But look on further and observe the Poor,
And Needy, that in Numbers Crowds the Door,
Such as he Cloath'd; and those as long he Fed,
He greiv'd to see a Man that wanted bread:
His very Foes, who did his worth Envy,
If they were Poor, he freely did Imploy:
So much he Lov'd to keep at Work the Poor,
He'd pull Down Wall's tho' just built up before;
About his House, no Idle Persons Lurk,
He took such Care to set them all to Work;
And none without their Wages went away,
He scorn'd to Robb the poor Man of his Pay:
But to our Sorrow, this Relief is Given,
Our Loss on Earth, has Gain'd a Friend in Heaven.
EPITAPH.
Under this Pile the great Duke Beauford lies,
Whose Death has Caused many Weeping Eyes;
His Noble Friends with Tears make sad Complaint,
At their great Loss, tho' Heaven has gain'd a Saint:
Where he's Rewarded for his Deeds below,
With blessings there, to high for Earth to know:
His Fame on Earth ought still to be Inrol'd,
Not in black Ink; but Shining Leaves of Gold.
LONDON, Printed by J. Wilkins, near Fleet-street, 1700.