ENGLANDS Lamentation FOR THE Duke of Monmouth's Departure: Reflecting on his Heroick Actions.
IS Monmouth banish't? must HE not stay here?
Can he, Eclips'd, so quickly disappear?
Methinks we sink, and our disjoynted State,
Rowles headlong down the Precipice of Fate:
Our Anchor's weigh'd, and this great Island-Boat,
Like the fam'd Delos, on the Sea does float,
A Sea whose Waves bear a far redder hue,
Than those which Pharoh's mighty Host o'r-threw;
In which each Papist like a Rock do's sit,
Ready to split us, when we dash on it.
That King's unsafe, who sits upon a Throne,
Whose strongest Pillar's lost, and leans, alone,
On the weak shoulders of a yielding Crew,
Who never yet a greater Burthen knew,
Than their own flesh, which they could scarcely save
From falling in the Dirt, before the Grave.
That King art thou, great Charles, now Monmouth's gone,
Monmouth was truly Loyal to thy Throne,
Wou'd Atlas-like, with his strong Shoulders bear
The Weight of our declining Hemisphere:
Who, maugre all Shocks of mighty Foes,
Stood fixt, nor valu'd all the Threatning Blows.
He, whom the Scots next to their God and Thee,
Fear'd, and Ador'd, like a new Deity.
He, who so lately quell'd the num'rous croud
Of fresh spawn'd Rebels, that Proclaim'd aloud,
War 'gainst the Government, nor could they fear,
Till within Scotland Monmouth did appear;
Whose very Sight shot Death among them all,
More seem'd with Fear than by the Sword to fall.
This is the least our Glorious DUKE hath done,
France lov'd that Valour once which Maestricht won,
With which, like the
Alexander.
Pellaean Conquerour,Himself his Standard on the Rampiers bore,
Whilst the amazed French stood idly by,
Deserving not to share the Victory.
They Wondred then, and since as much have fear'd,
When He at Mons so Terrible appear'd,
Like Mars, all o'r with Blood and Dust besmear'd,
When He, like the Great Troján Hector fought,
And wheresoe'r he came, such Wonders wrought,
That as of old, now Jove, with Scales in hand,
Weighing each Fate, did on Olympus stand,
And found the English, though in number less,
In Valour equal, could not chuse but bless
Th' Attempt: whilst smiling, he might see from far,
The Bloody labours of the God of War:
'Till Luxemburgh was force't his Ground to quit,
And Victory, which on a Hill did sit,
Doubtful to which she might her Favor shew,
Now clapt her Wings, and to the English Flew,
The English who deserv'd her best, and knew,
Best by their Valour always to maintain,
That which their Valour nobly did obtain.
Thus the brave DUKE prov'd English Spirits are,
In Fight, as daring now as e're they were.
And thus he got himself Renown, to be,
For that sent hence, as the States Enemy.
Sure, Poysonous Envy did their Breasts invade,
Who did your Majesty to THIS perswade;
You were abused when you banish't thus,
Him, the Delight of Your Self and us.
They knew, whilst he did in your Bosom lye,
Their Daggers could not reach Your Majesty:
Therefore t'effect their Villanous Intent,
He, who alone could their dire Acts prevent,
Must be remov'd, that so your Breast might be,
More open to each daring Enemy.
Know then, Great Charles, Thou art more hurt than He,
For th' Wise and Valiant ne'r can Exil'd be.
J. F▪
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1679.