Threnodium Apollinare. To the memory of the right honourable Philip late Earl of Leicester

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE Earl of Leiceſter. GReat Hoſpitable ROOF, thy Walls ſo Fair, Once WITS whole Pantheon, and their LORD ſhin'd there; There the glad Muſes ſmil'd, and ſung, and play'd; There their whole Winters Suns, and Summers Shade: Thy Glories now to rueful Sable turn, No cheerful Lights, but Funeral Tapers burn: For, oh, in Dust muſt now the loſt Thalia mourn. In common Themes, when the Caſtalian Choir, For ſome ſad Airs, ſtring up their mournful Lyre; No more than an Obſequious well-tun'd Woe, The warbling Murmurs there, all Artful Numbers flow. But to their Great MAECENAS, to that Dear, Lov'd, Honour'd, Ador'd HEAD, the Genuine Tear, And the unmeaſur'd Grief's all melting Nature here. What warmer Sighs the Eloquent Sorrow draws, Not where it Pleads, but where it Feels the Cauſe: Go vaſt the Difference (a Zeal ſo fier'd) 'Twixt Raptures only Studied, and Inſpir'd! And when their Plaint the wailing Muſes join, At Younger Herſes, ſome Endimion's Shrine; As Mourning Siſters there they ſhed a Tear: But oh, they come all Mourning Daughters here. A longer Train their heavier Sorrows trail, In darker Cypreſs and the ſhadier Veil. Pity and Love may ſwell the weeping Eye; A deeper Fountain does this Stream ſupply: For here 'tis Honour, Duty, Piety. Nay a yet ſtronger Tie calls the whole Nine, To pay no common Tribute to this SHRINE: Science and Arts, every Studied Grace, Th' Hereditary Pride of that Learn'd Race, LEIC'STER's a Name Renown'd to that Degree, The Homaging Minerva bends a Knee: That Name in Vaſſalage the Muſes leads: The SYDNEYS are Apollinary Heads. But is't the Muſe alone the Cypreſs wears, Only the Heliconian Fount run Tears? His Cavalcade to that poor Pomp confin'd? No; the whole Gown, the Robe, the Bays, all join'd, Wit, Politicks, States, Academies, theſe, His equal Pupils, equal Nurſeries; Down from the Pilot at the Helm Above, Ev'n to the Strephon Songſter of the Grove; Of ſolemn Grief a long unbroken Chain, Shall nobly fill his Numerous Funeral Train. So mourn'd, the whole Learn'd World his Rites ſupplies, He cantons Provinces for watry Eyes; Whilſt their Arrears of Sorrow to defray, 'Tis Pride to owe, and Gratitude to pay. But whilſt this Great GAMALIEL ſure was born, Proud Literatur's whole ſpacious Reign t' adorn; Shall WITS vaſt Empire, that unbounded Sway, The only Tribute to Great LEIC'STER pay? The Grateful Pen alone commence his Praiſe? The Pencil too muſt His fam'd Trophies raiſe. To LEIC'STER as his equal GLORIES Due, The Great Apollo and th' Apelles too, Her Lantſcape Pallaces, Tow'rs, Seas and Land, The gilded Stream, and all the ſhaded Strand, The Pencils whole CREATION, all her fair Poetick Worlds ſhall pay their Homage there. Around him all his Pentionary Band, Of Reuben's, Angelo's, and Raphael's ſtand. Entring thoſe Walls, what an all dazling Scene Does our Surveying Wonder entertain? At once amaz'd, and pleas'd, a Look we caſt To Glories, back ev'n to whole Ages paſt. Painting, that Monumental Hiſtory, In whoſe Records, to every Reading Eye, Neither the Glorious nor the Beauteous die. In that rich Tablet ſee the Lawrell'd Head, Ev'n wak'd from his long ſleeping Honours Bed, There th' Hero ſee in all his glittering Arms;— Here ſee ſome Phoenix Beauty, all her Charms, Rais'd from her Dust in Deathleſs White and Red! Art can give Life! See the Great Living Dead. If Heav'n-ſtoln Fires cou'd animate the Clay; What Nobler Theft the daring Pencils play? So much the bolder Painter does outfly The old Promethean Petty Larceny; Not a poor Spark ſnatcht from his Chariot Wheels; Not ſteals from JOVE, but JOVE Himſelf he ſteals. Him not the Skies Imperial Rover ſcapes; He hunts him thro' the Gold, Swan, Bull, all Shapes; The very GOD expoſed in all his Amorous Rapes. Nay the ſtill more Audacious Riffler pries Into the inmoſt Chambers of the Skies. He ſteals his very JƲNO from his Arms; And with a Sacriledge even yet more bold, Unveils to Human Eyes the Naked GODDESS Charms, And gives the Trojan Boy once more the Ball of Gold. Illuſtrious ART, whom Miniſtring Nature, all Thy Handmaid, waits on thy Commanding Call! Like the Great FIAT, thou both Day and Night Call'ſt forth, and deckſt in their own Shades and Light. Ev'n Heav'ns whole Hierachy, the LORDS above, By Thee their whole Triumphant Chariots move, From th' Harneſt Dragon to the Bridled Dove. Mercurial Art, who captiv'd Eyes to take, Thou doſt a Virtue of Deluſion make; Thou only Honeſt Cozener, Fair Deceit, Who canſt even conſecrate both Theft and Cheat. Thine were the Maſter-ſtrokes Great LEIC'STER pleaſed, And ſuch the Darling Arts His Favour rais'd. And thus if the Dodona's Grove, of Old, From Tongueleſs Oaks cou'd ORACLES unfold; An eaſier Wonder ſhall His Fame record, Whilſt ſpeaking Shadows own their PATRON Lord: The fair Auguſta's their MAECENAS greet, And bend their Towry Foreheads at His Feet. Theſe were the Beauties which He lov'd ſo dear: Nor ſhall his Pencil-Glory finiſh here. In Death, 'tis true, with a diſdainful Hand, His poorer Titian Troop He does disband. For now a nobler Draught muſt charm his Sight, Proſpects of BLISS, all Portraitures more Bright, Drawn by th' Immortal LƲKE's Diviner Light. And though his Menial Muſes left behind, He's gone, and more Celeſtial CHOIRS has join'd; All loftier Subjects, and ſublimer Air: Tis Thou, ƲRANIA, mak'ſt the Muſick there. Such Worthieſt LEIC'STER liv'd, and ſuch He died: So Shin'd his Riſing and his Setting Pride. But with that Penetrating WISDOM, WIT, Depths ſo profound, a HEAD and SOUL ſo Great; Th' unthinking World may wonder, that Sublime And Towring Spirit made no Popular Climb. What tho' uncharm'd with Publick Trust and Pow'r, To the gay glittering COURT he made no Tour: Nor fond of buſy Tumult, Noiſe and Strife, He choſe the gentler Harmony of Life? His whole Ambition his Own Walls contain'd; And quietly within Himſelf He reign'd: Perhaps, with Nobler Pride he did deſpiſe To Herd in crowded Courts, only to Riſe, No Higher Pitch, than ſhine in Galaxies: Not made a Part (th' Attendant on a Throne;) His Sphere of GLORY fill'd HIMSELF alone. So fill'd; that what cou'd a Court-Feather add To His Rich Plume? Courts but His Levy made. Their Great Conſulted OEdipus, HE ſate An ORACLE above the Helm of State: Thoſe Pilots taught, where He diſdain'd to ſteer, Whilſt Client Stateſmen came like travelling Sheba's here. What tho' nor Courts nor Camps his Choice he made; But fixt his Bow'r beneath the Olive Shade? In Camps, indeed, does Honour truly ſhine: But, oh! 'tis drawn to a Gold Thred ſo fine; The Warrior toils for Fame with all that Pain, 'Twixt Fifty Thouſand Sharers, each a Grain. 'Tis true, thoſe Fragment Bays His Brow ne're wore. Such a Divided Portion was too poor: Glory, was LEIC'STER's All; His own before. That Native Stock of Fame, ſo all Entire, Wanted no Steel to ſparkle out her Fire. In that Receſs of Life, within his Own Domeſtick Walls He reign'd, and reign'd Alone. His Menial Subjects led by ſo Divine a Sway; As Angels ſerve in Heav'n, 'twas Glory to Obey. A Glory too like Heav'ns, no Change it knew; An Angel Homage, and their Charter too. His Smiles were no blind Lottery of Chance. For Favour there was an Inheritance. This Life he choſe; and ought we judge no leſs The Merit of his Choice, from the Succeſs: Such his long Affluence of Happineſs; And all the pondrous Harvest he had reap'd: To ſee the Maſs Induſtrious HONOUR heap'd: HONOUR that no Columbus Sail er'e furl'd; He found His Golden Mines in the Old World. Thus to behold the Proſperous LEIC'STER bleſt, And weigh but by what Title He poſſeſt; Here let our finiſh'd Admiration reſt. In all her Random Gifts of every Day, Fortune does there but the blind Goddeſs play. But when ſuch WORTH does her beſt Graces ſhare, She finds her Eyes to chooſe the Favourite there. That Darling Favourite even rais'd ſo High, He fix'd her very Wheel, and taught her Conſtancy. So did Great LEIC'STER's generous Stars diſpence His juſt Inheritance of Providence; Bleſſings that ev'n by Claim he did demand, Not from the Giving, but Rewarding Hand. Their Fairest and the moſt Propitious Ray, The Grateful POW'RS could do no leſs than pay. He Charm'd 'em into Smiles.—So Jove of Old, Firſt found the BEAUTY, and then ſhow'rd the GOLD. But whilſt the Bleſſings pour'd ſo high; the more The Flowing Tide, and the Encreaſing Store, Riches were there of that Illuſtrious Riſe, No Nurſe of Pride nor Child of Avarice. The faireſt Plumes Proſperity cou'd bring Gave but his Charity the Lighter Wing. Aſcending Charity, Thy Head ſo crown'd, Of Jacob's Ladder Thine's the Higheſt Round. Bright Charity with thy Moſaick Face, HEAV'NS and Great LEIC'STERS equal Darling Grace. Twas on thy Wings His pious Tranſports rod: The nobleſt Gratitude t' a ſmiling GOD. Thus whilſt Great LEIC'STER, all he had to die, In his Paternal Bed of Rest ſhall lie; Marble and Epitaphs, alas, ſhall raiſe The meaneſt part of His Recorded Praiſe. His Trump ſhall ſound from the Fed Mouths He fill'd: Tis They the nobleſt Mauſoleum build. Reliev'd Diſtreſs, and Succour'd Miſeries, Stand round his Tomb with uplift Hands and Eyes; Thoſe Living Monuments His Pile of FAME ſhall riſe. Thus whilſt the more peculiar Care of Heav'n To that Lov'd Head, thoſe lengthen'd Days had given; LEIC'STER's no Start, but Travell'd Race; and all His long long Life makes but the Rowling Ball; Does t' all the full-blown Sweets of Goodneſs riſe, And in his Silver-headed GLORY dies: Here let pretending YOUTH no longer plume In all her Juvenile vain Pride and Bloom. Tis true the Spring-tide Flow'rs, the Sweet and Gay, Are the fair Product of the ſmiling MAY: But for a worthier Growth, and ſolid Root, The Richer Crop is all the AUTUMN Fruit. What tho' the Vigorous Health, the Nervier Arm, And all the Sprightlier Heat Young Veins may warm? In Chiller Blood the warmer VIRTUES glow; Whilſt Aetna-like, the Fire's beneath the Snow. AGE to Fair MINDS adds but th' enlightning Beam: The crazier Casket holds the brighter Jem. No Birdlime Senſes the clogg'd Wing hold down; There the Full Flight of SOULS is all their Own. And thus, as the Almighty Founder pleas'd, Our Humane Frames from Moulds of Clay are rais'd; Tis Ripening Time that beſt refines the MAN: There wants the Years to raiſe the Purcelane. Tho' th' Honourable Load of Age, deſpis'd By Giddy-headed Fools be poorly priz'd: As if Declining Years ſo low were run, That ev'n their finiſh'd Work of Life were done! If poſſible, the very Neſtor's Age, When truly ſcan'd, is but Life's Middle Stage. The Reverend Seer, with the true Janus Face, T' a long past Life behind, not th' Half-way Race, To a vain World looks back, only to ſee His longer Way before, ETERNITY. And what tho' the rude Aches, Gout, Catarrh, In Hoary Heads make their rough Seat of War? Perhaps to Age this is a Favour given, To whet her for the greater Gust of HEAV'N. She from Short Pains does Endleſs Joys perſue, All at the Fairer and more Pleaſing View: Whilſt tired with Life, th' ungrateful Load reſign'd, She leaves a Hated not Lov'd World behind. Tis true, Tranſlated VIRTUE to the Skies, By the Rewarding GODS may in her Nonage riſe; Whilſt JOVE his Starry Glories does allow, To Junior Favourites, the Minor Brow. What though a Conſtellation does adorn The Caſſiopaea's Chair, and Hyla's Urn? Let the Great TREASURY diſpenſe her Jems, More or leſs Bright, from Sparks to Diadems. To Youth of Beauty let their Claim be given, Their Legacies of Bliſs, and Part of Heaven. The Elder-Brother's Birthright is His Share; Exalted WORTH th' exalted Prize muſt bear: He, like Alcides, brings His Finiſh'd Labours there. And ſince the Hour, the fatal Hour's aſſign'd, (For ſtill the World muſt loſe, that Heav'n may find:) Say, in what Year ſhall th' Engliſh Annals tell, That her dear LEIC'STER, her lov'd PATRIOT, fell? In that bleſt Aera, when th' huſht Tempeſts ceaſe, In fair Britannia's Jubilee of PEACE, And all her ſmiling Carnival of Joy, It looks as if He made his Choice to Die. He liv'd to ſee the ALBION Dove bring o're Her blooming Olive to our happy Shore; Then lull'd in Pleaſures, in that Halcyon Neſt, He laid Him down to Everlaſting Rest. FINIS.