To the Memory of the ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE GEORGE Duke of Buckingham.
WHen the dread Summons of Commanding Fate
Sounds the Last Call at some proud Palace-Gate,
When both the Rich, the Fair, the Great, and High,
Fortunes most darling Favourits must dye;
Strait at th' Alar'm the busie Heraulds wait
To fill the Solemn Pomp, and Mourn in State:
Scutcheons and Sables then make up the Show,
Whilst on the Herse the mourning Streamers flow,
With all the rich Magnificence of Woe.
If Common Greatness these just Rights can Claim,
What Nobler Train must wait on Buckingham!
When so much Witt, Witt's Great Reformer, dyes,
The very Muses at thy Obsequies,
(The Muses that melodious cheerful Quire,
Whom Misery could nere untune, nor tire,
But chirp in Rags, and ev'n in Dungeons sing,)
Now with their broken Notes, and flagging Wing,
To thy sad Dirge their murm'ring Plaints shall bring.
Witt, and Witt's god, for Buckingham shall mourn,
And His lov'd Laurell into Cypress turn.
Nor shall the Nine sad Sisters only keep
This mourning Day: even Time himself shall weep,
And in new Brine his hoary surrows steep.
Time that so much must thy great Debtor be
As to have borrow'd even new Life from Thee;
Whilst thy gay Witt has made his sullen Glass
And tedious Hours with new-born Raptures pass.
What tho' black Envy with her ranc'rous Tongue,
And angry Poets in embitter'd Song
(Whilst to new tracks thy boundless Soul aspires)
Charge thee with roving Change, and wandring Fires
Envy more base did never Virtue wrong;
Thy Witt, a Torrent for the Banks too strong,
In twenty smaller Rills o're-flow'd the Dam,
Tho' the main Channel still was Buckingham.
Let Care the busie Statesman overwhelm,
Tugging at th' Oar, or drudging at the Helm.
VVith lab'ring Pain so half-soul'd Pilots plod,
Great Buckingham a sprightlier Measure trod:
VVhen o're the mounting Waves the Vessel rod,
Unshock'd by Toyls, by Tempests undismay'd,
Steer'd the Great Bark, and as that danc'd, He play'd.
Nor bounds thy Praise to Albions narrow Coast,
Thy Gallantry shall Forreign Nations boast,
The Gallick Shore with all the Trumps of Fame
To endless Ages shall resound thy Name.
VVhen Buckingham Great CHARLES Embassador,
VVith such a Port the Royal Image bore,
So near the Life th' Imperial Copy drew,
As even the Mighty Louis could not View
VVith Wonder only, but with Envy too.
His very Fleur-de-Liz'es fainting Light
Half droopt to see the English Rose so bright.
Let Groveling Minds of Natures basest mould
Hug and Adore their dearest Idol, Gold:
Thy Nobler Soul did the weak Charms defie,
Disdain'd the Earthy Dross to mount more High.
VVhilst Humbler Merit on Court-Smiles depends
For the Gilt Show'r in which their Jove descends;
Thou mount'st to Honour for a Braver End;
VVhat others borrow, Thou cam'st there to lend:
Did'st sacred Virtues naked Self adore,
And leftst her Portion for her sordid woer;
The poorer Miser how dost thou outshine,
He the worlds Slave, but Thou hast made it thine:
Great Buckingham's Exalted Character
That in the Prince liv'd the Philosopher.
Thus all the wealth thy Generous Hand has spent
Shall Raise thy Everlasting Monument.
So the fam'd Phoenix builds her dying Nest
Of all the richest Spices of the East:
Then the heap'd Mass prepar'd for a kind Ray
Some warmer Beam of the Great God of Day,
Do's in one hallow'd Conflagration burn,
A precious Incense to her Funeral Ʋrn.
So Thy bright Blaze felt the same funeral Doom,
A wealthyer Pile then old Mausolus Tomb.
Only too Great, too Proud to imitate
The poorer Phoenix more Ignoble Fate,
Thy Matchless Worth all Successors defies,
And scorn'd an Heir should from thy Ashes rise:
Begins and finishes that Glorious Sphear
Too Mighty for a Second Charioteer.
FINIS.
This may be Printed,
R. P.
LONDON, Printed for R. Baldwin. 1687.