AN ELEGIE UPON The Death of that Renowned HEROE Coll. RAINSBORROW.
WHO VVas most Traiterously Murthered on Munday Octob. 29.1648
SOmthing it was, that made the envious Stars
To mutinie, and discord into Warres,
In that great Constellation—48.
Whose brows with curled flashings yet affright
The reeling Universe: It was thy Fame,
Thy peerlesse Valour and thy precious Name,
O Rainsborrow, something it was the Sun,
Did walk in mourning since thy day was done,
In Sable Clouds, masking his glorious face,
As loathing to behold that fatall place,
Wherein thy righteous blood (yet reeking) cryes
Against those bloody Caines butcheries.
But didst thou dye as fooles, or were thy hands
(The Twins of prowesse) braceletted with bands?
(Whereof each singer was a charme to still
The balls of Death, and whole Campania's fill
With palmed Trophies) No, as Vertue fares
Loathed by vicious Hell-born Councellers,
Such was thy fall, such thy bewailed fate,
Though blood-gorg'd Envy could but Antedate
Thy mortall peece, Shryne to that purer part,
Not to be pensill'd by Seraphick Art.
Therefore the Heavens, grown covetous to see
The Earth inrich'd with such a Gemme as thee,
Down glydes a winged Cherub in all hast,
To snatch thee hence, in triumph to be grac'd,
A fixed Star; where though the Quires doe sing
For joy, we (steep'd in tears) our hands doe wring
Like melting Niobes, though from our eyes,
Thy worth may claime as debt such sacrifice,
Mirrour of men, Arts abstract, Souldiers glory.
True Graces splendor, and sweet peace's story,
Engine of Warre, a valour double edg'd.
Not to be blunted, though with Armies hedg'd,
(Nor durst grim Atropos, presum'd thee harm,
Had not the subtle Hagge, us'd Treasons Arm)
Whom all succeeding Ages may admire
Not imitate, yet there is living fire
Within thy name, enough to blaze on high,
Coward Succession, into Chivalry,
Nor doth the languish'd Land lament alone,
But Neptunes Court, where thy great name is known,
Are all in mourning, there the Sea-Nimphs weep
Vailing their beauties in the curled deep:
The showres unto the Billows mourn, and they
Unto the shoares return, a Welladay.
The burthen of whose Eccoes passing knell
Is this: A great Man's falne, in Israel.
Farewell dear Patriot, since th'art gone, we have
But two things to be proud of, first a Grave,
And then thy name, in that wee'l happy be,
In this more Active through thy memory.
And thus our Teares of Joy and Griefe, wee shed,
Glad th'art in Heaven, yet sorry thou art Dead.
Virtus post Funera.
THO. ALLEYN.
Printed at London for Robert Ibbitson. 1648.