AN ELEGIE, Vpon the much lamented Death of that Renowned and ever to be Honour'd Patriot of his Countrey JOHN PYM Esquire, Lievtenant of the Ordnance, and a Member of the Honourable House of Commons.
IT will not be: our sinnes doe yet out-cry
Our prayers: as if we aim'd at Misery.
Still we decline; and our calamities
Insensibly steale on us by degrees:
That, being more secure, our Judgment may
Appeare more horrid at our payment day.
How many glorious Starrs have shot of late
From the inconstant sphere of our sad State,
Spangled ere while with happy lights; from whence
We hop'd, and found auspicious influence?
But now, depriv'd of their rich splendor, we
Freeze in the shadow of despaire, and die.
Am I design'd griefes servant, that my Pen
Thrice vow'd to silence should be rais'd agen?
I call no Muse my mother: yet am still
Babling out Elegiack Notes: my Quill,
N'ere dipt in Agavippe, sorrow calls
To pay its Tribute at sad Funeralls.
But oh! what Muse can lend a straine t'expresse,
The measure of this dayes unhappinesse?
What wing may yeeld a quill, which can compose
Fit Characters of sorrow? or who knowes
What kind of sorrow there is fit to be
Exercis'd at such Scenes of misery?
Teares are too common: every petty losse
Exacts that duty; every trifling crosse.
Sighs are poore empty things; and aiery Verse
An ornament t'enrich a vulgar Herse.
Unlesse we could shed teares of blood: and sigh
Our lives breath out unto his memory:
Or breath our soules forth in sad numbers; these,
Indeed, are griefes fit Ephemerides.
What lesse can suit the obsequies of him
Who spent himself for us? whose eyes grew dim
In searching out our buried Liberties:
Who in pursuance of the Kingdoms peace
Contracted many deaths; and by his care
Purchast diseases: holding nothing deare.
Advance the publike: who (to speake in few)
To save his Countrey his owne body slew?
For which his soule, translated to the blisse
Of Heav'n, with Angels there instated is.
Where now a spotlesse Saint, he sweetly sings
Lond Halelujahs to the King of Kings.
Where he (above the reach of humane spight)
Enjoys the comforts of the Son of light.
NOw you bold Imps of fury, who shall now
Pluck that bright wreath of glory from his brow?
Who shall receive the Guerdon of his fall?
Or preach State-Treason at his Funerall?
Now you may raile, and curse, and threat, whilst he
Derides your malice; scornes your tyranny.
Now you may lie, and sweare and for sweare too
To blast his Name (more then Hells selfe can doe)
He, from the glorious Throne of happinesse,
Laughs at your poore revenge, and gladly sees
The booke of Conscience spread before his eyes:
Where all the actions, which your perjuries
Call Treason and injustice, be beholds
Flourish't with glory in bright lines of Gold:
Presented there, unto the God of Peace,
Most perfect, through his Saviours worthynesse.
There rests his soule, his body let us lay
With mournfull tryumphs in its bed of clay:
About which, since pale death, by fates decree,
Hath drawn the Curtaines of Mortality.
That after ages may this losse bemoan;
Trouble the Herse with this Inscription.
HEre lyes the Pillar of the English State:
The Peoples violent love; their greatest hate.
His Countreys Patriot; Religions friend:
Lawes Champion: one that dared to defend
Just Liberty against Prerogative:
That scorn'd (his Countrey perishing) to live.
That durst impeach the bosome favorite
Of's Prince; and against greatnesse maintaine right
That hated Honour bought with flattery:
And did the favours of a King deny,
To keep his faith with Heav'n; that dar'd professe
Virtue, in th'age and Land of wickednesse.
That singly durst make power: doe any thing
Allow'd by Heav'n; and this against a King.
This did he: yet, with this, he did maintaine
A soule, so Loyall to his Soveraigne:
That had a Trayterous thought but mov'd within;
There it had judg'd and executed bin.
A Man so good, that t'was imputed to him
A sin, and that alone which did undoc him.
Full fraught with Wisdome, Virtue, Grace,
Of parts admir'd; of gentle race.
A Noble mind, a pious heart
Humility, with great desert.
Curtesie, bounty, innocence,
A pleasant wit, voyd of offence.
Here lyes in short whatever can
Be cal'd perfection in a Man.
All these lie here compriz'd in one;
(Alasse) where shall they harbour now hee's gone?