AN ELEGIE, On the Death of the Right Honourable and most Noble Heroe, ROBERT BLAKE,
Late Generall of the English Fleet at Sea.
Together with a Commemoration of the most famous Victories by him heretofore obained against the
HOLLANDERS: And His remarkable Successes, to the Glory of the
ENGLISH Nation, afterwards against the
Spaniard and
Turkish Pirats, in cleering the Seas, and taking and drowning their Ships, and burning of many of the best of them in their strongest and most Fenced Havens: Who departed this Life on
Friday,
August the 7. 1657.
WHat sacred Flame is this? What glorious Guest
Is pleas'd to lodge in my unworthy brest?
And with a sudden touch my Soul inspires,
Rapt in amazements, and transporting sires?
Tis thou (great Shade) thou whosoere thou be
That leav'st the world in darkness, thou art he
[...]
He who would truely mourn for such a man,
To find him teares should drain the Ocean,
Whiles dry all Navies through the world should stand,
Or else be sayling on a sloud by Land.
The End of man is glory, and her birth
Looks most to Heav'n, and sometimes down to Earth;
Thou dost partake of both, and now dost know
How much they differ in degrees, as show.
Religion, Peace, and Wisdome, and the Stories,
Of Peace and War well-carried on, are Glories,
But with thy self to make the Country thrive,
Was thy true glory that's superlative.
How did the Ocean sweat with bloud when War
Made thee triumphant gainst the
Hollander
[...]
How bravely did thy foes come on? yet hid
Their heads affrighted when thy Thunders chid,
And all the Monsters in the Seas did keep
Themselves retir'd 'ith' bottome of the Deep,
And 'mongst themselves made peace, afraid to heare
Thy dreadfull Canons ratling in their care,
The Whale by Whale stood silent, and began
T'approach and comfort the Leviathan,
Who in his watry Realms'ne'r knew before,
Such lasting Terrour in so lowd a Roare,
Three dayes together Fleet gainst Fleet did stand,
And Thunders answer'd Thunders; the firme Land
Trembled, and fear'd it should to Iles be shook,
And Iles to be made Continents did look;
To crown the merit of an Act so high,
A glorious wound thou got'st with Victory,
And having after on the foaming Main
Made thy self Master of those foes again,
And slain their Admirall, who vowd that none
At Sea should govern but himself alone;
Thy Trumpets did on thy Return proclaime
With thine the honour of the English Name,
And ever since, where ere thy self did please
Thou saildst triumphant up and down the Seas,
Sometimes to make the Turkish Pyrats know
By Fire and Sword what 'tis to be thy fo,
Or have the world more prone to understand
The strength of
England both by Sea, and Land;
Sometimes t'examine, and with just disdain
Suppresse the Power, and the Pride of
Spain,
And in their Harbours burn their Ships, or make
The Pirats answer for the Goods they take;
And thus in several Oceans showing all
The parts of an accomplished Generall.
In thy return a sickness met thee, and
Death did ensue it e're thou cam'st to land;
But that more fully we may here declare
Our plaints, we should lay by all tears, which are
Too weak for such a loss, we now should shake
With a just sigh the Center, and awake
The spirit of grief, that so our accents may
Make our love known, where e're his purer ray,
Where e're his Star doth shine, if now he is
Spreading his light where rugged
Parrhasis,
Shines at the Northern Pole, or if he please
Rather to grace the Southern Hyades,
Or where the beauties of the Morn their cleer,
Reflections bend on
Ganges streames, or where
When e're he in the Ocean dives, they run
From
Calpe hill who mourn the fainting Sun,
Thou wheresoe're thou dost thy beames dispence,
It is no sin to beg their influence,
Whilest thus on us thou shalt thy light imploy;
We more shall crave it, and we shall enjoy
And mourn thee taken from us and a flight
Shall dayly practise, till we reach that height,
Which thou hast gain'd, O why should Heaven ordain
That when they there do joy, we here should plain,
Why should it urge to Good, yet from our view,
Steale the Example, and rejoyce in't too.
Greife is of kin to Heav'n, and doth improve
The glorious Consorts, and blest Quires above,
And unto us of greater pow'r doth seem,
Since their Joyes move not us, our greifes help them,
But can teares ease us, or Complaints renew,
This matchlesse
Heroe which no Age can do?
Though Greife is not so mighty to revive,
Yet 'tis so happy to keep Fame alive:
Let us be proud of sorrow then, and make
His worth our theame, and since him overtake
We cannot, let us with devoted trust
Honour his Rellicks, and religious Dust;
How well these thoughts become us, we'l indent
With Heav'n, and him, to keep the argument
For ever in our brests interr'd, and so
May greife befriend us, that our selves may grow
Rich in his Virtues, and be nobly bent,
On Sea and Land to love his Monument,
Which needs no Gravers Art, for every sigh
Shall better speak his Epitaph, and dye,
And learn a method to the world to grieve,
Which never could so great a loss out-live,
But that his Name recovers it as fast,
And it Embalms, as it away doth wast.
R. C.
The End.