A POEM: DEDICATED To the Memory, And Lamenting the DEATH OF HER Late Sacred Majesty OF THE SMALL-POX.

By Mr. GLANVILL of Lincolns-Inn.

‘Et Tumulum facite, & Tumulo superaddite Carmen. Virg. Ecgl. 5.’

LONDON, Printed for John Newton at the Three Pigeons against the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleet-street, 1695.

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THE Author of the following Poem, as he has been in the Country ever since before Her Majesty's Death, and is but just come to Town; so he was not willing to trust it to the Press, without his being upon the Place to supervise it, well knowing how Frequent, and how Fatal the Mistakes are in such Cases, especially in Things of Verse.

This may serve as an Excuse for its not Ap­pearing sooner, if any Excuse be needfull, of which he is not satisfied. The Addresses go on, and why may not the Poetical Condoleance? It does; Every Week produces some little Thing or other on the Subject. The Firing continues, tho' somewhat fainter than at first; and he hopes he may have the Liberty of Coming in, tho' at the latter End, and shooting off his Pistol, as well as the rest. The Cause in Hand is so weighty, and withall so va­rious, that there cannot well be too many Con­cern'd in it; And who knows but a latter Coun­sel may hit upon something, that has never been said yet? In short, if the Poem be Good, he cannot think it is yet too late; if it be Ill (And of that indeed there is great Danger,) then he is sure it comes out too soon.

A POEM: Dedicated to the MEMORY, AND Lamenting the DEATH OF HER Late SACRED MAJESTY, &c.

SO Orange fell, so Gloucester went before,
And She succeeds to make thy Triumph more;
Tyrant-Disease, that may'st with rude success
Boast now the Deaths of half a Royal Race.
In Blood, in Youth, in Worth, in Fate ally'd,
Lov'd They all liv'd, and all Lamented dy'd.
But Oh! the Queen, and Oh! Her Herse the most,
As more the Kingdom, and as more She lost;
Torn by Her rigid and severer Fate
Not from dull Hopes, or from inferior State;
From Crowns possess'd, and from Imperial Sway
Of willing Nations begging to Obey,
[Page 2] That with Great Nassau's sought her soft Command,
And thought their Scepters grac'd by such a Hand,
Ravish'd she went; from still increasing Power,
From tasted Triumphs, and from Hopes of more.
As when, of old, in some Religious Wood
A towring Oak, that Soveraignly stood,
Mounting Majestick, and Sublime above
The rest, the Sacred Queen of all the Grove,
Down, Thunder-struck, from all her Honours cast,
(While branching yet They had an Age to last)
Fell, a vast Ruin, on the Wounded Plain;
Her the Bards mourn'd, Her every Anxious Swain,
That, faithfull, there, once, glad Devotion paid,
And sate with Joy beneath her gratefull Shade;
Concern'd for Her, and Her Deploring, more
Than all (tho' noble They) that fell before;
Griev'd to reflect, as they beheld her lye,
How her tall Arms, but now, possess'd the Sky;
Tax'd Jove himself that his Imperial Tree
Shou'd not secure from his own Thunder be.
Nor less do we th'ador'd Maria's Fall
Too hard, too cruel, and untimely Call;
Dare for Her sake ill-reverenc'd Heav'n accuse,
Ask, why such Victims Death has leave to Chuse?
Say Tyrants live, and living Them we mourn,
That they grow Old, who ne'er shou'd have been Born;
While those whom Vertue renders Gods below,
Whom we, like Gods, cou'd wish Immortal too,
Forsake our Hopes, and leave vain Years behind,
Defrauded of the Blessings They design'd.
Not every-where is Nature thus severe;
The needfull Sun, that from his beamy Sphere
Cheers the glad World, a lasting State maintains,
A thousand Ages past, yet still He Reigns;
But Fatal Comets, whose Portentous Flame
Does Wars and Waste, and every Ill proclaim,
Like Meteors pass, their balefull Glories dye,
And They to better Stars resign the Sky.
These are the Murm'rings of the Loyal Train,
Whilst unconcern'd not Foes themselves remain:
They lend (for who so savage to Forbear?)
A Sigh of Pity, to the Young and Fair;
The Beauty give, what they refuse the Queen,
Who must have dy'd unwept, have dy'd unseen.
But above all is the sad Poet's Woe;
He grieves as Subject, and as Poet too;
He saw Her young, and hop'd to sing Her long,
A shining Part in each Triumphant Song;
Which with Nassau's Her Trophies shou'd record,
And love the Eyes to equal to the Sword.
Fond Bard—
No more shall he the happy Birth-day sing,
Which gave new Pleasure to the welcome Spring:
No more, for Her, th'illustrious Day shall greet,
Which lay'd a prostrate Empire at Her Feet,
Promise the World, Prophetical in vain,
Long future Joys in an united Reign;
Only while Pious, to attend Her Herse,
He brings the Mournfull Offering of his Verse,
[Page 4] Her Fate Condoling, the just Grief to raise;
Once, this last Time, he celebrates Her Praise:
Tells Wonders of Her Face, and of Her Mind,
How bright the Form, and bright the Reason shin'd;
How lovely Looks, and a Majestick Mien
Gave Her all Beauty's Title to be Queen;
How, when She spoke, all thought it Heav'n to hear,
Bless'd the soft Voice, and found the Goddess there;
How She, rais'd high, as high a Pattern show'd,
Of generous Vertue set the Noble Mode,
With kind Indulgence, waiting on Her Power,
So doing Good, as wanting to do more;
With free Humility, that Growh'd Her State;
A brave descending, which exalts the Great.
There Haughty Nymphs, who in a meaner Sphere
Proud of their Height, or of their Lustre were,
Reproach'd familiar Majesty to view,
Such Matchless Beauty, and so Prideless too,
From conscious Shame a happy Cure did gain,
Dismiss'd their Scorn, and durst no more be Vain.
He adds the Calm sereneness of Her Mind,
Like Aether, rais'd above the Clouds and Wind;
Her Charms still sweetning with Perpetual Grace,
A Spring of Joy, immortal in Her Face:
He adds the Modesty, in Courts so rare,
Which Praise so well-deserv'd so ill cou'd bear;
The Love she to the Happy Consort bore,
More Worth than all the Crowns or Bays he wore;
Nor He the Clemency forgets, nor He
The Faith, nor He the well-known Piety;
[Page 5] All, All he tells, Her every Praise imparts,
Of vacant Hours shows the Palladian Arts,
Describes the Nation copying from the Court,
Work made a Fashion, and become a Sport;
Whilst with no Dame no Moments idly Fell,
Spent all, through very Affectation, well.
But then he Mounts aloft to Greater Things,
Of Rule, of Conduct, and of Courage sings,
Of gathering Faction silently suppress'd,
And unfear'd Dangers that appear'd, and ceas'd;
How when the King the threatned World wou'd shield,
And fled the Court, impatient for the Field;
His absent Charge She, emulous, did sustain;
He went to Conquer, and She staid to Reign.
To Reign? to Guard, to War, to Vanquish too;
This Gallick Shores, and humbled Louis knew,
His flying Ships that sham'd their haughty Names,
And Royal Suns that perish'd in her Flames.
So the Athenian Progeny of Jove,
Tho' She the mild and peacefull Olive love,
The Skilfull Goddess of each gentler Art,
Yet shakes the Spear, and knows a Martial Part:
Troy fled her Arms, and help'd by her to Dare,
Did bold Tydides Wound the God of War.
Who dares Her Honours impiously Blaspheme,
Or with Ambition tax the Faultless Dame?
By every generous Winter better taught,
To right Her Vertue, and correct his Fault.
O how we lov'd (that gratefull Season come,
That brought the Lord of all our Wishes home)
[Page 6] To see the Charming Regent, cover'd o'er
With justest Glory for well-manag'd Power,
Fly all in Joy to yield up a Command,
Which pleas'd Her best, when in His dearer Hand!
Then loud Applause proclaim'd the Heroine;
'Tis easier far to Reign, than to resign.
Not thus
Semiramis.
th' Assyrian Queen, when Regnant made;
Advanc'd to Rule, th' Advancer she betray'd,
By Guilt and Crimes too pleasing Power maintain'd,
The Husband Dy'd, and the Wife, impious, Reign'd.
She knew to Govern; while Maria knew
To Govern, and how not to Govern too.
Fair Cynthia so, when Phoebus does retire,
Carrying to other Lands his powerfull Fire;
Then rules Supreme, and with a Soveraign Ray
Gives the forsaken World another Day,
Reigns o'er the Waves, and makes Her self to be
Confess'd the mighty Empress of the Sea:
But when again his Beams He does restore,
She silent yields, and willing shines no more;
Shares still the Heav'n, and with an Equal Right,
But leaves the God alone to give the Light.
Thus while He sings, fresh Glory does appear;
But Glory this, that cost the World too dear;
Glory the Poet cou'd be glad to hide,
Sighing he has to tell how Great she Dy'd:
How when by sure Presage the Fate was known,
Then She was Dauntless, and then She alone.
Not then Her Hero knew to be unmov'd;
He shrunk, and learn'd to fear for Her he lov'd.
So trembled Mars (with him all Heav'n agreed)
To see the Queen of Love and Beauty bleed;
[Page 7] On whose indulgent, and diviner Breast,
The slumbring Souldier us'd so pleas'd to rest;
Where peacefull Moments he did well improve,
Relieving Toils of War with Joys of Love.
But Oh! when Life gave the vain Struggle o'er,
And She, th'Illustrious She, was now no more;
Then the Muse spreads new Horror o'er the place,
A wild Confusion paints in every Face;
Makes Nature mourn, whilst each astonish'd Flood
Forgot to flow, and dull, and stupid stood;
With chilling Grief the shivering Earth does bind,
And makes Air sigh in every Murmuring Wind.
But Oh! what Numbers shall be found, what Verse
The Royal Lover's Anguish to reherse?
He bends, He sinks, He falls beneath the Weight,
Threatning the World with yet a greater Fate.
Then, only then, Thoughtless the Court of Her
Their Sorrow found suspended in their Fear;
While Sense, while Life from the Great Mourner flies▪
And lost, and silent He, not Grieves, but Dyes.
And last, as Art compell'd him to revive,
Implor'd and begg'd, He wou'd endure to Live;
He Grants, but still expostulating, why
The Business of the World gave Him not leave to Dye?
O Boast! O Honour! O unequall'd Fame!
O happy Shade, and never-dying Name!
What Charms, what Vertues must be Hers, to move
That Heart to such a Grief, and such a Love!
Here, Poets, here use all your nicest Art,
Dwell on the tender, and important Part:
This Scene alone Maria's Fame shall raise;
Draw well this Passion, and there needs no Praise.
FINIS.

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