AN ELEGY.
Sacred to the Memory OF THE High-Born Prince Henry D. of Grafton, WHO Dyed of his WOUNDS at Cork, October 9th. 1690.
In Pindarick Verse.
By Franc. Hext.
Hom. Iliad.
[...].
[...].
LONDON, Printed by T. M. and are to be Sold by Randal Taylor near Stationers-Hall, 1690.
AN ELEGY. Sacred to the Memory OF THE High-Born Prince Henry D. of Grafton, &c.
Stanza I.
BEgone, ye numerous Sons of
Ptolomy,
Who would th' Effects of Planets know,
And all the Secrets, which do flow
From the Dark Source of deep Astrology:
We now do find by woful Consequence,
Ye're but Pretenders to that mighty Art;
Since none to us cou'd our Great Loss impart,
By some Malignant Stars curst Influence
Blush to Confusion, since ye ne're could foresee
That our Great Duke before
Corks Fatal Walls,
By eagre Honour, and Fates Envy drawn,
Should to th' Eternal
Irish Jubilee
A Sacrifice too pretious Fall:
This had ye shown,
[Page 4] We' had kept him tho' unwilling far,
From Wat'ry
Irelands Ruthful Shoar,
And so had baffl'd Fate, and his Tyrannick Destiny.
II.
Then our Mean Praise can no Addition bring
To thy true Bullion worth,
But rather Cloud, than Blazon forth
Those Wonders, which thy Royal Hand has done:
Yet 'tis our Duty, now to Moan,
And with Respectful Awe to come
With our officious, tho' unnecessary Epicedium.
Early thy budding Parts were shown
When thou to
Portugal was sent
T' Adorn the Nuptials of that King;
A Select Cohort with Thee went
Your Entrance to Renown, and make your Grandeur known,
At the First View confounded stood
The Royal
Portugueze to see
A Mor
[...]l so much imitate a GOD.
In hast retir'd, himself to free
From the bright Rayes of Your too dazling Majesty.
III.
To
Malta next his Course he bent,
And whilst the
Grafton cut the Azure Waves,
All the Croud of Pyrate Slaves
Scudded in hast t' avoid their certain Fate.
Those Christian-Knights of th' Order went
For to Congratulate
His safe Arrival on their Shoar.
He t' Oblidge them, Exercis'd his Men
With such a Warlike, Haughty Mein,
That they astonish'd stood to see our Discipline,
They had before
In their
Italian Authors read
[Page 5] What our Great Fore-Fathers did.
But they suppos'd when they did dye,
Our Conquests with them hence did fly.
But this Great Action did retrieve
Our ruin'd Credit from the Grave,
And made us seem Superiour to the Mighty Dead.
IV.
When
Poteus Politicians join'd with
Rome,
Contriv'd the Downfal of our Church and Laws;
Then fir'd with Zeal for such a Cause,
Did he his Warlike Garb assume
As th'
Hercules that
Hydra to destroy,
Who with her Phangs our Faith endeavour'd to Annoy.
This they fore-saw, and sent an
Irish Slave,
First Born of Hell, t' Assassinate our Prince,
But Heavens kind Influence
Did him from that Contingent Danger save,
And sent that Villain head-long to the Grave.
When the
French Fleet did swagger in our Sea,
He boldly ventur'd 'mongst the Enemy,
Whilst others Fought too nigh the Shoar
He grappled with them close, and was himself the War.
V.
As
Marcus Brutus musing sate
In his Pavillion, on the War,
A dreadful Figure did appear,
Which was the
Nuntius of his coming Fate,
He told him on
Philippi's Plain
He should behold his Form again,
But he did Dare the Malice of the Fiend
Out of the Tent did the Pale Shadow send
By his Contracted Brow, and his Imperial Mein.
But too well to the Destin'd Place he came,
And led by Arbitrary Pow'r the
Roman to
Elysium.
[Page 6] So when our Duke, a Royal Volunteer,
Before
Corks Walls resolv'd to be,
The King of Terrors did appear,
And with him brought all his Artillery,
Bombs, Hand-Granadoes, Culverins, Canons, all
The Murd'ring Ministers of Horrid War.
Then pointed to the Place, where he should Fall,
And where to him a Visit he would pay,
He with a Look Elate, did fright Grim Death away,
Whilst others on their supple Knees
Fir'd their Charg'd Muskets from afar.
He stood erect, defying Death, and his Weak Enemies.
Death took the Hint, secur'd him as his Prize,
But he long strove, before he prov'd the Conquerour.
VI.
It is the Practice of too Partial Fate,
Immoderate Vertue for to hate,
By long Experience she does find,
To Lop a Hero, is to Massacre Mankind.
The Mobile-Souls, whom Nature fram'd in vain,
Or onely to fill up her Train,
Live till Decrepit Age does come,
And carry them to their long Home.
But the Wise and truly Good,
And those, that spring from Royal Blood
Like early Flowers, are nip't in th' Bud.
We could of Vulgar Men great Numbers spare,
Who Slaves are to that Servile Passion, Fear.
With these we'had gorg'd your Rav'nous Maw
As Numberless, as Curls upon the Sea,
Or as when o're the Lake impending lay
The scatter'd Seraphim, who dar'd to disobey
Their Great Creator, and their Confusion downward draw.
VII.
For
Britains Glorious Sons of War make Room,
Who Pikes and shiver'd Lances bring,
Who shatter'd Colours, Types of Victory
Dear-bought from no Inglorious Enemy,
And as a pleasing Offering
To their Great
Hector's Name, do fix them to his Tomb.
You of the Female Sex, that are
Most Noble, Virtuous, and most Fair,
(For he was Beauteous, as a Fancyed God)
With flowing Eyes draw near,
T' assist the Pious Dutchess, whose great Load
Of Grief ineffable, Her Beauties Cloud.
Could Weeping Eyes, or falling Tears,
Or a Continual Form of Pray'rs,
From the Dark Grave our Hero free,
And once more Cloath Him with Mortality;
Her Grace so well does Heaven move
For Her Dearest, Royal Love,
With Her moist Tears, and never-ceasing Cries,
That (if 'twere possible) He would forsake his Native Skys.
FINIS.