Threnodium Apollinare.

TO THE MEMORY Of the Right Honourable PHILIP LATE Earl of LEICESTER.

Sapiens dominabitur Astris.

LONDON: Printed in the Year, MDCXCVIII.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE Earl of Leicester.

GReat Hospitable ROOF, thy Walls so Fair,
Once WITS whole Pantheon, and their LORD shin'd there;
There the glad Muses smil'd, and sung, and play'd;
There their whole Winters Suns, and Summers Shade:
Thy Glories now to rueful Sable turn,
No cheerful Lights, but Funeral Tapers burn:
For, oh, in Dust must now the lost Thalia mourn.
In common Themes, when the Castalian Choir,
For some sad Airs, string up their mournful Lyre;
No more than an Obsequious well-tun'd Woe,
The warbling Murmurs there, all Artful Numbers flow.
But to their Great MAECENAS, to that Dear,
Lov'd, Honour'd, Ador'd HEAD, the Genuine Tear,
And the unmeasur'd Grief's all melting Nature here.
What warmer Sighs the Eloquent Sorrow draws,
Not where it Pleads, but where it Feels the Cause:
Go vast the Difference (a Zeal so fier'd)
'Twixt Raptures only Studied, and Inspir'd!
And when their Plaint the wailing Muses join,
At Younger Herses, some Endimion's Shrine;
As Mourning Sisters there they shed a Tear:
But oh, they come all Mourning Daughters here.
A longer Train their heavier Sorrows trail,
In darker Cypress and the shadier Veil.
Pity and Love may swell the weeping Eye;
A deeper Fountain does this Stream supply:
For here 'tis Honour, Duty, Piety.
Nay a yet stronger Tie calls the whole Nine,
To pay no common Tribute to this SHRINE:
Science and Arts, every Studied Grace,
Th' Hereditary Pride of that Learn'd Race,
LEIC'STER's a Name Renown'd to that Degree,
The Homaging Minerva bends a Knee:
That Name in Vassalage the Muses leads:
The SYDNEYS are Apollinary Heads.
But is't the Muse alone the Cypress wears,
Only the Heliconian Fount run Tears?
His Cavalcade to that poor Pomp confin'd?
No; the whole Gown, the Robe, the Bays, all join'd,
Wit, Politicks, States, Academies, these,
His equal Pupils, equal Nurseries;
Down from the Pilot at the Helm Above,
Ev'n to the Strephon Songster of the Grove;
Of solemn Grief a long unbroken Chain,
Shall nobly fill his Numerous Funeral Train.
So mourn'd, the whole Learn'd World his Rites supplies,
He cantons Provinces for watry Eyes;
Whilst their Arrears of Sorrow to defray,
'Tis Pride to owe, and Gratitude to pay.
But whilst this Great GAMALIEL sure was born,
Proud Literatur's whole spacious Reign t' adorn;
Shall WITS vast Empire, that unbounded Sway,
The only Tribute to Great LEIC'STER pay?
The Grateful Pen alone commence his Praise?
The Pencil too must His fam'd Trophies raise.
To LEIC'STER as his equal GLORIES Due,
The Great Apollo and th' Apelles too,
Her Lantscape Pallaces, Tow'rs, Seas and Land,
The gilded Stream, and all the shaded Strand,
The Pencils whole CREATION, all her fair
Poetick Worlds shall pay their Homage there.
Around him all his Pentionary Band,
Of Reuben's, Angelo's, and Raphael's stand.
Entring those Walls, what an all dazling Scene
Does our Surveying Wonder entertain?
At once amaz'd, and pleas'd, a Look we cast
To Glories, back ev'n to whole Ages past.
Painting, that Monumental History,
In whose Records, to every Reading Eye,
Neither the Glorious nor the Beauteous die.
In that rich Tablet see the Lawrell'd Head,
Ev'n wak'd from his long sleeping Honours Bed,
There th' Hero see in all his glittering Arms;—
Here see some Phoenix Beauty, all her Charms,
Rais'd from her Dust in Deathless White and Red!
Art can give Life! See the Great Living Dead.
If Heav'n-stoln Fires cou'd animate the Clay;
What Nobler Theft the daring Pencils play?
So much the bolder Painter does outfly
The old Promethean Petty Larceny;
Not a poor Spark snatcht from his Chariot Wheels;
Not steals from JOVE, but JOVE Himself he steals.
Him not the Skies Imperial Rover scapes;
He hunts him thro' the Gold, Swan, Bull, all Shapes;
The very GOD exposed in all his Amorous Rapes.
Nay the still more Audacious Riffler pries
Into the inmost Chambers of the Skies.
He steals his very JƲNO from his Arms;
And with a Sacriledge even yet more bold,
Unveils to Human Eyes the Naked GODDESS Charms,
And gives the Trojan Boy once more the Ball of Gold.
Illustrious ART, whom Ministring Nature, all
Thy Handmaid, waits on thy Commanding Call!
Like the Great FIAT, thou both Day and Night
Call'st forth, and deckst in their own Shades and Light.
Ev'n Heav'ns whole Hierachy, the LORDS above,
By Thee their whole Triumphant Chariots move,
From th' Harnest Dragon to the Bridled Dove.
Mercurial Art, who captiv'd Eyes to take,
Thou dost a Virtue of Delusion make;
Thou only Honest Cozener, Fair Deceit,
Who canst even consecrate both Theft and Cheat.
Thine were the Master-strokes Great LEIC'STER pleased,
And such the Darling Arts His Favour rais'd.
And thus if the Dodona's Grove, of Old,
From Tongueless Oaks cou'd ORACLES unfold;
An easier Wonder shall His Fame record,
Whilst speaking Shadows own their PATRON Lord:
The fair Augusta's their MAECENAS greet,
And bend their Towry Foreheads at His Feet.
These were the Beauties which He lov'd so dear:
Nor shall his Pencil-Glory finish here.
In Death, 'tis true, with a disdainful Hand,
His poorer Titian Troop He does disband.
For now a nobler Draught must charm his Sight,
Prospects of BLISS, all Portraitures more Bright,
Drawn by th' Immortal LƲKE's Diviner Light.
And though his Menial Muses left behind,
He's gone, and more Celestial CHOIRS has join'd;
All loftier Subjects, and sublimer Air:
Tis Thou, ƲRANIA, mak'st the Musick there.
Such Worthiest LEIC'STER liv'd, and such He died:
So Shin'd his Rising and his Setting Pride.
But with that Penetrating WISDOM, WIT,
Depths so profound, a HEAD and SOUL so Great;
Th' unthinking World may wonder, that Sublime
And Towring Spirit made no Popular Climb.
What tho' uncharm'd with Publick Trust and Pow'r,
To the gay glittering COURT he made no Tour:
Nor fond of busy Tumult, Noise and Strife,
He chose the gentler Harmony of Life?
His whole Ambition his Own Walls contain'd;
And quietly within Himself He reign'd:
Perhaps, with Nobler Pride he did despise
To Herd in crowded Courts, only to Rise,
No Higher Pitch, than shine in Galaxies:
Not made a Part (th' Attendant on a Throne;)
His Sphere of GLORY fill'd HIMSELF alone.
So fill'd; that what cou'd a Court-Feather add
To His Rich Plume? Courts but His Levy made.
Their Great Consulted OEdipus, HE sate
An ORACLE above the Helm of State:
Those Pilots taught, where He disdain'd to steer,
Whilst Client Statesmen came like travelling Sheba's here.
What tho' nor Courts nor Camps his Choice he made;
But fixt his Bow'r beneath the Olive Shade?
In Camps, indeed, does Honour truly shine:
But, oh! 'tis drawn to a Gold Thred so fine;
The Warrior toils for Fame with all that Pain,
'Twixt Fifty Thousand Sharers, each a Grain.
'Tis true, those Fragment Bays His Brow ne're wore.
Such a Divided Portion was too poor:
Glory, was LEIC'STER's All; His own before.
That Native Stock of Fame, so all Entire,
Wanted no Steel to sparkle out her Fire.
In that Recess of Life, within his Own
Domestick Walls He reign'd, and reign'd Alone.
His Menial Subjects led by so Divine a Sway;
As Angels serve in Heav'n, 'twas Glory to Obey.
A Glory too like Heav'ns, no Change it knew;
An Angel Homage, and their Charter too.
His Smiles were no blind Lottery of Chance.
For Favour there was an Inheritance.
This Life he chose; and ought we judge no less
The Merit of his Choice, from the Success:
Such his long Affluence of Happiness;
And all the pondrous Harvest he had reap'd:
To see the Mass Industrious HONOUR heap'd:
HONOUR that no Columbus Sail er'e furl'd;
He found His Golden Mines in the Old World.
Thus to behold the Prosperous LEIC'STER blest,
And weigh but by what Title He possest;
Here let our finish'd Admiration rest.
In all her Random Gifts of every Day,
Fortune does there but the blind Goddess play.
But when such WORTH does her best Graces share,
She finds her Eyes to choose the Favourite there.
That Darling Favourite even rais'd so High,
He fix'd her very Wheel, and taught her Constancy.
So did Great LEIC'STER's generous Stars dispence
His just Inheritance of Providence;
Blessings that ev'n by Claim he did demand,
Not from the Giving, but Rewarding Hand.
Their Fairest and the most Propitious Ray,
The Grateful POW'RS could do no less than pay.
He Charm'd 'em into Smiles.—So Jove of Old,
First found the BEAUTY, and then show'rd the GOLD.
But whilst the Blessings pour'd so high; the more
The Flowing Tide, and the Encreasing Store,
Riches were there of that Illustrious Rise,
No Nurse of Pride nor Child of Avarice.
The fairest Plumes Prosperity cou'd bring
Gave but his Charity the Lighter Wing.
Ascending Charity, Thy Head so crown'd,
Of Jacob's Ladder Thine's the Highest Round.
Bright Charity with thy Mosaick Face,
HEAV'NS and Great LEIC'STERS equal Darling Grace.
Twas on thy Wings His pious Transports rod:
The noblest Gratitude t' a smiling GOD.
Thus whilst Great LEIC'STER, all he had to die,
In his Paternal Bed of Rest shall lie;
Marble and Epitaphs, alas, shall raise
The meanest part of His Recorded Praise.
His Trump shall sound from the Fed Mouths He fill'd:
Tis They the noblest Mausoleum build.
Reliev'd Distress, and Succour'd Miseries,
Stand round his Tomb with uplift Hands and Eyes;
Those Living Monuments His Pile of FAME shall rise.
Thus whilst the more peculiar Care of Heav'n
To that Lov'd Head, those lengthen'd Days had given;
LEIC'STER's no Start, but Travell'd Race; and all
His long long Life makes but the Rowling Ball;
Does t' all the full-blown Sweets of Goodness rise,
And in his Silver-headed GLORY dies:
Here let pretending YOUTH no longer plume
In all her Juvenile vain Pride and Bloom.
Tis true the Spring-tide Flow'rs, the Sweet and Gay,
Are the fair Product of the smiling MAY:
But for a worthier Growth, and solid Root,
The Richer Crop is all the AUTUMN Fruit.
What tho' the Vigorous Health, the Nervier Arm,
And all the Sprightlier Heat Young Veins may warm?
In Chiller Blood the warmer VIRTUES glow;
Whilst Aetna-like, the Fire's beneath the Snow.
AGE to Fair MINDS adds but th' enlightning Beam:
The crazier Casket holds the brighter Jem.
No Birdlime Senses the clogg'd Wing hold down;
There the Full Flight of SOULS is all their Own.
And thus, as the Almighty Founder pleas'd,
Our Humane Frames from Moulds of Clay are rais'd;
Tis Ripening Time that best refines the MAN:
There wants the Years to raise the Purcelane.
Tho' th' Honourable Load of Age, despis'd
By Giddy-headed Fools be poorly priz'd:
As if Declining Years so low were run,
That ev'n their finish'd Work of Life were done!
If possible, the very Nestor's Age,
When truly scan'd, is but Life's Middle Stage.
The Reverend Seer, with the true Janus Face,
T' a long past Life behind, not th' Half-way Race,
To a vain World looks back, only to see
His longer Way before, ETERNITY.
And what tho' the rude Aches, Gout, Catarrh,
In Hoary Heads make their rough Seat of War?
Perhaps to Age this is a Favour given,
To whet her for the greater Gust of HEAV'N.
She from Short Pains does Endless Joys persue,
All at the Fairer and more Pleasing View:
Whilst tired with Life, th' ungrateful Load resign'd,
She leaves a Hated not Lov'd World behind.
Tis true, Translated VIRTUE to the Skies,
By the Rewarding GODS may in her Nonage rise;
Whilst JOVE his Starry Glories does allow,
To Junior Favourites, the Minor Brow.
What though a Constellation does adorn
The Cassiopaea's Chair, and Hyla's Urn?
Let the Great TREASURY dispense her Jems,
More or less Bright, from Sparks to Diadems.
To Youth of Beauty let their Claim be given,
Their Legacies of Bliss, and Part of Heaven.
The Elder-Brother's Birthright is His Share;
Exalted WORTH th' exalted Prize must bear:
He, like Alcides, brings His Finish'd Labours there.
And since the Hour, the fatal Hour's assign'd,
(For still the World must lose, that Heav'n may find:)
Say, in what Year shall th' English Annals tell,
That her dear LEIC'STER, her lov'd PATRIOT, fell?
In that blest Aera, when th' husht Tempests cease,
In fair Britannia's Jubilee of PEACE,
And all her smiling Carnival of Joy,
It looks as if He made his Choice to Die.
He liv'd to see the ALBION Dove bring o're
Her blooming Olive to our happy Shore;
Then lull'd in Pleasures, in that Halcyon Nest,
He laid Him down to Everlasting Rest.
FINIS.

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