AN ELEGY On the Death of the LORD RUSSEL, Who was Beheaded in LINCOLNS-INN-Fields, On Saturday the 21st. of July, 1683.
WHat
Powr's, what
Saints, or who shall I invoke
To Charm the
Axe, before the
mighty Stroke?
Gods will not do't; for
Man 'tis vain to Plead,
What if
Caligula should interceed?
What if I raise great
Nero from his Urn?
Or he that did th'
Ephesian Temple Burn?
Can Cataline, Cethegus, Mahomet,
Judas, or
Jack of
Leyden, do the Feat?
Will these evade the Stroke that Fate portends?
No! these are too much Envious to be Friends.
Who then, my Lord, shall I invoke for you?
Will
Shaftsbury, Luther, or
Jack Calvin do,
Oats, Bedloe, Prance, Dugdale, Turbervile,
That, with your help, made Monarchy to reel,
And like t'have turn'd it to a Commonweal.
Nor these, my Lord, cannot these Patriots do't,
That once had Power to bring all things about,
And cut off poor old
Staffords Head to sho'at.
Then! must the Mercenary Axe proceed,
Since you've not cheated
Ketch, as
Essex did;
For which, perchance, there may Disputes ensue,
Who was the better Subject of the Two,
He that d
[...]d save Five Pounds, or had his due.
But these are Feuds I never shall desire,
Though 'twas not fairly done to cheat th'Esquire;
I pitty Greatness; not because 'tis you,
But from my Nature, and to Greatness due:
So th'Miracle be done, I eare not how,
Whether to Axe or Hal er they do bow,
My moderate Zeal would any way allow;
The most Expedient surely best should please,
That ridds the Nation of her worst Disease;
Essex show'd some remorse, which fain would be
Mistaken for an ill-shap'd Loyalty.
Would Monmouth, Armstrong, Ferguson,
and Gray,
Reflect as deeply, they would take his way;
But who can hope for such a Consequence
From Natural Fools, and hardned Impudence?
Those who've rais'd their Fortunes by their Prince,
Liv'd by the warmth of his kind Influence.
From
Pardons and
Indulgence, suckt their Breath,
And now to seek their Great Preservers Death!
Inhumane Vipers! pass the Prollick round,
And save your injur'd Prince two thousand pound;
Or else cum in, who knows but you may find
An
Ignoramus Jury to your mind?
Such as once sav'd your dear
Achitophel,
Which then did Authorise you to Rebel.
David has been too merciful, 'tis known,
And may perchance, forgive Young
Absalom.
Now give me leave to call my Fancy in,
And talk of
Russel, where
I did begin.
To what unequal heights didst thou Aspire!
What was it thou couldst want or could'st Desire?
Greatness thou hadst, and all the Plumbs of th'Earth,
Only a Crown, that did not fit thy Birth:
And how seem'd that to thee? a Glorious Thing!
VVhich thy own Pow'r did make so Tottering.
Farewel fond
Russell, those may mourn thy fate,
That hope, like thee, by Treason to be Grea
[...].
Essex's dispairing factious Hand did do,
VVhat neuter
Ketch th'Esquire perform'd for you,
And what I hope will follow all your Crew.
LONDON, Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball, near the Hospital-Gate, in West-Smithfield, 1683.