A NEW ELEGIE In Memory of the Right Valiant, and most Renowned Souldier, Col. RAINSBOROUGH, late Admirall of the narrow Seas.
SEest thou that starre, which newly has its station,
In bright Coronaes heavenly Constellation.
It's gallant
Rainsboroughs passage way to blisse,
Who as he past, guilded the Orifice.
Leaving thy sight, another glimpse of Glory
If the ancients may, be credited in story.
Sure had those Horse-Ieeches that drew his bloud,
Fore-seene how much, their malice did him good.
The self-same envy, that did cause his death,
Would have enforc't them to prolong his breath.
But as
Cain dealt with
Abell, the Jewes with Christ,
And with the Saints, as dealeth Antichrist.
So these to him, intending greatest evill,
Do him most good, are cheated by the Devill.
But though Saints dying, gain the living loose,
And so are left Ambignous for to choose.
Self-love affects thy presence, though it prove
A greater wrong to thee then heart can move.
Due love to thee, doth willingly consent
To have thy absence, then seemes to relent.
However in this, we have had so great a Crosse,
That death of Thousands will not quit the losse.
Who ere thou art, that did'st this horrid Act,
Unlesse most bitter teares redeeme the fact.
As to thy soul, thou art th' accurs'ds wretch
That e're did meric feelingly to stretch.
The strongest halter ever Catine wore,
Who had a Thousand Murders on his score.
But if thou glory in thy sin and feare,
Thy Conscience more, then thou mayst justly fear.
That the enraged, dismall, currish kind
Of the three headed Dog, will tear thy mind.
With damned furies, and this soul surpriz'd,
May never feel joyes that bee atermiz'd.
But tis a friend, t'was more then one, that three,
Were Partners in this sin, Axrinitie.
Of feinds incarnate, great ods, three to one,
And he in's shirt; unweaponed, all alone.
They arm'd compleatly; had his valiant hand
As erst bin furnish't, hee'd a made to stand.
Whole Troopes of such base villains, and have sent
Some of their Ghosts to Plutoes Regiment.
Had you dealt fairely, it had your honour bin,
And had your case bin right, you'd had no sin.
But to destroy him basely for no cause,
But maintenance of Parliament and Lawes,
Which you pretend to, and for no other thing,
But just defence of the same Crowned King.
Which seemingly you stand for, this oh this
Would wrong, the patience of a Job, even his.
And then to shew their pedigree and Syre,
Whom truth hath stil'd, a murtherer and lyer.
From the begining, you murther by a lye,
And so fill up your grosse iniquity.
Moreover still to agravate their guilt,
Marke but the day, on which his bloud they spilt.
The Lords own day, none else would serve the turn,
For which I fear the furnace where you'l burn,
Must have a seven-fold heate because you durst,
Prophain that seaventh, not fearing to be curst.
And so I leave you, and my self addresse,
To those who lov'd and wish'd his happinesse.
Yea worthies high grave Senators of State
Who for your Countries good, early and late,
Sit and consult on, with your sable hue,
In sad laments, they much concerneth you.
Yet stand upright, let not be said for shame,
That now you have lost a Member, 'yare groan lame▪
Beware the Foxes, who have hurt you more,
Then Lyons, Tygers, or the Bear, or Bore.
If Heavens successe deny, they'l down to Hell,
By Treacheries or Treaties, any spell.
To work their ends, as many samples shew,
But more conspicuously this fatall blow.
Ye honest Seamen, ye may weepe and wayle,
When such sheate Anchors do begin to faile.
And sadly look, when Heavens so do lowre,
That violent stormes have broke in your best Bowre.
Well may you labour wisely to prevent,
Enfuing mischiefs, when such Masts are spent.
Your glorious towest of the tallest Trees,
That ever
England bred, whose Victories.
Can scarce be numbred, who have bravely born
The envy of presses, turn-coats, Pulpits scorn,
Whereby was stopt the current of his praise,
Who wrought by you such wonders in our dayes.
Your merits high, Heaven's your noble choice,
Therefore your soules most truly may rejoyce.
Yet when you see cut down so great an Oake,
By hellish rage I need not to provoke.
Your tender hearts to sighes, or eyes to teares,
Your gravest heads to Councells, oh the feares.
Saints look about you when such Cedars fall,
It sometimes provoketh Epedemicall.
But be you as you may, both just and wise,
His fall may prove a glorious sacrifice.
I wish his Epilogue of earthly glory,
Prove not the Prologue of a sadder story.
And so conclude, placing his Tombe about,
These lines of truth, ne're to be razed out.
Here lyes brave
Rainsborough great in Warres Command,
Envyed of Traytors, both by Sea and Land.
Scourge of Malignants his Countries Champion stout,
As
Bristoll, Ragland, Barkley, and the Rout,
Of Rebels well can witnesse, beloved of all,
From meanest Souldier, to the brave Generall.
Here lyes the Cabinet, the Jewells, Sword on high,
Till both shall meete to all eternity.
London, Printed for Henry Cripps in Popes-head Allie. 1648,