An Elegie upon the Death of the thrice Noble Generall, RICHARD DEAN, Who departed this life the 2 d. of Iune, 1653.
MOURNE drooping eyes with pearly trickling teares,
Flow streams of sadnesse to the Hemispheres:
Flow like the tumbling waves of th' River
Nile,
Make the World hear thy Plaint, let not a smile
Appear, let not an eye be seen to sleep
Nor slumber, onely let them serve to weep,
For Noble
Deane, who lives above the Pole,
Where Angels sing sweet
Requiems to his soule.
And now if angry stormes and waves be rough,
Thy Haven and thy Harbour's safe enough.
Sleep, sleep awhile untill the flowing Tyde
Of blest
Eliziums streames that sweetly glide,
Shall palliate thy wounded side; O fate to see!
That last sad stroke of thy hard Destiny.
When winds shall serve thee, then hoyst up top saile,
And bravely passe before a prosperous gale,
That all the Coasters may to thee resort,
And bid thee welcome to thy desired Port;
Thee to attend, from Sea to Shore, to be
Interr'd, deserving thy magnanimity.
Oh, could we to thy Name erect a Stone,
Should equall the Philosophers; each groan,
Should breath thy praise, brave
Deane, and every Verse
Draw dolefull sighs over thy fatall Hearse.
No fitter subject, where strong lines should meet,
Then such a noble centre; could the feet
Of able Verse but trace the Victories,
They need not feare to flye unto the Skies,
To aske Great
Deane who taught him so to dye,
Death yeelding him the day and Victory.
Therefore farewell, let Truth this Story say,
He liv'd and dy'd the glory of that day.
And now thou sleepst, blest Soule, free'd from all cares,
Whilst we do read thy Elegy with teares;
And stand amaz'd, to see thou didst not cease,
By Land nor Sea to purchase to us Peace:
Wherein thy boldnesse still did interpose
Betwixt us and the raging of our Foes,
In
England, Scotland, and likewise at Sea,
Where thou didst
Hogen Mogens, Haunsmen pay
Home to the full for their ingratefulnesse,
In fighting us, who help'd them in distresse:
Tis not unknowne, they gave this Epithet,
Of
Poore distressed States, but now forget
Those favours erst receiv'd, which must them style,
Unworthy actors gainst our English Isle.
But whither run I? O see, observe the Spheres,
How they bewaile our Valiant
Dean in teares.
But he is dead, from which it is observ'd,
Honour and Valour from Death is not preserv'd:
Nor is it seen that greatest Princes lives,
Can saved be by their Prerogatives.
Then need I not the World thus to acquaint,
He dy'd a Souldier, Martyr, and a Saint:
But
Mars of late hath struck this Cedar tall,
And
Neptune mourns for our great
Hero's fall;
At which his Billows drive from shore to shore,
To tell proud
Mars this losse will cost him more
Of his
Amboyna Sons, which now do quake,
When they do heare of the most Valiant
Blake.
Weel now returne to minde
Deans fatall fall,
And sound sad summons to his Funerall;
Caus'd by a bloody hand, that could not get
The Gem, therefore would spoyle the Caskanet:
So faire without, so free from spot within,
That Earth seems here to be exempt from sin:
Where we thy vertues see, and they become
So many Statues sleeping on thy Tombe.
But is it so, that Vertue drawes faint breath,
And subject to the dire effects of death;
Then rest thee where thou art, Ile seek no glory,
By the relation of so sad a story.
But tell the World that thou hast payd the debt
That's due to sin, and nere a Libell yet,
Bespattering thy chaste Urne, whose sacrifice
Hath stopt the mouths of thy great'st Enemies:
They stand amaz'd to read and hear of thee,
Whose Name is shrined in this Elegie.
Who mightst have liv'd, had not the life that gave
Life to thy life, sent thee now to thy Grave.
Therefore tis sad to write thy Pedigree,
Death discomposing all, displacing thee:
Whose Greatnesse did consist in being Good,
His Goodnesse adding Titles to his Blood.
Onely unhappy in thy lifes last doome,
Who liv'd too early, for to dye so soone:
Alas! whereto shall men oppressed trust,
When Piety cannot protect the Just?
Yet to add some Memento's to thy life,
Thou hast behinde thee left a loving Wife:
Who hath (since that sad time thou didst depart)
O reflow'd her cheeks with tears from a sad heart;
And like a chaste and vertuous Widow, Shee
Hath set apart her selfe to mourn for thee;
For thee, most Noble
Deane, she doth lament,
And sad sighes, for thee, to Heaven hath sent;
Her sorrows are augmented on this score,
Weeping because that shee can weep no more,
For him, whose worth doth unto mourning call
CROMWELL, the Great and Noble Generall:
The glory of our Age, whose Valiant hand
Hath wrought deliverance for this sinfull Land:
I say, Great, Valiant, Noble, excelling farr
Caesar, Pompey, or great
Alexander,
Whose splendid Vertues radiantly display
Themselves to all, more clearer then the day.
Thy humble Self-denying doth expresse
Thee farr above the height of any Verse,
That can be writ of thee, in Love or Feare:
Go on therefore blest Soule, and persevere
T' expell from place of profit, and of trust,
Such Vermine, who with Coyne their Bags do thrust.
The next in order to
Deanes Obsequies,
We do invite to breath sad Elegies:
Whose Lines may farr surpasse the height of mine,
Whom I must fitly style the Worthies nine.
And first the Valiant
Fleetwood I do take,
With Noble
Lambert, and Victorious
Blake,
And prudent
Harrison Ile not omit,
Nor the most Pious
Desborough; or yet
The sixth renowned Worthy,
Whaley, and
The brave Heroe
Rich may most justly stand;
With Gallant
Monk, who may be rank'd with you,
Heroick
Lilborne may well be added too:
With many more, whose worth Ile now not name,
But wish them pattern take by
Deans Great Fame:
Who had he liv'd the curled Waves t'have tear'd,
Rome had ere long this Noble Heroe heard
At her proud Gates, them to account to call,
For the Saints blood they spilt, and Martyrs all;
That they did drink full deep in that sad Cup,
Of which brave
Blake will give them for to sup.
When
Dean the truly Noble, and the brave
Heroick Soule shall be layd in the Grave,
Where he may rest, and be interr'd hard by
The worthy
Ireton, and old
Essex; lye
Neer unto
Popham: and make roome,
For Pious
Sparrow in your five-fold Tombe:
And thence let your owne Ecchoes multiply
Blest Hymas, and Muses write continually;
Whilst you do rest in your black Obsequies,
With greater Glory set, then others rise.
R
Remorselesse Death! What hast thou done? Excell'd
I
In conquering him, who valiantly had erst
C
Curbd the proud curled Waves, and often quell'd
H
High Hogens
ins'lence, their Ships and men disperst.
A
All the brave acts thou didst on Sea or Shore,
R
Report thee famous, and declare thee more
D
Direly lamented, with teares running ore.
D Dean's
dead, why do I say hee's dead? He lives
E
Eternally; and hath receiv'd that Crowne
A
Attended his great Conquests, wher' he receives
N
New joyes in Heav'n, repleated with renowne.
LONDON, Printed by Tho: Rycroft, and are to be sold by Tho: Ienner, at the Royall Exchange, 1653▪