AN ELEGIE Ʋpon the Honourable Colonel Thomas Rainsbrough, butchered at Doncaster Sunday the 29. Octob. 1648.
T'VVas like your selves brave Royallists, such a blow,
As n'ere a subject of that Prince below
Great
Pluto's sacred Maiestie durst owne.
But you are bolder Divels; and have showne
By this one barbarous act worse Furies dwell
VVithin your breast then in the talk't of Hell,
The powers of darknesse, in your heads, strange fires
Of Lust within your veines; thirsting desires
For blood of Innocents; rapines, butcheries,
VVrath, malice, thousand oaths, ten thousand lies:
These are flesh of your flesh, bone of your bone▪
And if these be not Divels there are none.
VVhen the bold Cymbrian was sent to kill
Great
Caius Marius; he went lesse in ill:
Durst not his hands in innocence imbrew:
Cymbrians are Saints (deare Cabs) compar'd with you.
But can the Dragons taile prevaile so far
As to sweep down to th'dust of death a star
Of such a magnitude? such rayes? whose sphaeare
was in the heart of God, and only there?
Will not bold Atheists question providence
And conclude 'gainst a Deity from hence?
Is there a righteous God? and could he see,
A naked, single valour, charg'd by three
Arm'd furies, and not draw his own, nor lend
A sword into the hand of such a friend?
Forsaken valour! whether wilt thou flie
For succour, when both heaven and earth deny
To be thy second? But stop stop my soule:
Heavens waies are iust: earth may not heaven controule
VVhat if Heaven purpos'd
Rainsbroughs fall to be
A prop for
Englands dying Libertie?
And did in Love thus suffer one to fall
That
Charles by
Treaty might not ruine all?
For who'l expect
that Treaty should doe good
VVhose longer date commenc't in Rainsbroughs blood?
See noble
Fairfax, and bold
Cromwel see
VVhat honours are prepar'd for thee, and thee.
Conclude a peace with
Charles; thus you shall ride
Triumphant, with your robes of Scarlet di'de
In your own dearest blood: thus your
Arrears
You
noble soules are paid; the
Tyrants feares
Thus cur'd: thus (if you be not wise) you'l feele
In stead of Gold hee'l pay you all with steel.
Then let's adore that providence whose waies,
And works, doe all proclaim aloud his praise.
And thou great
Victim who wa'st set apart
For us, shalt find a Tombe in every heart
That is not prostituted to the Lust
Of a
right Reverend or
Royall dust:
And on that Tombe which doth such valour hold
This Epitaph shall stand in lines of Gold.
EPITAPHIVM.
Here lyes as much true valour, as could dye:
A sacrifice for
Englands Liberty.
Great, and Good
Rainsborough, (enough is said)
Through Chomleys
pride and
Cowardice betraid.
J. T.