Carmen pastorale lugubre A pastoral elegy upon the most lamented death of His Royal Highness, William, Duke of Gloucester / by J.F., Gent. Fowler, John, 17th/18th cent. 1700 Approx. 11 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 6 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2007-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A40103 Wing F1730 ESTC R12832 12155106 ocm 12155106 55126 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A40103) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 55126) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 68:10) Carmen pastorale lugubre A pastoral elegy upon the most lamented death of His Royal Highness, William, Duke of Gloucester / by J.F., Gent. Fowler, John, 17th/18th cent. [2], 8 p. Printed by W.O. for the author, and sold by Bennet Banbury ... and J. Nutt ..., London : 1700. Attributed to John Fowler. Cf. NUC Pre-1956. Reproduction of original in Yale University Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng William, -- Duke of Gloucester, 1689-1700 -- Poetry. Elegiac poetry, English. 2006-12 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2006-12 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-01 Robyn Anspach Sampled and proofread 2007-01 Robyn Anspach Text and markup reviewed and edited 2007-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion Carmen Pastorale Lugubre . A Pastoral ELEGY Upon the most Lamented DEATH OF His ROYAL HIGHNESS , WILLIAM Duke of Gloucester . PALIDA mors ; aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas , Regumque turres . — — Durum , SED levius fit patientia ; Quicquid corrigere est nefas . Hor. By J. F. Gent. LONDON : Printed by W. O. for the Author , and sold by Bennet Banbury , in the Lower-walk of the New-Exchange ; and J. Nutt , near Stationers-hall , MDCC . A Pastoral ELEGY , &c. Menalcas , Damon , Albania . Menalcas . WHat sudden Cloud with Sable Wings o're-spreads The Firmament ! and hides the blooming Heads Of Albion's brightest Stars ? My trembling Breast , Chill'd with a piercing Damp , refuses Rest ; Leaving my Fold , to Damon's Flock I 'll go , And ask the Sage , what means this dismal Woe . Dam. ] What Grief resides in dear Menalca's Soul ? Tell me , that I may with my Friend condole ? What means this Horrour ? These amazing Eyes , Somewhat extr'ord'nary does my Soul surprize ; Tell me at once whence these sad Omens flow ? For I am told , " 'T is Ease the Worst to know . Men. ] This Morn as to the Flocks my Course I bent , Before the Sun its gilded Beams had lent , A sudden Prodigy struck with Surprize My trembling Soul , and fill'd my wond'ring Eyes ; I saw the Skies in all their Lustre clad , Each dazling Light display'd its radient Head , When tow'rds the North I turn'd my eager Sight , A Sable Pyramid obscur'd the Light Of some Britannick Star , where Empire sat , Seeming to Challenge it with Laws of Fate : Then saw its crystal yielding Rays remove , Twinkle its last , obey the Pow'rs above ; Then strait the Cloud remov'd its Sable Tow'r , Which to obscure had but one Moment's Pow'r ; When lo ! the Star , before depriv'd of Light , Mov'd in a crystal Heav'n far more bright , Cut the Empyreal Air and yielding Sky , Until it reach'd a Saphire Throne on high ; And thence a double Lustre seem'd to send To th' Orbs , o're which it lately did intend . Dam. ] What this strange Sight portends I cannot tell , I wish the Heavens mean us all Things well ; But lo ! Albania , Mistress of the Plains , That Entertain the fair Britannick Swains ; See she comes Weeping with dischevell'd Hair , Meager her Looks , all discompos'd her Air , And Sorrow overwhelms the lovely Fair. Bearing a Prince's Ensign on her Head , O're which the baleful Cyprus Leaves are spread ; Look how her Eyes with crystal Tears o'reflow , Her wringed Hands are certain Signs of Woe . Alb. ] Arise ye British Swains , prepare , prepare , Your Voices with a Mournful Fun'ral Air , Tear off your Verdent Chaplets , and instead Of them , with Sable Cyprus dress your Head , Undo your tressed Hair , and role in Dust Your milky Locks ; such Rites alone are Just To th' Memory of Him , you go to mourn , Who all the Plains with Lustre did adorn . Mourn , Mourn , ye British Swains , your Loss deplore , Pollio is gone , the Royal Youth 's no more . See the sad Scene all in a Moment turns ! See , see , our Mother Tellus , how she Mourns ! For want of Moisture , gasping lies and burns . See how each Tree , the sad Disaster grieves , Instead of Tears , they shed their fading Leaves ; The gentle Zephirs Mourn with hallow Noise , The watry Billows in rough Murmurs rise , And all the warbling Choiristers o' th' Air , To lonely Shades , and silent Groves repair , Changing their Notes , They all at once Conspire , To make a mournful melancholy Choir ; Instead of tuneful Airs , are seiz'd with Dread , They droop the Wing , panting they lean the Head , And faintly Sing by turns , POLLIO , alas ! is Dead . The Flocks too all amaz'd are fill'd with Grief , Complaining to each other for Relief ; Refuse the Meads , their wonted pleasant Seat , And on the Rocks in mournful Sighings bleat , Young Pollio 's Dead : Thus are the Flocks Dismaid For Pollio's Loss , to whom they Homage paid : Behold the Nymphs , how with Concern they come , To pay their Tears to Pollio's sacred Tomb ; Their careless Dress , their bright entangled Hair , Their sad retorted Looks , their clouded Air , Are saddest Signs of Grief : See how they beat Their snowy Breasts , bemoaning of their Fate . See how they Weep in flowing Streams of Tears , Their downcast Looks , sad Sorrows Emblem bears ; Each Nymph with Flowers , just Cropt before their Bloom , To Strow before their darling Pollio's Tomb ; With Tapers too , they Entertain the Sight , Extinguisht in the Infancy of Light. Mourn , Mourn , ye British Swains , your Loss deplore , Pollio is gone , the Royal Youth 's no more . Alb. ] Pollio , the Royal Youth , deriv'd from Pan , Virtue in Him her early Course began , And Wisdom in his Youth declar'd him Man. To him the Beauteous Graces did Resort , And all the Virtues kept with him their Court ; These lovely Rays shin'd in his Noble Mind , Nothing but Goodness there did Entrance find ; Born to be Great , Heir to the happiest Crown , The happiest Constitution that is known , Yet Fate decreed he should not Mount the Throne . Pollio , the Glory of the British Plains , The Darling Hope of all th' Admiring Swains , Whose great Capacious Soul , whose Noble Mind , And Pious Innocence at once combin'd , With Prudence his Companion , and began To raise his Head above the Sphere of Man ; Pollio , the Princely Youth , whom all desir'd , The more they saw of him , the more admir'd ; Religion , Wisdom , Love , and Courage shin'd In every Motion of his tender Mind : Virtue his Soul , Beauty his Body Crown'd , Nothing of Vice was in his Converse found . Pollio , the Princely Youth 's depriv'd of Breath , And Lodg'd within the Sable Courts of Death . Mourn , Mourn , ye British Swains , your Loss deplore , Pollio is gone , the Royal Youth 's no more . Alb. ] Ye Nymphs and Swains in Sobs and Tears declare Britannia's Loss , and strive to Ease her Care ; Under that Sable Tree he sits and Mourns , Each flowing Tear ( tho' shed ) agen Returns ; Murmuring at the cruel Stroke of Death , That thus depriv'd her Pollio of his Breath : Careless her Lance she lays , her ' Chiev'ment too Falls from her Lap , as if the Ensign knew Britannia's Loss : Thus she Laments her Fate , As having lost the Bloom of all her State : She who expected from his Courtly Rays , That she should see sometime his Halcyon Days ; Now sees him , Oh her Grief ! depriv'd of Charms , And Lodg'd in grizly Deaths all frozen Arms ; Her Grief is great , and more than she can bear , Look how she beats her Breast , and tears her Hair ! Her lofty Towers , with mourning Banners spread , All sadly Represent , Her Pollio Dead . Mourn , Mourn , ye British Swains , your Loss deplore , Pollio is gone , the Royal Youth 's no more . Men. ] But stay , your Grief , altho' your Grief is Just , Pollio hath but shook of his Cloaths of Dust : 'T is Heav'n's high Will , that he should Cease to Live On Earth , that so he might above receive A Starry Crown , not laden with Alloy , Where free 's his Court , and undisturb'd his Joy : I saw the Star direct its airy Flight , Until it reach'd a Saphire Heav'n , all bright ; In splendid Lustre , mov'd its spotless Wings , Receiv'd with welcome by the King of Kings . Cease , Cease , ye British Swains , Cease to deplore , For Pollio's blest above , tho' He 's to us no more . Dam. ] To see the sad Inconstancy of Fate ; How Subject to Vicissitude the State ! What Confidence did All in Pollio place ! How did the Youth adorn the Royal Race ! What Griefs accompany the Royal Pair ! None can express the loss of such an Heir ! Mourning alone is Form ; but when we see Sorrow affecting State , and Majesty ! How are we struck with chilling Dread and Fear ! And Love , as well as Duty , sheds a Tear. Men. ] In this sad mournful State , let us not strive To search the Cause , why Heav'n thus make us Grieve ; For know , 'T is Heav'n's unalterable Will , And Executed wholly to fulfil His great Decrees : Let 's therefore be content , Submissively expecting the Event Of his great Providence , who all Things sways , When he commands , Death his great Will obeys : Princes are Men , Mortals must yield to Death , 'T is to the Will of Heav'n , not Chance , we owe our Breath . FINIS .