The mourning swain a funeral eclogue [sic] humbly offer'd to the memory of the Right Honourable James Earl of Abingdon / written by Mr. Robert Gould ... Gould, Robert, d. 1709? 1700 Approx. 39 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 14 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A70131 Wing G1428 ESTC R2706 12041970 ocm 12041970 52985 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. A70131) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 52985) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 983:13 or 1011:7) The mourning swain a funeral eclogue [sic] humbly offer'd to the memory of the Right Honourable James Earl of Abingdon / written by Mr. Robert Gould ... Gould, Robert, d. 1709? [8], 19 p. Printed for the author and sold by John Nutt ..., London : 1700. In verse. This item can be found at reels 983:13 and 1011:7. Reproduction of original in the Huntington 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 Abingdon, James Bertie, -- Earl of, 1653-1699. Funeral sermons. 2007-03 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-04 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-05 Pip Willcox Sampled and proofread 2007-05 Pip Willcox Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion THE Mourning Swain : A FUNERAL ECLOGUE , HUMBLY Offer'd to the MEMORY Of the Right Honourable JAMES , EARL of ABINGDON . Written by Mr. ROBERT GOVLD . AND Dedicated to His Grace the Duke of Leeds . LONDON : Printed for the Author , and Sold by John Nutt , near Stationer's-Hall . 1700. To His Grace the Duke of LEEDS , &c. THe Sun almost an Annual Race has ran , Since the Decease of this Prodigious Man : So long ago , ( and such the Nation gave ) These Faithful Tears were wept upon his Grave . They who can see when Nature sways in Chief , Will find 'em shed in an Extream of Grief : Without her aid , in vain we strive by Art , To Limn a weeping Eye and bleeding Heart . In Private writ , in Private to the Plains , I thought to have confin'd these Rural Strains , An Ev'ning Concert for the Mourning Swains ; When on their Oaten Reeds His Name they 'd raise , All Tun'd to their departed Patron 's Praise . But call'd from thence in Publick to appear , ( My self by being Worthless , fenc'd from Fear ) I fly to YOU with this Illustrious Name , To stand between Detraction and his Fame . With Merit , Envy ever did commence . And Vice is still suppressing Excellence ; Like feeble Eyes , that shun the Glaring Light , ' Twou'd cover what it cannot bear in Night . Your nearness to the HERO in His Blood , And the yet nearer Tye of being Good ; Your joint Endeavours , and Your joint Success , In lab'ring for Your Country's Happiness ; Your Mutual Friendship , with such Concord knit , That Love ne'er made so dear a Union yet ; All these Regards , make's this Address your Due : It can , My Lord , belong to none but YOU , The Honour of this Celebrated Name ; Return'd , in some degree , from whence it came , Guide of his Life , and Guardian of his Fame . Justly the Lines may safely seek , where late 'T is found by an affrighted tott'ring State : When to the Verge of Anarchy it drew , Hurri'd along , and all her Fears in view , She sighing , cast her Eyes for Aid , on YOU ; YOU who so oft ( when wander'd from the way , And lost in Night ) have led us to the Day . Loud was the Storm ; and now , advancing nigh , There seem'd no hope of help from Policy . Here Bigottry like Scylla threat'ning stood , Horrid with Wrecks , and painted o'er with Blood. There , like Charibdis , Tyranny appear'd , Fearful to sight , and Hideous to be heard ! And yet between 'em lay the happy Coast , Which either we must Make , or all be lost . Here 't was ( and greatlier ne'er employ'd before ) Your Counsels did our Peace and Pow'r restore , When they had took their leave , to come no more . Where does the wond'rous Penetration lie ? Or is all Nature opn'd to Your Eye ? That thus YOU forward look among the Fates , And seem a Second Providence to States ? For ever on Your Country's good Intent , YOU Foreign Ills divert , and Home prevent . No more an Empty Title to the Main Our Squadrons boast ; by Your Advice they Reign . Europe and Africa Triumphant saw Our Navy Ride , and give the Ocean Law ; While those who thought t' Invade us now retire , And leave their Shoars to Spoil and Hostile Fire . If the Physician oft divert our Fate , By feeling how the Blood does Circulate , What may HE do that know's the Pulse of State ? Be Fevour , Faintness , Frenzy , the Disease , Or if a Lethargy the Vitals seize ; Be it Luxurious Peace , or Lawless Might , Or Legislative Rage for Ravish'd Right ; Be it a less'ning Fame , or less'ning Trade , The Neighb'ring Strength increas'd , or ours decay'd , The Remedy is certain you advise ; And we are ne'er so Low , but then we Rise . And yet in spight of this unweary'd Care , Among us there a sort of Monsters are , Whose Tongues like Jews , wou'd not their Saviour spare But y' are Secure , and all their Malice vain ; Such Vertue is too rich a Dye to stain . As when a Nymph breaths on a Crystal-Glass , The Damps a while obscure her Beauteous Face ; A Dimness on the fair Reflection lie's , And sits between her Image and her Eyes : But soon the self-assisted Mirror 's clear , The Envious Shades dissolve into the Air , And all her former lovely Lineaments appear . So what e'er Spight with black'ning Breath can say , The Lustre of your Worth does purge away , Breaks through the sullen Gloom , and settles Day . But while ( alas ! ) the too advent'rous Muse Ambitiously her Noble Flight pursues ; She finds the Weight above her Pow'r to raise , And sinks beneath the Pressure of Your Praise . A Life like Yours , a History does claim An ample Fabrick that may hold Your Fame ; Where an Immortal Pillar shou'd be Grav'd , The Prince's y 'ave oblig'd , and Kingdom 's sav'd . And Lo ! — ( for what can veil the Muse's Eyes ) I see , methinks , a fam'd Historian rise , Impartial , Great , Elab'rate , Learn'd and Wise ; One on whose Works the Graces all shall smile ; So just a Subject claims the justest Stile . No other but the best of Pens shou'd show The Future Ages what the Present owe. To LEEDS , and ( O too early from us torn ! ) That other God-like Man , whose Loss we Mourn : Your Glory will not less Illustrious shine , To have His Name Immortal made with Thine . He shall to the succeeding Times display How You both stood , when hopeless of the Day , Rescuing th' Rights that others did betray : The Slaves that for Precarious Pow'r and Place , To French Designs subject the British Race , Born to be FREE , and ne'er to be o'ercome , But when by a brib'd S — n — — te Sold at Home . THE Mourning Swain : A FUNERAL ECLOGUE , ON THE Much Lamented DEATH Of the Right Honourable JAMES , Earl of ABINGDON . Menalcas , Damon , Alexis . Menalcas . HE Sinks ! he dies away ! — Alexis ! Friend ! 'T is thy Menalcas calls ! — some God descend , And save the Swain from an untimely End. Ha! he grows Paler still ! O Damon ! you Are come , as you Prophetically knew The Aid I wish'd , and what his Griefs wou'd do ! Damon . I heard the broken Sobs , and faul'tring Breath , And Groans , like those the Wretched give in Death . What sad Occasion — Menalcas . Ask not yet our Grief , But lend the Swooning Shepherd quick Relief : Chafe , chafe his Temples ; forward gently bow The Body — this , or nothing else will do : Thô when his Spirits to their Seat return , He lives to Grief , and but revives to Mourn ! Damon . What un-foreseen and sudden stroak of Fate Is this , that Nature sinks beneath the Weight ? That Life retiring , shuns th' unequal Fight , And if it Conquers , must o'ercome by Flight ! Men. The worst that cou'd the wretched Youth attend : Bertudor's Dead ! his Master , Patron , Friend ! Bertudor ! than which yet a Worthier Name Was e'er took up , or sounded off by Fame . I brought him word the Noble Soul was flown , And fear the fatal News has wing'd his Own. Is this to be your Image ? cruel Pow'rs ! How are we Yours , when with'ring Grass and Flow'rs , Vapours and Bubbles , are so truly Ours ? — But see ! the Blood does to his Cheeks ascend , And lab'ring Life returns . — How fares my Mourning Friend ? Alexis . Again ! Do I yet draw this hated Breath ? And flying Life , can be but mock'd with Death ? Will not the Partial Pow'rs that rule above Permit this last , best , dearest Act of Love , To Die , and by that Test , our Sorrows prove ? Must we be doom'd in Being to remain , Renew'd to Grief , and but preserv'd for Pain ? Ah! dear Menalcas ! what an ease 't wou'd be , Cou'd we , at Will , shake off Mortality ! Cou'd , with our Tears , our Lives dissolving fall , And Grief had long Oblivion at her call : But 't will not be ! — in worst Extreams , as now , The Soul wou'd rest in Death , and Swoon's too go , When strugling Nature gives us back to Woe ! Damon . O fatal Sounds ! O endless Sourse of Moan ! And is indeed the brave Bertudor gone ? Alexis . Did you e'er find unhappy News untrue ? He 's Dead ! and I shou'd now be Dying too ! Ah! what for us remains ( till Life is done ) But Wrongs , Distresses , Obliquy and Moan ? The Sheep must suffer , when the Shepherd's gone . Menalcas . We all , indeed , the fatal Loss shall rue , Heavy to Us , but heavier yet to You : You were acquainted with the Hero Young , He knew you early , and he lov'd you long . Alexis . He found me helpless , and of Friends bereft , Of Parents , and the little they had left . The VVorld look'd frowning on my Early Years , And I seem'd destin'd by my Stars , to Cares . He took me , rais'd me , fix'd me in his sight ; By Precept and Example , kept me Right — But Ah! the Lamp is gone , and I am hid in Night ! He taught me Good , then gave that good regard ; But still , it still was short of the Reward . VVith the new day , new Favours he 'd impart , Then make the VVorld believe 't was my Desert . And Shall ? O shall this BENEFACTOR go And we not sing his Worth , and sigh our Woe ? The last sad Task that Gratitude can do . Shall Time or Rage be suffer'd to efface The Mem'ry of this best of British Race ? Shall Fame amidst such Merit silent lye ? Shall e'er the Springs that water Grief , be dry ? No! no! while Vertue does on Earth remain , And Flocks and Herds feed on th' Oxonian Plain ; While Learning there and Piety encrease , And Truth can rest in the soft Arms of Peace : While there is VVealth employ'd to Gen'rous Ends , VVhile there are Sweets in Love , and Faith in Friends , So long the Muses shall his Loss deplore , That rain'd a Golden Show'r on them , and Manna to the Poor . Damon . How various are the ways of Providence ! How crooked oft they seem to Human Sense ! He 's gone ! for whom there 's not a Soul but Grieves , And yet his Foe , the Treach'rous Jockney Lives : He Lives ! ( nor does degenerate from his Breed ) That never did one Honourable Deed : Yet lives in prosp'rous Fortune , high in Trust , But barb'rous to Desert , and plung'd in Lust : He lives ! that yet ne'er did a Loan restore , E'er pay a Debt , or e'er relieve the Poor : He lives ! that wou'd subvert the Church and State , And ride 'em , loaded with Despotick Weight : He lives ! that nothing Impious e'er did shun ; He lives ! a longer race of Vice to run ; He lives ! and yet the good Bertudor's gone ! Menalcas . If Vertue met with a so early Fate ; Can Vice presume to hope a longer Date ? If Temp'rance thus at Noon is snatch'd away , Can wild Excess expect to end the day ? Alexis . It does ! it does ! and every Wish succeeds , On Down it lies , and on Ambrosia feeds ' ; No inward Pang it feel's , or future Reck'ning dread's . The Best , alas ! are Summon'd first to go , Have least Success , and least Regard below . The haughty mount , and on the Humble tread ; Depress 'em Living , and Revile 'em Dead . Their Honours won with Blood , are from 'em torn , And by their Mortal Foes , insulting worn . No Disappointments e'er th' Unjust attend ; The Just have God , but not Man , their Friend . Hence Providence is oft mis-understood , Scoff'd by bad Men , and doubted by the Good ; While undistinguish'd Right and Wrong are hurl'd , And Knave and Fool between 'em share the World ! Menalcas . 'T is not for Man , with a too daring Eye , To look into the Secrets of the Sky ; Or if he shou'd , in vain he strives to see Through the dark-woven folds of Destiny . As the Meridian Sun all flaming bright , Gaz'd on , confounds and quenche's Human Sight ; So Reason fail's , and sink's beneath the Weight Of Will , Omniscience , Providence and Fate . But Thou , great Soul , disburthen'd of thy Freight , Ar't Landed now , on 'tother side of Fate : To Thee those Distributions all are clear , That so perplex , and so confound us here . 'T is true , thus much by Reason's understood ; Affliction is the Test that try's the Good : Where e'er it Visit's , 't is by Heaven's Command ; Not shuffl'd out , as Vice wou'd understand , With blinking Eyes , and a promiscuous Hand . If prosp'rous Fortunes are to most a Snare , Why not th' Afflicted God's peculiar Care ? Expos'd to black'ning Tongues , and faithless Friends , Only to ply their Souls for Nobler Ends : For Regions where we 're known , and know aright , Where day is never to resign to Night , And flying Time no more can bound Delight . Shou'd Pleasure here run smooth with equal Feet , And Life , thô long , no Disappointment meet ; Shou'd Hope succeed in ev'ry VVish it make 's , And Grief ne'er seize the Soul it once forsake 's ; Shou'd ev'ry Pious Man be Fortune's Care , Humility be cloath'd , and Pride be bare ; Shou'd the first Honours be by VVorth possest ; Shou'd that still rise , and Vice be still deprest ; VVhat e'er hereafter more were to be giv'n , VVe shou'd rest here , and seek no other Heav'n . But since this never was , nor will be so , Not Revelation scarce can plainer show , That Vertu 's not to wear her Crown below . This Contemplation shou'd your Griefs remove ; Our very Suffering a Reward does prove , It must not be on Earth — and it must be Above . Alexis . With this , Menalcas , firmly I agree But it not lighten's our Calamity . Bertudor , thô to endless Joy he 's gone , Has left us cause for a whole Age to Moan . When great Elijah did on high ascend , And Heav'n's bright Chariot his Ascent attend , What Joy was it to his remaining Friend ? He , in his Loss , deplor'd his Country's Fate , Their Civil Strife's , and cruel Haz'ael's Hate ; Nor yet is ours a fix'd unmurm'ring State. When will deliv'rance from Oppression come , If such as He are call'd so early Home ? When will our Publick Fears , and Private Hate Be o'er , if thus we lose such Props of State ? Who , when the Royal Cause is sunk so low , Will set so vast a Fortune at a Throw , And with such Skill , divert th' impending Blow ? Who in the Gap , when Force wou'd Right devour , Will stand so firm against unbounded Pow'r ? Stemming the Tide of violated Laws , Till he has made the Just , the Prosp'rous Cause ? O Britain ! Thou , whose Happiness He sought , Whose Happiness He wou'd with Life have bought , Thy Peace his constant Aim , and still intending Thought ; Let thy sad Genius now put Sables on , And through the Land diffuse unless'ning Moan , That ev'ry Eye may VVeep , and ev'ry Breast may Groan ! And thou , O Learned Town ! whose Sacred Name , Has been so long th' envy'd Theme of Fame ; Thou too , should'st in the Mourning Concert share , Scarcely so much thy Guardian Angel's Care. Who e'er before made Thee appear so Great , Or in thy Civil , Learn'd , or Martial State ? Or who hereafter ( through more Trials prov'd ) VVill leave Thee — so Bemoan'd , and so Belov'd ? How did He Factious Fears and Doubts control ! How still Contention ! and how tune the Soul ! How baffle Envy ! and how silence Pride ! In all Elections certain to Preside . Others to Heats and Strifes , and Feuds wou'd run , But where he came , he made all Voices one : With a bare Breath , they mov'd as he enclin'd , Like standing Corn , all bending with the Wind. At once to ROIALTY and RIGHT a Friend ; Nor did He to thy Burroughs recommend A needy Race , for Policy to bait , Like Gudgeons , catch'd with Pensions by the S — te . But while , bless'd City , I 'd thy HERO show , I rove , and make Digressions from my Woe . Ah never ! never cease to Sigh His Name ! So true to Honour , and so dear to Fame ! Let all thy Sons bewail th' Exalted Man ; And thou , Immortal Yw — ings ! lead the Van : Thou , who new force do'st to our Language give ; He who so well can Praise , as well can Grieve . Ransack the silent Seat where Mem'ry lies , To bring our Woes proportional Supplies : Let not the hoary Dews of Lethe steep So many Vertues in Eternal Sleep : But as they pass our Intellectual view , Let Sorrow grave 'em deep , and keep 'em new : Then when we have survey'd th' amazing Store , Make us reflect , their OWNER is no more ! How all that 's Prudent , Noble , Just , and Brave , Is cover'd with Bertudor in the Grave ! O Thought ! that on the Rack does ev'ry Nerve constrain ! Distraction were less Grief , and Dying gentler Pain ! Menalcas . My dear Alexis , if that Rain must fall , But speak the Hero's Worth , then weep it all . Alexis . It was my full Design — but first , my Friend , ( And Weeping , I 'll the sad account attend ) Tell by what Malady he hence was torn , With how confus'd a Grief the loss was born , All Raving ! — 't was too little sure to Mourn ; He had to Human sight , no least Decay , VVarm as a Summer's Sun's reviving Ray , Nor promis'd less than a long Summer's day ; Fresh as the Morning , when the pearly Dew Foretells the bright Meridian to ensue : But there He stopp'd ! there did the Gloom arise ! Veil'd with surrounding Clouds from Human Eyes ! Eclips'd , when most conspicuous in the Skies ! Unwillingly the Rural Shades He left ; ( Unhappy Shades ! of all your Joys bereft ! ) Never in Senate He deny'd His Aid ; This only only Time , He wou'd have staid ; But 't was His Country call'd , — whose call He still Obey'd . — But I prevent Thee , dear Menalcas on , And — if I can — I 'll Stifle in my Moan . Menalcas . To tell you true ( who e'er it may displease ) He dy'd of the Physician — a Disease That long has reign'd , and eager of Renown , More than a Plague , Depopulate's the Town . Inflam'd with Wine , and blasting at a Breath , All it's Prescriptions are Receipts for Death . Millions of Mischiefs by it's Rage is wrought , Safe where 't is fled , but barb'rous where 't is sought : A curs'd ingrateful Ill , that call'd to aid , Is still most fatal where it best is paid . So slight at first his Ail , it cou'd have done No further harm , but must of course ' been gone , Had not this first Malignance forc'd it on ; And cruelly ( till then , all pure and good ) With it 's own Venom , dash'd the Circling Flood . — By this time , we the Hero's Danger found ; He near Expiring , and we Weeping round . The Sighs of Widows , and the Orphans Cries , Importunate for Aid , besieg'd the Skies . — — And now the Fevor seem'd in part t' aswage ; Death grin'd a horrid Smile , and half forgot his Rage . As he grew better , so the Town reviv'd , As Joy it self were from his Health deriv'd . But whether 't were to shew , tho ne'er so late , How fervent Pray'r can turn the course of Fate ; Or whether 't were a last expiring Glare , The fatal Hope that ushers in Despair ; Or whether yet the line of the Disease , Cou'd be no further lengthen'd out for Fees , He soon relaps'd , relapsing , weaker grew , And the pale Tyrant came again in view . Here Grief was at its utmost stretch disclos'd ! We all Confounded , He alone Compos'd . What Blessings did He to his Friends bequeath ! What Joys describe , what dying Raptures breath ! With what assurance did he meet his Fate ! How fearless pass th' Inevitable Gate ! His Soul had by Anticipation here , A taste of Heav'n , before it yet was there . O Truth ! O Innocence ! O peaceful Close ! Hail him ( ye Angels ) to his long Repose . — But now an Universal burst of Woe , O'er all the Town , did like a Torrent flow . The very Senate Mourn'd his early Fate , Mourn'd this ADJVSTER of the Church and State ; As quite despairing any more to see RELIGION reconcil'd to POLICY . The Clergy next their PATRIOTS loss deplore , No more to hear his Voice ! to have his Smiles no more ! In dang'rous Times they freshly call'd to mind , How diff'rent Parties in their Aid he join'd ; Then with a Grief too big to speak in Tears , In Silence sunk beneath their former Fears : For ne'er before in the most Impious Age , Were they pursu'd with such Invet'rate Rage , So Slighted by the Great , and Slander'd from the Stage . His Friends you next might see Distracted stand , Too weak the Streams of Anguish to command : Nor Compass , Card , or Pilot , left to guide Thy hopeless plunge into the raging Tide . But theirs , and ev'ry Grief the Poor's out did , Tearing the very Earth up , to be hid , And Raving , Self-Destruction was forbid ! A frightful Prospect they before 'em see , Of Wants , and un-reliev'd Adversity . Ev'n those that knew him but by Common-Fame , With Tears repeat their Common Patriot's Name . Nor less it ought our just Regard to have , To think what Numbers mourn'd him to the Grave : With mutual Praise , their mutual Sighs did Vie , And from so many Mouths , opprest the Sky . — There rest His Ashes : — but his Nobler Name , Expanding as it mounts the Starry Frame , Shall fill th' expiring Breath , and latest Gasp of Fame . Damon . 'T is done , the Task you bid Menalcas do ; His Praise , a Nobler Task , we now expect from you . Alexis . That Praise , alas ! shou'd be by Angels sung , At least the first of the Castalian Throng : Not in my Numbers , broken , rough and lame , But Verse of the duration of his Fame , Such as , where-ever read , shou'd sway in Chief ; Mine's but the Duty of a Servant's Grief : Thô yet ( so much my Soul His Name revere's ) What in my Stile Un-elegant appears ; I 'll Sanctify with Truth , and Polish with my Tears . Witness , ye everlasting Lamps above , Ye Sacred Lights that round us Nightly move , Witness how oft , when the long day was done , And all Devotion silent , but his own , We 've seen him on his Knees before th' Immortal Throne . As if at neither Morning , Noon , and Even , There Hours enow to Piety were giv'n : Part of the Night in Prayer He always spent ; The Time by most , to Wine and Lewdness len't : No Hypocrite e'er with more Ardor cou'd , Un-seen be Ill , than He 'd un-seen be Good. What ever doing , or where e'er he were , His Privacies did no Detection fear ; We ne'er cou'd find Him when unfit to see , Nor hear Him , but the Theme was Piety . No Faith by Works was ever oft'ner shown : If when no act of Charity is done , That day be lost — He never squander'd one . As soon the Sun might cross from Pole to Pole ; As soon the Wandring Planets cease to roll , As he dismiss the Poor without their Dole . No Fears , by which our Scepticks are distrest , E'er found the least admittance to his Breast : Where e'er he turn'd his View , Sea , Farth , and Skies , GOD , in his Works , was present to his Eyes . Unhappy they ! that see this wrond'rous Frame , And , after , make a Doubt from whence it came ! His Converse thô 't was cheerful , ne'er was Vain ; His Soul wou'd start , to hear a word Prophane : That fatal Rock , where half our Nobles split , Lost for the poor Repute of having Wit : VVith such , the Vertuous are the only Elves , But Devils are thought Angels by themselves . VVhere once He Lov'd , He never cou'd Distrust , Kind to a Fau't , and to a Scruple Just : — But most , He most did fly the Snares of Lust . Not all the Darts thrown by the Beautious Kind , That Light'ning like , so quick a Passage find ; Not all their Wit , and never-ending Art , His once engag'd Affection , cou'd divert , Or melt the Chastity that Wall'd His Heart . Our Saviour's Precept , He to Practice brought , And never , never Lusted — not in Thought ! And , to reward His Truth , He twice was join'd In Wedlock , to the best of Women-kind . The First , the brightest , purest Soul that e'er Was sent from Heav'n , to shew us Mortals here What Angels and Translated Saints are there ! To see Her once , was ev'ry Charm to know , Of Peace above , or Purity below ; Imagination cou'd no further go ! So sweet her Form , th' Idea warms us yet ! — But Ah! that Light in all her Glory set , In all her Youth ( and we all drown'd in Tears ) E'er She had number'd three and thirty Years ; Yet thirteen times had call'd Lucina's Aid , And was as oft a happy Mother made . His next did a like Scene of Joy Presage ; That giv'n to Charm his Youth , and this to Bless his Age ; Her Mind so justly to Her Form contriv'd , The living Wife , but seem'd the Dead Reviv'd : No jot Impar'd , or less amazing Bright , For her succeeding such a Glorious Light. A strange Eclipse had certainly been thrown , On any Face , or Vertue but her own . Here were a Subject now our Voice to raise , To sing at once her Sorrows and her Praise ! A Year ! but one short Year in Wedlock run , E'er robb'd of all the Worth her Eyes had won ! Her Eyes ! a Charm that cou'd for Ages bind , Were Comfort certain , or had Fate been kind . Ah Beautious VVidow , ! cou'd I think , when late The Muse did on your happy Nuptials wait , That such a Scene of Pleasure , Love and Light , So soon wou'd close in Everlasting Night ! That one short Year wou'd so destructive prove To strictest Vertue , and to noblest Love ! Ah! what avail's our Hope , if Truth must here Be least , or latest Providence's Care ? What comfort have we , towards the Goal to strive , If thus the Stream of Fate at Random drive ? If all the Blessings of the Good and Fair , Must like a Bubble break , and end in Air ! Damon . You know there 's none exempt from Human Cares — But , Friend , you lose His Vertues in your Tears . Alexis . Forgive me , Damon , I 've too long digrest ; But who cou'd hold , to see such Charms distrest ? All Praise we owe , is to his Vertues due , But some regard , must wait on Beauty too : Ev'n He himself wou'd Pardon such as start , To give our Duty , where he He gave his Heart — — But to our View , His Temp'rance next appears , His fast Companion from his early Years . In all th' Affluence of a Wealth so vast , He ne'er the Common Bounds of Nature past . Thô on his Board , ( where all the Season's smil'd ) What Earth cou'd furnish , plentiously was pil'd ; Thô there the Sea a constant Tribute paid , And richest VVines ( declining Nature's aid ) Flow'd round , as from a Spring that ne'er decay'd . 'T was but prepar'd proportion'd to His Store , To feast his Neighbours , and to feed the Poor . How oft wou'd He from all his State descend ? Then only proud , when He cou'd serve a Friend . Upon His Word , you as on Fate , might rest ; The rather , if it crost His Interest . To Truth ev'n his most trivial Thoughts did tend , As heavy Bodies sink , and Flames ascend . Ev'n Contraries His Meekness reconcil'd , As soon as Anger touch'd his Breast , 't was Mild : His Frowns so stern , when he did Vice reprove , Through His Aversion , made you see his Love : From most , resentment does in Hate conclude , But his Concern was always for your Good. For ev'ry turn of Human Chance prepar'd , His Vertues ne'er were missing from his Guard : And by a wond'rous Mixture , you might find In him the Hero and the Christian join'd ; The Loftiest Courage , and the Lowliest Mind ! VVhat shall we say ? — unless by Angels Penn'd , His Praises , like our Grief , can have no end . Nature her self , does of this WORTHY boast , Aloud she cries — Here was no Labour lost , While to their various Molds I 'd others sit , Ten thousand fail me , for one lucky hit . Hereafter , when the Nobler Souls I Frame , Such as shall early get a Deathless Name , And late pursue the shining Chase of Fame , They , by this PATTERN , shall be all Design'd , And , Copying Him , Exalt the long Degraded Kind . Mena. Were not your Sight subservient to your Moan , You wou'd perceive it is already done : What Copy can you hope to see so fair , As that he drew in His Illustrious HEIR ? Who is more likely Fame 's now sinking blast To lift again as high , and make it last ? A Noble Character , I grant , you 've drawn ; But since 't is Darkness there , look on the Rising Dawn : What Promises Bertudor's Worth cou'd give , Like a New Eden , all in Him revive . Then in our Hope , His CONSORT with Him shares , Born for His Ease , and soft'ning all His Cares ; She does the Noblest Modern Instance prove , Of Peace in Wedlock , and of Truth in Love. This Happy Pair thy Sorrows shou'd divert ; And never was a Nobler VVork for Art. Damon . Begin , Alexis , let thy tuneful Song , Paint Him all Lovely , Affable , and Young : Then let it shew the vast advance His Youth Has made in Honour , Eloquence , and Truth ; How none to Pleasure , e'er was less a Slave , More throughly Noble , nor more early Brave . VVith Him , his Gen'rous Brothers VVorth proclaim , VVho what they owe Their Birth , will pay in Fame : In Peace , they shall the Arts of Peace adorn , Or War , if they for bloody War are born . His Sisters , then shou'd be Triumphant shown , Their Sables off , and all their Brightness on ; Warming where e'er their happy Influence flies , Love in their Mien , and Conquest in their Eyes ! Menalcas . As justly shou'd the Fair Carnarvon's Name Be handed with Her Niece's down to Fame : She , who by Vertue , does assert Her Blood , And values less Her Birth , than being Good : That Sister , who so much His loss deplor'd , And seem'd at last , as hard to be restor'd : That Sister , who to save Him , wou'd have Dy'd , Who all His Sickness , on Her Knees wou'd ' bide — Ah! cou'd so bright a Suppli'ant be deny'd ! Let not her Num'rous Alms be hid in Night , Tho Private done , and flying Human Sight : Nor shou'd her Chastity thy Pen decline , Th' Heireditary Vertue of the Line ; — Begin — and be thy Song as Famous , as thy Theme's Divine ! Alexis . Ah Friends ! — I grant my Duty owing there — But first ( ye Pow'rs ) I 'll first perform it here ; First with a bleeding Heart , and weeping Verse , Pay my last Homage to Bertudor's Hearse . That Office o'er , we to their Names will turn , There truly Praise , as here we truly Mourn . — — But no such Theme shall now the Muse employ , No thought of Comfort ! nor no dream of Joy ! Faithful to Grief , and wedded to my Moan , All my Relief shall be — to hope for none ! — — Ha! Damon ! where ? whence came these dismal Cries ? Shriek'd out as they were Nature's Obsequies ! As if the Gen'ral Doom just now were bid , And cleaving Earth were yielding up its Dead ! Mena. To the same Cause of Grief the Country yields ; I spread the News through the Wiltonian Fields ; No longer now bemoan'd by Swain to Swain , It gather's Head , and sweeps along the Plain : Like an Impetuous Flood , it all o'er-bears — The sadder Deluge , as 't is made of Tears . Alexis . Lead on Menalcas . — This will be a Scene Fit to Indulge the Sorrows I am in ! Hark! louder ! How the sad affrighting Sound Does from the Hills , back on the Plain rebound , And tells us — Death can now no deeper Wound . The Flocks and Herds run bleeting o'er the Plains , And Sympathize with the Despairing Swains . Some dismal Tydings , Heav'n's uncommon Rage , In Groans of Thunder did last Night Presage : The faithful Dogs in horrid Consorts Houl'd And the fierce Woolves , Un-guarded found the Fold , And Croaking Ravens Death and Woe foretold ! With Light'ning sing'd , the blasted Heath is bare , And Horror is the sole Possessor there . — But let us haste and join 'em , now their Grief Is at the full , and hopeless of Relief : Bertudor is their Theme — Bertudor we Will cry , and Eccho back their Misery . Bertudor ! O Bertudor ! — O no more ! For ever now no more ! — Away ! and let me join the Weeping Throng , To hear him Mourn'd , to hear his Praises Sung , And die with the Dear NAME upon my Tongue ! FINIS .