An elegy on His Excellency Lieutenant-General Tolmach by Edm. Arwaker. Arwaker, Edmund, d. 1730. 1694 Approx. 11 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 5 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-11 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A25972 Wing A3906 ESTC R29415 11111986 ocm 11111986 46356 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. A25972) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 46356) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1394:12) An elegy on His Excellency Lieutenant-General Tolmach by Edm. Arwaker. Arwaker, Edmund, d. 1730. 8 p. Printed for Francis Saunders and sold by Randall Taylor, London : 1694. "Licens'd August 3, 1694. Edward Cooke." In verse. Reproduction of original in the British 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 Tollemache, Thomas, 1651?-1694 -- Poetry. Great Britain -- History -- William and Mary, 1689-1702 -- Poetry. 2003-04 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-05 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-08 Emma (Leeson) Huber Sampled and proofread 2003-08 Emma (Leeson) Huber Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion AN ELEGY ON HIS EXCELLENCY Lieutenant-General Tolmach . By EDM. ARWAKER . LICENS'D , August 3. 1694. EDWARD COOKE . LONDON , Printed for Francis Saunders , at the Blue-Anchor in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange in the Strand , and Sold by Randal Taylor . 1694. AN ELEGY ON His Excellency Lieutenant-General TOLMACH . SINCE Heav'n , from Albion's once lov'd Isle estrang'd , Has into frowns its benign Aspect chang'd ; And pleas'd to interrupt her joys , The blessings she in her great Tolmach found , With which her Fields , while grac'd with him , were crown'd , Severely in their Author them destroys , And in her tenderest part gives her a Mortal Wound : Why , in this great occasion to complain Does Albion seem insensible ? O why suppress her Sighs , her Tears restrain ? Nor offer at her Patron 's Herse A Sacrifice of Monumental Verse ? That might her grief great as her suff'rings tell ; And Celebrate the mighty name That swells the Registrys of Fame , That Name , whose just Applause is the main source of hers ? II. Rouze , you ungrateful Scribling Crew ; Who with your tribute of gross flatteries come To wait on every meaner Tomb , But where you shou'd be loudest-tongu'd , are Dumb ; Think what is to the name of Tolmach due ; Of whom the wonders you declare So far from Adulation will appear , They cannot reach his glorious Character . Justly to him your praise belongs , Whose great exploits gave you a copious theme , And did inspire each Muse with thoughts sublime , In imitation of them , But still , alas ! inferiour to him , The noblest Subject ; and the best rewarder of your Songs ▪ For as his Virtue did exalt your strains Above the pitch of Common thought and sense , He amply did requite your pains By his unparalel'd Munificence ; He made your Laurels fructifie , And rais'd you to the heights of Poetry , Freed from the pressure of its Indigence . III. Raise then your Voices , and his Praise declare , Thus to the World you will your Verse endear , And ravish every list'ning Ear. Tell of his Noble Aspect , graceful Mein , In which beholders took a strange content , Fitted to hold the glorious Things within , And what it did contain , to represent . There Wit and Sense were in abundance found ; But least , as Waters that their Banks o'erflow , These streams shou'd shallow by dilation grow , A solid Judgment did their courses bound , Which still preserv'd their Depth and Current too , And made their Silence as themselves , profound ; Not noisie with impertinence , The certain mark of a low Ebb of Sense . IV. Nor did his Courage to his Wit give place ; As great , and yet as quiet too it was ; Free from all offers of offence , Conceal'd within his Breast it lay , As Seeds of Fire hid in their Parent Stone , Nor easily wou'd it be tempted thence , Till urg'd by Provocation , The angry Sparks forc'd thence their burning way , And made his real Brav'ry known , That cou'd resent a wrong as well as ofter none . But if his Country , dear as Life or Fame , Bid him unsheath his Sword in its defence , His Blood was quickly in a flame , And in each Vein beat brisk alarms , To call her great Defender out to Arms ; Such for her weakness was his shame , Such of her Suff'rings was his tender Sense . V. Hibernia , that unhappy Land That boasts her wholsome Soil no Venom breeds , Yet never wants Rebellion's poys'nous Seeds , Her Empress Albion durst withstand , And strove to wrest the Scepter from her Hand ; Who then so fit in Albion's Cause to Fight , As he who did in Albion's Peace delight : And was the great Asserter of her Right ? Tolmach is sent her Vassals to reduce ; Tolmach the Brave , who cou'd not brook to see An Arbitrary Pow'r her Laws abuse , And cramp her Native Liberty : Him she desires , him she 's oblig'd to choose ; Nor cou'd she find , in her Heroick Store , One that wou'd study her Advantage more , Or in her Cause be more of Life profuse . VI. Athlone , by Art and Nature Fortified , Put a strange Non-plus to the English Arms , Their Courage baffled , and their strength defied , Doubly secur'd from Harms , Till Tolmach found away they did not dread , ( Since such a dangerous Enterprise No Courage durst attempt , no Thought design , but his ) A way as unsuspected as unknown , At once to gain their River and their Town ; Follow'd by Numbers of admiring Friends ( Who wou'd not follow where he led ? ) Into the Shannon boldly he descends , As Caesar once into the Rubicon ; Th' affrighted River from him fled , Quitted its Post , and did to Lym'rick haste , ( The Rebels strongest Refuge and their last , ) Nor thought its Stream had now sufficient speed , While to th' astonish'd Town he safely pass'd , And on the conquer'd Walls his flying Ensigns plac'd . Thus daring Minds no difficulty know , The Courage that in great Attempts they shew , Enables them to conquer what it leads them to . Soon Wars loud Tumults in Hibernia cease , Subjected to her Soveraigns Pow'r : Pleas'd with the Blessings of his gentle Reign , The Golden Plenty , and the Downy Peace , Which , as his happy Conquest did restore , His more triumphant goodness does encrease ; And now she tunes her silver Lyre again , To Sing her Liberty regain'd , Which , if unconquer'd , she had ne'r obtain'd , Since she no longer business does afford , To exercise our Heroes Sword , He hastens to the Belgick shore , That does his strong successful Arm implore , To free it from th' encroaching Gallick Pow'r , Which with the Title of Most Christian dress'd , Does Christendom worse than the Turk infest . VIII . But to suppress this pow'rful Foe , And wound him deeper with a nearer blow , The British Navy is for France design'd , France must again that dreaded Courage know , That Courage that had often brought her low ; And whom cou'd Albion , but her Tolmach , find That with more Vigour wou'd her Armies head , Or one by whom they wou'd be rather led ? Whose dreaded name , like Talbot's heretofore , Wou'd through those Fields her Fame more largely spread , And fright French Children , but their Fathers more ? The English Bravery in France well known And own'd peculiarly Ours , Which last inglorious Age out-liv'd , And long lay buried with our Ancestors ▪ In Tolmach was reviv'd , And we th' Original must own Amended and Enlarg'd in this Edition . IX . But , Oh! what Pow'r , envious at Albion's joy , Blasts her with a malignant breath , And does her gawdy blooming Hopes destroy ! Scarce had he touch'd th' inhospitable Shore , Which all around for fear began to roar ; When from th' Encounter of a fiery Storm A swift , tho' heavy Messenger of Death Too well its hateful Errand did perform And forcing a remoter part Made way for Fate too soon to reach his heart , And boldly tell him he must be no more . When this th' advancing Soldiers knew , Cold as he their Courage grew , France had no way but this to shock them so : Their General 's Life is all their care , Which to preserve they hastily retreat , The Fate of France and their Revenge defer , To wait on a concern more near and great . X. Back to his Native soil convey'd , His drooping Head he on her Bosom laid , And in her Service wasted , yet untir'd , As fearless as he liv'd , expir'd , And for the Breath she gave too largely paid . France by his Death already grown too proud , Wanted the honour of his grave , This privilege injurious Fate allow'd To be for Albion reserv'd , Whom as his Life he lov'd , whom with his Life he serv'd : Nor cou'd she next his Life , a greater blessing crave Than to preserve him , Dead , who her , alive did save . XI . See Albion , see thy General brought home , Not crown'd with Conquest , as he us'd to come , But by Inconstant Fate betray'd , Himself a bleeding Victim made ; Ah then dissolve into a briny Flood , And let it flow in Consort with his Blood. But , Oh! The precious Balm is shed in vain , No Virtue is in that or Physick found To keep out death , and heal the gaping wound : That Sluice does Life's whole treasure drain . Not all thy Sighs can him with Breath supply , Not all thy Pray'rs his fleeting Soul recal , But in thy Arms thy Champion must dye , Pleasing himself with what thou do'st lament , The loss of Life in thy lov'd Service spent , And only deems the Sacrifice too small . Since then for thee , the gen'rous Tolmach dies , To his great Memory just Trophies raise , For which he Death may prize ! That his pleas'd Soul from its exalted Seat May triumph in his Fate , So well deserving , and so full of praise . While in a peaceful Grave his Body lies , The Guardian Relick of our Isle Berkeley in France performs his Obsequies , And makes whole flaming Towns become his Fun'ral Pile . FINIS .