AN ELEGY ON THE USURPER O. C. BY THE AUTHOR OF ABSALON and ACHITOPHEL.  
Published to show the Loyalty and Integrity of the Poet.  
Reprinted in the Year MDCLXXXII.   

AN ELEGY ON THE USURPER O. C. By the Author of ABSALON and ACHITOPHEL. Published to show the Loyalty and Integrity of the Poet.  

ANd now 'tis time for their Officious haste,  
Who would before have born him to the Sky,  
Like eager Romans, ere all Rites were passed,  
Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly.   

Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame,  
Joined with the loud Applause of public Voice,  
Since Heaven the praise we offer to his Name  
Hath rendered too authentic by its choice.   

Though in his praise no Arts can Liberal be,  
Since they whose Muses have the highest flown  
Add not to his Immortal Memory,  
But do an act of Friendship to their own.   

Yet 'tis our Duty and our Interest too,  
Such Monuments as we can build to raise,  
Left all the World prevent what we should do,  
And claim a Title in Him by their Praise.   

How shall I then begin or where conclude,  
To draw a frame so truly circular?  
For in a Round what Order can be showed,  
Where all the parts so equal perfect are?   

His Grandeur he derived from Heaven alone;  
For he was great ere Fortune made him so,  
And Wars like Mists that rise against the Sun,  
Made him but Greater seem, not Greater grow.   

No borrowed Bays his Temples did adorn,  
But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring,  
Nor was his Virtue poisoned soon as born,  
With the too early thoughts of being King.   

Fortune (that easy Mistress of the young,  
But to her Ancient Servants coy and hard;)  
Him at that age her Favourites ranked among,  
When she her best loved Pompey did discard.   

He private marked the Faults of others sway,  
And set as Sea marks for himself to shun,  
Not like rash Monarches, who their Youth betray,  
By Acts their Age too late would wish undone.   

And yet Dominion was not his Design,  
We owe that blessing not to him, but Heaven,  
Which to fair Acts Rewards unsought did join;  
Rewards which less to him than us were given.   

Our former Chiefs, like Sticklers in the War,  
First sought t'inflame the Parties, then to poise,  
The Quarrel loved, but did the Cause abhor,  
And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.   

War, our Consumption, was their gainful Trade,  
We inward bled whilst they prolonged our pain,  
He Fought to end our Fightings, and essayed  
† To staunch the Blood by breathing of a Vein.   

Swift and resistless through the Land he passed,  
Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue,  
And made to Battle such Heroic haste,  
As if on wings of Victory he flew.   

He fought secure of Fortune as of Fame,  
Till by new Maps the Island might be shown,  
Of Conquests which he strewed where ere he came;  
Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown.   

His Palms, though under Weights, they did not stand,  
Still thrived, no Winter could his Laurels fade,  
Heaven in his Portrait showed a Workman's hand,  
And drew it perfect yet without a shade.   

Peace was the price of all his Toils and Care,  
Which War had banished and did now restore,  
Bolognia's Wall thus mounted in the Air,  
To seat themselves more surely than before.   

Her safety rescued, Ireland to him owes,  
And treacherous Scotland to no Interest true;  
Yet blest that Fate which did his Arms dispose,  
Her Land to civilize as to subdue.   

Nor was he like those Stars which only shine,  
When to pale Mariners they Storms portend,  
He had his calmer Influence, and his Main  
Did Love and Majesty together blend.   

'Tis true, his Countenance did imprint an awe,  
And naturally all Souls to his did bow,  
As wands of Divination downward draw,  
And point to Beds where sovereign Gold does grow.   

When past all Offerings to Pheretrian jove  
He Mars deposed, and Arms to Gowns made yield,  
Successful Counsels did him soon approve  
As fit for close Intrigues, as open Field.   

To supplicant Holland he vouchsafed a Peace  
Our once bold Rival in the British Main,  
Now tamely glad her unjust Claim to cease,  
And buy our Friendship with her Idol Gain.   

Fame of th' asserted Sea through Europe blown,  
Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love,  
Each knew that Side must conquer he would own,  
And for Him fiercely as for Empire strove.   

No sooner was the Frenchman's Cause embraced,  
Then the Light Monsieur the grave Don outweighed,  
His Fortune turned the Scale where it was cast,  
Though Indian Mines were in the other laid.   

When absent, yet we conquered in his Right;  
For though some meaner Artists Skill were shown,  
In mingling Colours, or in placing Light,  
Yet all the fair Designment was his own.   

For from all Tempers he could Service draw,  
The Worth of each with its Alloy he knew;  
And, as the Confident of Nature, saw  
How the Complexions did divide and brew.   

Or he their single Virtues did survey,  
By Intuition in his own large Breast,  
Where all the rich Ideas of them lay,  
That were the Rule and Measure of the rest.   

When such Heroic Virtue Heaven sets out,  
The Stars like Commons sullenly Obey;  
Because it drains them when it comes about,  
And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay.   

From this high Spring our Foreign Conquests flow,  
Which yet more Glorious Triumphs do portend,  
Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe,  
If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend.   

He made us Freemen of the Continent,  
Whom Nature did like Captives treat before,  
To Nobler Preys the English Lion sent,  
And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar.   

That old unquestioned Pirate of the Land,  
Proud Rome, with dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard,  
And trembling wished behind more Alps to stand,  
Although an Alexander were her Guard.   

By his Command we boldly crossed the Line,  
And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise,  
We traced the far fetched Gold unto the Mine,  
And that which bribed our Fathers made our Prize.   

Such was our Prince, yet owned a Soul above,  
The highest Acts it could produce to show;  
Thus poor Mechanic Arts in public move,  
Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go.   

Nor died he when his ebbing Fame went less,  
But when fresh Laurels courted him to live,  
He seemed but to prevent some new Success,  
As if above what Triumphs Earth could give.   

His latest Victories still thickest came,  
As near the Centre Motion doth increase,  
Till He, pressed down with his own weighty Name,  
Did like the Vestal under Spoils decrease.   

But first the Ocean as a Tribute Sent  
The Giant Prince of all her Watery Herd,  
And th' Isle, when her protecting Genius went,  
Upon his Obsequies loud Sighs conferred.   

No Civil Broils have since his Death arose,  
But Faction now by Habit does obey;  
And Wars have that Respect for his Repose,  
As Winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea.   

His Ashes in a peaceful Urn shall rest,  
His Name and great Example stand to show  
How strangely high Endeavours may be blest  
Where Piety and Valour jointly go.   

POSTSCRIPT.  
THe Printing of these Rhimes afflicts me more  
Than all the Drubs I in Rose-Alley bore.  
This shows my nauseous Mercenary Pen  
Would praise the vilest and the worst of Men.  
A Rogue like Hodge am I; the World will know it;  
Hodge was his Fiddler, and I John his Poet.  
This may prevent the Pay for which I write;  
For I for Pay against my Conscience fight.  
I must confess, so Infamous a Knave  
Can do no Service, though the Humblest Slave.  
Villains I praise, and Patriots accuse,  
My railing and my fawning Talents use,  
Just as they pay I flatter or abuse.  
But I to men in Power a Turd am still,  
To rub on any honest Face they will.  
Then on I'll go, for Libels I declare,  
Best Friends no more than worst of Foes I'll spare,  
And all this I can do, because I dare.  
He who writes on, and Cudgels can defy,  
And knowing he'll be beat, still writes on, am I  J. D.