AN ELEGY On the MODERN HERO, REDMON o HANLAN, Surnamed The TORY.  

COme Gentle Muse, assist my pen  
To praise the worthiest of men,  
With whom, your ancient Heroes put  
In balance, weigh not shell of Nut.  
As for great Hanlan's reputation,  
We shall evince by demonstration.  
Of them, let Jason first be named,  
For clean conveyance so much famed.  
For whose each lock of Golden wool,  
Bold Redmon has a thousand stole.  
Nor did their owners scape so cheap,  
He often took both Fleece, and Sheep.  
Nay Mercury himself, though made  
A God, for his great skill i'th' trade;  
Compared, would look like Picaroon  
To First-Rate Ship, or Star to Moon.   

Next Hercules, about whose Club  
Strange tales you tell, like those of Tub:  
Would the unequal combat shun,  
O'ermatched by his dead doing Gun.  
For if with Blunderbuss compared,  
Like all that met it, 'twould have feared.   

The force of this Achilles hid  
Well tanned as 'twas, would ne'er abide.  
Should lusty Blunder once assault him,  
In spite of Fate it would have mauled him.   

Hector; that of the Greeks made spoil,  
As you and Homer keep a coil;  
ne'er bolder set upon his foes  
Than he, who told them to their nose,  
You must deliver up your Purse,  
Or by my Shoul you'll far the worse.  

Which said, if enemy seemed stout,  
Soon half a dozen balls flew out,  
And straight one Army fell to rout.   
Which if our party no worse fared  
Than losing Prize, and being scared:  

For th' famous Warrior was complete  
In all that makes a General great,  
Knew when to fight, when to retreat.   
In which no Mountains, Rocks, or Woods,  
Could stop his course, nor Bogs, nor Floods;  
As oft he manifested, when  
Pursued by Floyd, and his six men.  
Showing a pair of heels so light,  
That some mistook it for plain flight.  
But they are much mista'ne, alas!  
And chief in the Miller's case:  
For though his men and he retired  
With speed, after the Mill was fired;  
Yet none must think the Count would run  
From one old Miller and his Son.  
Attribute then the haste was made  
Only to fear of Ambuscade.   

But death, although he ran so fast,  
Has got the heels of him at last.  
For which, the tears are numberless  
That have been shed, as you may guests.  
But to his friends one comfort's left,  
Although he be of life bereft,  
He shan't partake the common fate;  
For neither Redmon's limbs nor pate  

Shall under sordid rubbish lie  
Forgot, but shall be placed on high,  
Monuments of his Chivalry.   

Where, if his shining Beard, and Hair,  
Should like some new made Star appear,  
(For Stars, in times past, Heroes were)    

To all that dare his Rivals be,  
They will portend black destiny.   
3 December 1601