AN ELEGY Upon the most eminently Famous, and no less stupendious Pattern of Constant Loyalty. The Right Honourable THOMAS Late Earl of CLEVELAND, Baron of NETTLESTEED, Lord Lieutenant of the County of BEDFORD, Captain of his MAJESTY'S Royal Band of Pensioners, etc.  

WEep, Weep, an Elegy; for cleveland's hearse  
Surmounts the common compliment of verse.  
His Actions speak his worth, His glorious name  
Is all-sufficient to advance his fame.  
Those things called Honour, Greatness, Birth, Estate,  
Which hoodwinked Fortune doth communicate  
Promiscuously to all, were here designed,  
T' enrich the palace of his noble mind.   

A hoary frost had now bedecked his head,  
And Age proclaimed him fit for his bed  
Then toilsome war. When, Lo, a sudden change!  
Rebellious Spirits through the Kingdoms range,  
Preaching down Loyalty under pretence  
Of pious zeal, and just obedience.  
Fawning, false piety must the true destroy,  
As the Palladium once had ruined Troy.  
The Cheat discovered; these fierce Alarms  
Seemed to this Hero like Medea's charms,  
Practised on Aetons' age, which did renew  
Nature's short snuff, and made his Taper new.   

His loyal zeal brooks no delays, nor stands  
On the Punctilio of great Commands  
But readily prepares to live or die  
With Highborn Rupert and his Cavalry.  
Short while he had been there, till Chalke-grove Field,  
(Where many a Trayter to his Fate did yield)  
Gave signal proof of is Conduct, Courage, and  
What e'er might court him, to some choice Command;  
Nor was he long, for the first step he made,  
Was to command the late Lord John's Brigade,  
Which how he managed, Capredy can tell,  
Where many hundreds with their Colours fell.  
Let Abercromy, with his vapouring Rear,  
Boast, if they can, of cleaveland's cornish cheer.   

But Fortune frowning at his gallantry,  
Designed him Prisoner at th' second Newberry,  
Where nevertheless such courage he did show,  
As struck amazement in his flying Foe.  
The Forlorn beat, He pierced the Curiasseers  
Routed some Foot, the Rest were fraught with sears,  
To see their new-got men and canons lost.  
Yet this success was on a sudden crossed,  
For no fresh succours coming to supply  
His scattered Troops, was forced to yield or die.  
To th' Tower he's sent, the walls though ne'er so strong,  
Cannot detain this Generous Spirit long,  
He finds at length, revived hopes may bring  
Honour and safety t' his beloved King,  
Therefore compounds for freedom yet remains  
Fettered in Scrivener's Bonds, the worse of chains,  
These Sampson's cords, he quickly rend in sunder,  
Although their forfeiture spoke in thunder  
To his estate and him. He must to Court  
Where e'er it be, although he perish for't.  
Holland's at home, if that his King be there;  
He questions not the distance, dreads no fear.   

To Court he comes, from thence to Scotland goes  
Along with's Master to suppress his Foes:  
At Loyal Worcester, He once more is taken,  
And sent to th' Tower, which, he had late forsaken,  
Where he continued till the King's return,  
Preserving loyalty to enrich his urn.  
What though the Usurper offers a reward?  
If that his loyalty he would discard,  
Ten thousand men at his command shall be  
Estate and Person both at liberty;  
Nor compliment, nor freedom can prevail  
To weigh his Anchor, ' less the King bids sail.  
Thus did this aged Palm t' Heaven aspire,  
Weighty oppression mounting him still higher.   

Let's then restrain our tears, and rather sing  
Anthems of joy for him, of love to th' King,  
Whom he so truly valued even to death,  
That, Pray for the King shared of his latest breath.  
And now methinks, I really discover  
Our Martyred Sovereign in the Air t' hover,  
Attended on by that true Royal Train,  
Which most unjustly in his wars were slain,  
To guard him nobly to his Civic Port,  
Where none, but loyal Persons dare resort.  
To Heaven, I mean, beyond the highest Sphere,  
Millions of Angels bringing up the rear.    

Epitaph.  

Stop Passenger and take a view  
Of what to loyalty is due,  
Honour, respect, perpetual fame  
Shall still attend this happy Name,  
All which and more it is but just,  
That we ascribe to cleveland's dust,  
Whose uncontrolled Valour, Virtue, Grace,  
Honour, and Loyalty, time shall ne'er deface.   
With Allowance. April 22. 1667.  
Humbly offered to his happy memory, By one of his Late Majesties truly Loyal, and really indigent Commission-Officers.   

London, Printed by S. G. 1667. 50