MEMENTO MORI  
ON THE DEATH OF THE Truly Valiant, and Loyal GEORGE, Duke of Albemarle, Late General of his Majesty's Forces, AND Knight of the Honourable Order of the Garter.  
A Pindariqu' Ode.  
By THOMAS FLATMAN.  — Extinctus amabitur Idem. 
LONDON, Printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun, near the West-End of St. Paul's, 1670.    

ON THE DEATH OF The Truly Valiant, and Loyal GEORGE, Duke of Albemarle.  
A Pindariqu' Ode.  

Stanza I.  
NOw blush thyself into Confusion,  
Ridiculous Mortality!  
With Indignation to be trampled on  
By them that court Eternity;  
Whose generous deeds, and prosperous state  
Seem poorly set within the reach of Fate:  
Whose every Trophy, and each Laurel Wreath  
Depends upon a little breath:  
Confined within the narrow bounds of Time  
And of incertain Age,  
With doubtful hazards they engage,  
Thrown down, while Victory bids them higher climb,  
Their Glories are eclipsed by Death;  
Hard circumstances of Illustrious Men,  
Whom Nature (like the Scythian Prince) detains  
Within the Body's Chains,  
Nature that rigorous Tamburlaine.  
Stout Bajazet disdained the barbarous Rage  
Of that insulting Conqueror;  
Bravely himself usurped his own expiring Power,  
By dashing out his Brains against his Iron Cage.   

II.  
But 'tis indecent to complain,  
And wretched Mortals curse their Stars in vain;  
In vain they waste their tears for them that die?  
Themselves involved in the same destiny.  
No more with sorrow let it then be said,  
The Glorious Albemarle is dead:  
Let what is said of him Triumphant be;  
Words as gay as is his Fame,  
And as manly as his Name,  
An Epinition not Elegy.  
Yet why shouldst thou (ambitious Muse) believe  
Thy gloomy Verse can any splendours give,  
Or make him one small moment longer live?  
Nothing but what is vulgar thou canst say,  
And misbecoming numbers sing:  
What tribute to his Memory canst thou pay,  
Whose Virtue saved three Realms, and could oblige a King   

III.  
Many a year distressed, Albion lay,  
By her unnatural offspring torn,  
Once the world's terror, than its scorn,  
At home a Prison, and abroad a Prey:  
Her valiant Youth, her valiant Youth did kill,  
And mutual Blood did spill:  
Usurpers then, and many a Mushroom Peer  
Within her Palaces did domineer;  
There did the bloody Vultur build his nest,  
There the Owls and Satyrs rest,  
By Zim, and Ohim all possessed:  
Till (England's Angel-Guardian) thou  
With pity, and with anger moved  
For Albion thy belov'd,  
(Olive-chaplets on thy brow  
With bloodless hands held'st up her drooping head,  
And with thy Trumpets called'st her from the dead.  
Bright Phospher to the rising Sun!  
That Royal Lamp by thee did first appear  
Ushered into our happy Hemisphere:  
O may it still shine warm, and clear!  
No cloud, nor night approach It, but a constant Noon!   

FOUR  
Nor here did thy undaunted Valour cease,  
Or wither with unactive peace:  
Scarce were our civil Broils allay d,  
While yet the wound of an intestine War  
Had left a tender Scar;  
When (of our new prosperities afraid)  
Our jealous Neighbours fatal Arms prepare:  
In floating Groves the Enemy drew near,  
Loud did the Belgian Lion roar;  
Upon our Coasts th' Armada did appear,  
And boldly durst attempt our native shore.  
Till His victorious Squadrons checked their pride,  
And did in triumph o'er the Ocean ride.  
Under a gallant Admiral He fought  
YORK whose success a taller muse must sing;  
Who so his Country loved, that he forgot  
He was the Brother of a King.  
Whose daring courage might inspire  
A meaner Soul than His with Martial Fire.  
With Thunder, Lightning, and with Clouds of Smoke  
He did their insolence restrain,  
And gave His dreadful Law to all the Main,  
Whose surly Billows trembled when He spoke,  
And crouched their willing necks under His Yoke.  
This the stupendious Vanquisher has done,  
Whose high prerogative it was alone,  
To raise a ruin'd, and secure an envied Throne.   

V.  
Then angry Heaven began to frown,  
From Heaven a wasting Pestilence came down  
On every side did Lamentations rise,  
Baleful sigh, and heavy groan,  
All was plaint, and all was moan!  
The pious Friend with trembling love,  
Scarce had his latest kindness done  
In sealing up his dead Friends Eyes  
e'er with his own surprising Fate he strove,  
And wanted one to close his own.  
With Iron Sceptre Death bore all the sway  
O'er our Imperial Golgotha.  
Yet he with kind, though undisturbed eyes,  
Durst stay and see those numerous Butcheries.  
He in the Field had seen Death's grisly Face,  
Herd him in Niter talk aloud;  
Beheld his grandeur in a glittering crowd,  
And unamazed seen him in Cannons Gape.  
Ever unterrifyed his Valour stood  
Like some tall Rock amidst a Sea of Blood.  
'Twas Loyalty from Sword and Pest saved Him alive,  
The safest Armour, and the best Preservative.   

VI  
The Flaming City next implored His Aid,  
Successfully it prayed  
His Force against the Fire, whose Arms the Sea obeyed  
Wide did the impetuous Torrent spread  
Then those goodly Fabrics fell;  
Temples themselves promiscuously there  
Dropped down, and in the common Ruin buried were,  
The City turned into one Mongibell.  
That haughty Tyrant shook his curled head,  
His breath with vengeance black, his face with red.  
Then every cheek grew wan and pale,  
Every heart began to fail:  
And had not our Annointed's flame  
(From heaven towards his Subjects sent.)  
Out-blazed the furious Element,  
What could the furious Element tame?  
Nought but thypresence could it spower suppress,  
Whose stronger light put out the less.  
As London's noble structures rise  
Together shall thy memory grow,  
To whom that beauteous Town so much does owe  
For its revived tranquillities:  
London! joint-Favourite with Him thou wert;  
As Both took up a room within our heart,  
So now with thine indulgent Sovereign join,  
Respect His great Friend's Ashes, for he wept o'er thine.   

VII.  
Thus did the Duke conclude His mighty stage,  
Thus did that Atlas of our state  
With His prodigious acts amaze the Age,  
While worlds of wonder on his shoulders sat:  
Full of glories, and of years  
He trod His shining, and immortal way,  
Whilst Albion compassed with new Seas of tears  
Besought His longer stay.  
Saucy that pen that dares describe Thy bliss,  
Or write Thine Apotheosis!  
Whom Heaven, and thy Prince to pleasure strove,  
Entrusted with their Armies, and their Love.  
In other Courts 'tis dangerous to Deserve,  
Thou didst a kind, and grateful Master serve,  
Who (to express his gratitude to Thee)  
Scorned those ill-natured Arts of Policy.  
Happy had Belisarius been,  
(Whose forward fortune was his Sin)  
By many victories undone,  
He had not lived neglected, died obscure,  
If for Thy Prince those Battles he had won,  
Thy Prince, magnificent above his Emperor.   

VIII.  
Among the Gods, those Gods that died like Thee,  
As great as theirs, and full of Majesty  
Thy sacred Dust shall sleep secure,  
Thy Monument as long as theirs endure:  
There, free from envy, Thou with them  
Shalt have Thy share of Diadem.  
Amongst their Badges shall be set  
Thy Garter and Thy Coronet:  
Or (what is statelier) Thou shalt have  
A Mausolaeum in thy Prince's breast,  
There thine embalmed name shall rest;  
That Sanctuary shall thee save  
From the dishonours of the Grave:  
And every wondrous History,  
Read by incredulous Posterity,  
That writes of Him, shall honourably mention Thee  
Who by an humble Loyalty hast shown  
How much sublimer gallantry, and renown  
'Tis to Restore, than to Usurp, a Monarch's Crown,   
FINIS.