Pindaric Ode ON THE DEATH Of the Right Honourable THOMAS EARL of OSSORY.  
By Thomas Flatman, Esq;  
Amotum ex oculis quaerimus invidi.  Horat. 
LONDON, Printed by J. G. for Benjamin took at the Ship in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1681.   

ON THE DEATH Of the Right Honourable THOMAS EARL of OSSORY. Pindariq' Ode.  

Stanza. I.  
NO more!— Alas that bitter word, No more!  
The Great, the Just, the Generous, the Kind,  
The universal Darling of Mankind,  
The Noble Ossory is now No more!  
The Mighty Man is fallen—  
From Glory's lofty Pinnacle;  
Meanly like one of Us He fell,  
Not in the hot pursuit of Victory,  
As Gallant Men would choose to die;  
But tamely like a poor Plebeian, from his Bed  
To the dark Grave a Captive led;  
Emasculating Sighs and Groans around,  
His Friends in floods of Sorrow drowned;  
His awful Truncheon, and bright Arms laid by,  
He bowed his glorious Head to Destiny.   

II.  
Celestial Powers, how unconcerned you are?  
No black Eclipse, or Blazing-Star  
Presaged the Death of this Illustrious Man,  
No Deluge, no, nor Hurricane;  
In her old wont course Nature went on,  
As if some common thing were done,  
One single Victim to Death's Altar come,  
And not in OSSORY an whole Hecatomb.  
Yet, when the Founder of Old Rome expired,  
When the Pellean Youth resigned his breath,  
And when the great Dictator stooped to Death,  
Nature and all her Faculties retired;  
Amazed she started when amazed she saw  
The breaches of her ancient Fundamental Law  
Which kept the World in awe;  
For men less brave than Him, her very Heart did ache,  
The labouring Earth did quake,  
And Trees their fixed Foundations did forsake;  
Nature in some prodigious way  
Gave notice of their fatal Day.  
Those lesser Griefs with pain she thus expressed,  
This did confound, and overwhelm her Breast.   

III.  
Shrink ye Crowned Heads, that think yourselves secure,  
And from your mouldering Thrones look down,  
Your greatness cannot long endure,  
The King of Terrors claims you for his own;  
You are but Tributaries to his dreadful Crown.  
Renowned, Serene, Imperial, most August,  
Are only high and mighty Epithets for Dust.  
In vain, in vain so high  
Our towering expectations fly,  
While th' Blossoms of our hopes, so fresh, so gay,  
Appear, and promise Fruit, then fade away.  
From valiant OSSORY'S ever Loyal Hands  
What did we not believe?  
We dreamt of yet unconquered Lands  
He to his Prince could give,  
And neighbouring Crowns retrieve;  
Expected that he would in Triumph come  
Laden with Spoils, and Africa Banners home,  
As if an Hero's years  
Were as unbounded as our fond Desires.   

IV.  
Lament, Lament, you that dare Honour love,  
And court her at a Noble rate  
(Your Prowess to approve,)  
That dare religiously upon Her wait,  
And blush not to be Good, when you grow Great,  
Such Mourners suit His Virtue, and His State.  
And you, brave Souls, who for your Country's good  
Did wondrous things in Fields, and Seas of Blood,  
Lament th' undaunted Chief that led you on;  
Whose exemplary Courage could inspire  
The most degenerate Heart, with Martial-English Fire.  
Your bleeding Wounds who shall hereafter dress  
With an indulgent tenderness;  
Touched with a melting Sympathy,  
Who shall your Wants supply?  
Since He, your good Samaritan is gone.  
O Charity! thou richest Boon of Heaven,  
To Man, in pity given!  
(For when well meaning Mortals give,  
The Poor's, and their own Bowels they relieve;)  
Thou mak'st us with alacrity to Die,  
Missed and bewailed like Thee large-hearted OSSORY.   

V.  
Arise ye blest Inhabitants Above,  
From your Immortal Seats Arise,  
And on our Wonder, on our Love  
Gaze with astonished Eyes.  
Arise! Arise! make room,  
Th' exalted shade is come.  
See where He comes! what Princely Port He bears!  
How Godlike He appears!  
His shining Temples round  
With Wreaths of everlasting Laurels bound!  
As from the bloody Field of Mons He came,  
Where He out fought th' Hyperboles of Fame.  
See how the Guardian Angel of our Isle  
Receives the Deified Champion with a Smile!  
Welcome the Guardian Angel says  
Full of Songs of Joy and Praise,  
Welcome Thou art to me,  
And to these Regions of Serenity!  
Welcome the Winged Choir resounds,  
While with loud Euge's all the Sacred Place abounds.   
THOMAS FLATMAN.