In Memory of his Highness GEORGE Duke of ALBEMARLE.  

GReat Soul, whoever writes Thy Loss, should be  
As great in Thoughts, if not in Deeds as Thee,  
To tell Mankind thy true deserts of Praise  
In purer Numbers than the common phrase.  
For how can strained Imagination find  
Words of apt Sense to fit so great a Mind?  
And Verses in low-seated Fancies bred,  
Like Streams, do ne'ro'rtop the Fountain's head.  
The common ways of Praise (ability  
Of heart and body) is too corpse for Thee,  
Since every common Hector of the Rout  
Acquires the Epithets of Strong and Stout;  
Endowments which our Maker did intend  
As Instruments to serve another End  
Then vulgar Praise, To give rough nature's Law,  
And teach assuming minds so stand in awe,  
And stoop to what heavens Majesty hath sent  
For humane preservation (Government.)   

This was Thy Work (great Duke) to save a State  
In Civil Broils, pressed down wit● Rebels weight.  
It's Body by ill humours grown ●o sick,  
It had forgot the name of Politic;  
Destitute both of Rule and Ruler too,  
Divided into Sects, of one mind few:  
And to help on its Ruin nearer hand,  
Each of those Sects sought the Supreme Command.  
Whatever ill Confusion might bring,  
Or horrid War, came sailing with spread wing:  
But being by Thy Watchful Soul descried,  
Received its mortal wound (i'th' train) and died.  
Thy mighty Merit now the World may know,  
If they Peace as a Benefit allow.  
The Roman Senate have decreed to men  
Crowns, for redeeming of one Citizen.  
Preservers of their Country Gods became,  
And got their Adoration by their same:  
But thy Deserts (besides thy Prince's love)  
We doubt not but have their Rewards above;  
And have prepared a Diadem for Thee,  
Who weighed three Kingdoms sunk in Misery.    

London, Printed In the year M DC LXIX.