ON THE DEATH OF THE Lord General MONCK.  

WHo's Body is deceased! Old Albemarl's?  
He whom our grateful gracious Lord King Charles  
Called Father? He that did out-wit the crafty  
Rump-Rulers with their Committee of Safety?  
He that (without jest loss of Blood) did bring  
Our much desired, long banished Lord the King  
Home to his Crowns and Kingdoms? Is He gone  
Why then a Pillar of the State is down.  
Great Britain may put on a Mourning dress  
The Court hath one great Constellation less  
No loyal Englishman that now draws breath  
But hath a fatal interest in his death:  
For the whole Kingdom was concerned in Him;  
The Body Politic hath lost a Limb;  
The Camp doth miss an Arm, the Court an Eye,  
The King an Heart filled full of Loyalty.   

As he had Prudence, Courage, Worth and Wit,  
So he had Fortune, which makes all things hit.  
As He had Resolution to Do,  
So He had judgement to know When and How  
Witness his Iter Boreale when  
He was mysterious to the wisest men  
And did not agitate so much with Swords  
As by a well-ruled Regiment of Words  
Intricate motions which though high and right  
Were swift and subtle as a Swallows flight:  
For though besieged with Questions, Foe, nor Friend  
Could tell to what intent his March did bend.  
In brief, 'twas destined by Divine Decree  
In God's High Court that He and none but He  
Should have the fate (though much before was done)  
To fix the injured Heir safe in his Throne  
Which our abstruse Star-students could not see  
But put a Period to Monarchy:  
And did proclaim their Sense with Tongue and Pen,  
That we should never have a King again:)  
By His example we may all agree,  
That Honesty is the best Policy:  
And that to do things justly, may befriend  
A man in the best way to his own End:  
In this wise Art he was a man complete,  
And by his being Good grew to be Great:  
For we may see by what was lately done,  
His only aim was not Ambition.  
For when He had his Dukedom and Repose  
In the King's Arms, Enfranchised from all foes:  
In his old Age (His Loyalty was such)  
He ventured Life and Honour 'gainst the Dutch:  
No petty Peril, but as fierce a slaughter  
As could be acted by Sword, Fire and Water:  
Where He was liable by one small shot  
To leave at once, even all that he had got.  
This Action made it Evident he stood  
Not for His own End, but His Country's good;  
Which made the King invite him to retreat,  
Never was King and Subject better met,  
Or ever did things with more due regard,  
One to Deserve, and t'other to reward.  
No King such Servant in such great disaster,  
Nor ever Subject had a better Master:  
But Death hath parted them, and We (in gross)  
At once may weep for Him and the King's loss.    


His Epitaph.  
LEt no profane igneble foot tread ne'er  
This hallowed piece of Earth, George Monck lies here;  
A small poor Relict of a noble Spirit,  
Free as the Air, and ample as His Merit:  
Whose least perfection was large, and great  
Enough to make a Common man complete:  
A Soul refined and culled from vulgar men,  
Who brought King Charles to his lost Crown again.  
Who for Religion and His Country's good,  
Valued not Fortunes, Honours, Health or Blood:  
Here, Here He lies who loved unto the end,  
The Church, the King, his Country, and his Friend.   
T. J.   

London, Printed for William Thackeray in Ducklane. 1669.