THOMAS LORD BUTLER Earl of Ossory Baron of Moorparke General of his Ma 'tis. Subjects of Great Britain in the service of his Highness the Princeof ORANGE & the STASS of the United Provinces Lieut. General of his Ma 'tis. forces inthe Kingdom of Ireland Lord Chamberlain to the QUEEN one of the Lords of his Ma te. most Hon bll. Privy Council in the Kingdoms of England, & Ireland one of the Lords of his Ma 'tis. Bedchamber, and Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter. An Heroic POEM ON The Right Honourable, THOMAS EARL OF OSSORY. LONDON: Printed for William Cadman, at the Pope's Head in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. MDCLXXXI. To His GRACE, The DUKE of ORMOND. My LORD, I Ought to implore Pardon for daring to throw myself at Your GRACES Feet, did not the Occasion warrant the Ambition, and the Glory of the Subject consecreate the Poem I present You. Thus whilst I have endeavoured to pourtraict the Illustrious Earl of OSSORY, how faintly soever I have performed it, yet I have this Security on my side, that this Worthless Mirror will receive that Lustre from the Bright Image that fills it, that methinks with that Name for my Authority, I make my Address to the Great Duke of ORMOND, as the Ancient Romans made their Entrance to the Temple of Honour, which was through that of Virtue. But in the Commemoration of his transcendent Perfections, I am got so far into so ample a Field, that 'tis impossible for me to take a Prospect of his splendid Gallantries, without surveying their sacred Source, Your GRACES Elder Glories. 'Twas in our late Civil Wars, an Age which I may call the Libertines Carnival; when Treason and Rebellion played the Frantic Revelers: 'twas then the famous Duke of ORMOND laid his first Foundation for Immortality, resolved to drain at once his Veins and Fortunes, in a Cause Divinely Glorious. But in vain your GRACES infinite exhausted Treasures; with your own personal Command in Arms, bend their whole force to oppose that Torrent, which Providence had ordained should meet to stop. Heaven had decreed the State-Hydra should be Invincible, and even an Herculean Labour ineffectual. 'Twas then, 'twas then, that England's Royal Martyr fell, and by a Struck so universally deplored, that all the Business of such surviving Loyalty as the Duke of ORMOND's, was either to Revenge his Murdered Master, or set in Blood, and make a Ruby in his Crown of Martyrdom. But as the first was predestined to be Impossible, so Heaven would not permit the last, but gave Your GRACE this Recompense for all your Indefatigable Endeavours in the Loyal Cause, that you survived to see the Restoration of our blessed Sovereign; and by a Turn so Miraculous, that what was an Age in destroying, was recovered in a Day; whilst Heaven appeased our troubled World with as much Ease as it spoke the Creating Word that formed it: And Rebellion that had so long misled our Sun, like Phaeton, was by the Thunderer dashed from its Seat, whilst our Returning CHARLES stepped in, and in a Moment reassumed his Light and Throne. This happy day Your GRACE justly lived to see, and acted so great a Part in the Universal Triumph, that after Your Honourable Exile, and the long Sequestration of so prodigious an Estate, You attended his Majesty's Coronation with Your Shattered Fortunes, like ragged Ensigns, at once both Ruinous and Glorious too. Nor must Your GRACE'S unwearied Services to Your King and Country finish here: for after the unexampled Honour of four several Commissions for the Government of the hard-neckt Stubborn Ireland, Your GRACE has rendered Yourself rather the Founder than the Viceroy of a Kingdom, whilst by Your unfathomed Depths, and incomparable Conduct, You have made that a Jewel in a Crown, which was formerly a Rent-Charge to the English Diadem; and disclosed the profitable Royal Mine without the least Murmur of the People, or even the shadow of an Oppression; whilst holding out Your Powerful Sceptre in this bold Enterprise, like the old Mosaic Rod, You have stemmed all Oppositions, and past through that Great but hazardous Office on safe and solid Ground, where all Your intervening Competitors have been overwhelmed or lost. Thus whilst my elevated Thoughts have often raised me to the Contemplation of the Glorious Duke of ORMOND, and the no less Glorious Earl of OSSORY, two such Worthies in one Age, and in one Family, I cannot but think their Noble and Heroic Minds could not have a less Original than the Transmigrated Spirits of a Philip and an Alexander: That restless and daring Courage shone in the Son, and that solid Prudence and Judgement in the Father; that one had a Soul fit to Conquer a World, and the other to Govern it. But now, my Lord, with how great and how just an Adoration soever I have offered this pious Duty to the Immortal Memory of the Valiant and Loyal OSSORY, never was so unhappy an Altar raised, or so unwilling an Oblation paid. For had the united tenderest Wishes of all Mankind prevailed, England had still enjoyed her Champion, and ORMOND his OSSORY. This Pious Theme should then have been the work of later Historians, and enriched the Chronicles of Remoter Ages. Then how numerous had his great Achievements been, and how much more Voluminous had his Recorded Glories swelled, had Providence thought fit to have lengthened out his Life to the Performance of those Wonders which the World so justly expected from so promising a Greatness. But now, alas, considering his Early Setting, his too untimely Fate, he that writes his shining Character, as dazzling as it is, yet comes so short of what Nature, by his daily rising Growth, designed it; that we register his Memorials but as the Famous Sibyl published her Prophecies; when of her Nine sacred Folio's she left but Three. Her malicious hand that committed the other Six to the Fire, was less spiteful to the World than that Fatal Destiny that brought an OSSORY to his Grave. His Race of Honour was so shortened, that his Miracles come forth no less curtalized than her Oracles. And now, my Lord, if so weak a Pen as mine, has so unworthily presumed on so sublime a Treatise, I beg Your Grace would be pleased to impute it to an Impulse that was wholly Irresistible. His Matchless Virtues were such, that, in spite of Nature itself, have made an Enthusiast. And if the Inspiration is too humble for the Divinity it celebrates, let my Zeal expiate for my Boldness; and my Veneration for that Great Man, make some part of an Atonement for, My Lord, Your GRACES Most Obedient, and most humbly Devoted servant, ELKANAH SETTLE. AN HEROIC POEM ON The Right Honourable, THOMAS Earl of OSSORY. TO Worthies Dead, we Shrines & Altars give; The Temple is but building, whilst they live. True Greatness is a Pile does daily rise, Till its last Pinnacle has kissed the Skies: Then, fixed as Fate, th'unshaken Columns hold, The Fabric strongest when the Cement's cold. Here, sacred Shade, our just Devotion flies: The Saint commences, when the Hero dies. Whilst th'Incense of our Vows thus late aspires, Perfumed and Lighted at thy Funeral Fires. But would we pay thee aught that's worthy Thee, Thy own Memorials must th'Oblation be. The Persians thus did their Sun's Altar store With Loads of precious Fragrant Gums, no more Than what his Beams had made so Sweet before. But are these Pious Rites our only due? No; with our Prayers w'have Execrations too, Against that Fate which has our Hopes undone, Making us Wretched, and Thee Blest too soon. Oh drive that dismal Scene of Horror hence; 'Twill break all Numbers, and dissolve all Sense. Ye Jocund peaceful Choir, if such you be; For ill should Harmony with Woes agree. Ye powerful Nine, obeyed through the vast ALL, Who both th'Unborn and Dead to Life can call: To Forms you Bodies give; at whose command, Past, Present, and to Come, walk hand in hand; Whilst Time at once to both its Poles you see Standing the Janus to Eternity: Assist us with your Intellectual Light; Present the Living Hero to our sight. Oh, let his old Majestic Form arise, And flash Amazement in bold Gazer's eyes; As if his Hand still the same Trident bore, When CHARLES his Thunder shook the Belgic shore; Whilst OSSORY within his Floating Walls, His valiant Sea-born Sons to Honour calls. Or let him 'gainst th'insulting gallic Foe Through Lanes of Death to * At Mons. Mouths of Cannons go; Then turn their Roaring Throats to their own dooms, Through their own Hearts unload their Sulphurous Wombs. So Jupiter struck a bold Giant dead; Dashed his hurled Mountains back on his own head: Whilst to his Buried Foes at once he gave, In their own Arms, both a Defeat, and Grave. Yet hold my hand! how daring's this Essay! Oh, couldst thou, Fancy, his true Painter play! Be Masterly each Touch; Paint, as he Fights: Bold be thy Strokes; let all his Pictures Lights Be Thunder; Desolation every Shade: Such were the Colours which his Pencil laid; Whilst with his Sword the dazzling Piece he drew, And then at CHARLES his feet the Lanscape threw: At CHARLES his feet; CHARLES' was his Polar Star; All his Ambition's Circle centred there. His Loyalty and Courage were so paired, As if one Motion and one Life they shared. His Glory, and his Prince's Interest Inseparably at once so filled his breast, That when his Soul, big with a Thought Divine, Quickened and swelled with some sublime Design; Whilst in his Brain the Mighty Embryo lay, And called the God of Fire to make it way; Before the Great Minerva could come forth, The half-born Form teemed with a second Birth; Felt through the Mass a Generating Flame, And strait impregnated with CHARLES his Fame, From its great Parent sprung, like Light from Fire; At the same moment born the Offspring & the Sire. So joined their Source, so undistinguished lay, Not th' Attributes of Heaven more linked than they: As indivisible to Thought or Sense, As Infinite is from Omnipotence. Nay, and to make the Royal Union knit, If possible, more Close, more Sacred yet, His Loyalties Foundation stronger laid; The Worship of his God the Cement made; With his King's Cause, to his Religion vowed, Joined in his Prayers, he at his Altars bowed. So ardent did his winged Devotion come, Not Hannibal a more sworn Foe to Rome. Here could some Bolder labouring Muse stand forth, Big with all Pluto's Secrets at one Birth, Down to th' Abyss of Envy's Mansion go, And with her heaven-born Sisters dive so low; Join all your keen iambics, mix your Gall, And in Poëtick Rage, turn Furies all: Then paint some Cursed Obdurate Infidel, That venom-mouthed, and snarling Dog of Hell: Paint his polluted Hands of that black Taint, So Pitchy, as would even defile a Saint: In his own Sables be the Fiend arrayed, In Wilful Ignorances' massy Shade, Gross as God's Plague to Pharaoh's hardened Spite, More solid Darkness than Egyptian Night. Then let us the Conspiring Monster view, In Consult with his own Infernal Crew, In his Infatuated Blindness frame A Stain to OSSORY's Immortal Name. Here Heaven, as he would Thine, his Quarrel take, And let his Wrongs thy justest Vengeance wake. Oh, let not Profanation swell too much, So near an Image of thyself to touch: To charge the Abject Hypocrite, so foul And mean a Thought, to so sublime a Soul: A Soul that would the least Contagion fly: So pure a Crystal holds no Poisonous Dye. Oh, that an Unbelief or Doubt should rise, Where so much Honour shined, t'uncloud their Eyes! But why so vain a Wish in his Defence, As from Brutality, Belief or Sense; T'apostate Frenzy so entirely given, They'd want 'em even to Miracles from Heaven. Alas, how stingless does their Malice fall! Thy Truth to CHARLES and HEAVEN surmounts it all: And to a Hand so tried, and Truth so known, So Popular no Virtue ever shone. Thy King, his Royal Standard born by Thee, Could not want Swords, nor they want Victory. Thy Name would rouz all Hearts: so strange a Charm Lodged in a Banner waved by OSSORY's Arm; So far his loud-tonged Call of Glory spread, Scarce the last Trumpet's sound more heard, or more obeyed And strengthened with a Power great as his Will, With ease he could Resolve, with ease Fulfil. In Conduct, and in Policies of War, His Judgement shot so quick, and pierced so far; His great Elixirs to Perfection came At the first heat of his Refining Flame. Thus did Apollo's Heavenly Sister shine, At once for Wisdom, and for War, Divine. In th'adored Pallas they comprised his Charms, Assigned one Godhead both to Arts and Arms. Yet did not here his own Illustrious Toils Fill his great Soul; Renown in humbler Spoils Was welcome there, whilst his expanded Breast Had boundless Room for every Warlike Guest. True Valour was his only Favourite; The Gallant, and the Bold, his whole Delight, Flowed to his Arms, like Rivers thro'the world; Whilst, in his Ocean mixed, th' embracing Billows curled. Honour he cherished, but he taught it first; And loved the Nonage of that Worth he nursed. So the fierce Monarch of the Savage kind, His own full Strength for bolder Deaths designed, Hug'd his dear C●ub, when flushed in Blood he lay, Tho'his young Paws grasped but a Bleating Prey. Nor did they only share his Smiles in War; For still the Brave were his Eternal Care. He was their General, and Patron too; No Father half so kind, no Friend so true. When in the Field his Martial Eagles flew, Under their Wings to Conquest lead 'em on; And lent 'em Refuge underneath his own: Protecting still that Worth he did admire; In Peace their SHIELD, in War their Leading FIRE. Even thus of old did the Celestial Hand Guide his loved Israel to the Promised Land: One while, in a kind CLOUD'S refreshing Shade, He Health and Shelter, even in Deserts, made. Another, did his brighter Beams display, In his own Native, and more Heavenly Ray, Above 'em like a FIERY PILLAR rod, Their Light, or Umbrage; and in both a GOD. Yet were his shining Trophies infinite, His Orb a Galaxy, and much more Bright, Not their whole Blaze one spark of Pride could light. Glory his Breast did Fill, but never Swell; Never such height was so accessible. No Greatness so familiar; and so free No Temple to the humblest Votary: Worth never spoke, nor Justice sued in vain. So have I fancied on Pharsalia's Plain A Tattered Roman in his Rusty Steel, With a rough bow, untaught to Fawn or Kneel, T' his Royal Leaders Ear, for Justice, fly; And to Great CAESAR, only, Caesar, cry. Here in that bright Triumphant Chariot hurled, Designed to drive around the vanquished World, The Awful Universal Majesty Casts on his Honourable Scars an Eye; Curbs his hot Steeds, and makes a halting Pause, To Judge and Right an honest Soldier's Cause. Nor was the Temper of his Mind alone Healthful and Vigorous in Wars Torrid Zone: In Peace's Cooler Climes he flourished too, Shining, and sweetening every Air he drew. Here, Muse, his Praise like thy Parnassus' frame; On two Twin-Mounts of Greatness build his Fame. His Virtues led a Court, as well as Camp, And taught 'em Honour of the Noblest Stamp. To Promises, he Resolution brought; And never launched a Word beyond a Thought. So Courtly too his Conversation made, That in his Face all Manly Graces played. Tho' Fate and Thunder did his Arm surround, The Fires were Lambent which his Temples crowned: Whilst with those Gentle Courteous Airs he smiled, Calm as Love's Mother, than Her Son more mild; But rougher than the Sea, where she was born, When Plumes and Steel his haughty Brows adorn. If such heaped Virtues to one man were given, Challenge thy own, his Great First Mover, Heaven: Thy own indeed; for every Martial Star, Those Hosts of animating Fires, shine there, With all their whole united Influence, hung O'er his blessed Head; strong was their Force, as strong His Parentage, th' alike Ascendant Powers Of a long Line of far-famed Ancestors; Worthies enroled, such Antiquated Dust, Whose Images, of venerable Rust, Lie stretched on mouldered Monuments, so old, That they are scarce less Dust than what they hold; So eat by Time, till Light's officious Ray Peeps through, and to the Grave lets in the Day. Thus in his Greatness and Allegiance too, His Miracles Hereditary grew: In ORMOND's Heir the last firm Link he bears, Of one unbroken Chain drawn through four hundred years; A Chain which from such Ages held so fast, Must through the whole Platonic Circle last; Till wondering Time to th' Ormond-praise shall tell, That Greatness truly stands, that never fell. These Honours, OSSORY, thy Birth create; But thou'rt a nearer Favourite of Fate. 'Mongst all the Virtues in thy Bosom reign, A Godlike Courage leads th' Angelic Train. And since unactive Loyalty's no more Than a bright Mind, rich Nature's hidden Oar; This Bolder Gamester takes a Nobler way, Sets high for Fame, and brings his Gold in play. Eager he threw, and Young toth' Lists he came; Th' Abetting God of War pushed on the Game: Through his fired Veins made the warm Hero rise, Glow in his Cheeks, and sparkle in his Eyes. War was his early Mistress, his first Aim, Through untrod ways to court uncommon Fame; Whilst with a Strength unequal to his Will, And wanting Years his Wishes to fulfil, Oft would he murmur at the lazy Sun, And bid the tedious Charioteer drive on. Tired with his Youth, in Nature's face he flew, Cursed her slow Architect; and Envious grew At that quick Blood in our First Parent ran, Who, at a Word created, stepped out Man. Young as a Ganymede, he longed to be As near th' Almighty Thunderer as Herald With Transport viewed Jove's Royal Eagle soar, And envied her her Height, her Pride; but more The fatal Bolt her Radiant Talons bore. Alcides' Rage did his young Bosom fill; His Infant-hands wanted his Snakes to kill. With this fresh Bloom his Youthful spirit grew, Early he read Fames written Volumes through. But by the Earlier hand of Fate attaqu'd, Was taught to Suffer, ere h'had power to Act. When England late with her own Blood did flow, And that dire Stroke, th'unutterable Blow, Did the whole British forfeit World enslave, Digging in Royal Veins the English Honours Grave: Th' Usurping Lucifer here snatched the Throne; Cried, Hell's amongst 'em, and all Hell's my own; Whilst Loyal Hearts for Sacrifice decreed, In Hecatombs to the new Moloch bleed. Amongst the Crowds for Linger deaths secured, Is our young Prisoner in the Tower * Imprisoned two years by Cromwell. immured. 'Tis true, no Fact against his Life they bring, Too weak a Pillar yet t'uphold a King. But what occasion for a stronger Proof? He's born of th' Ormond-Race, and that's enough. A Native Loyalty darts from his Eye; And Looks are Gild, when Murdered Monarches die. Besides, the Hellborn Locust, not alone Contented to pollute the Kingly Throne, His sacred Purple stain, his Land devour; But to root up all Seeds of Royal Power; Resolved he'd that Eternal Winter bring, Should blast all Thoughts of SECOND CHARLES' his Spring; Would his last Hopes of Loyal Labourers spoil, And leave no Hands to Cultivate the Soyl. Thus our young Braves t' a timely Dungeon sent, Chained, but not tamed; and crushed, but yet unbent: So Terrible his unarmed Hand appeared, In th'unstruck Flint the hidden Fires he feared. So dreadful to th'old Fiend was the First Man; (His Virtues fatal t'his Infernal Reign, Such Threatening Beams did his young Dawn dispense) Was Formidable even in Innocence. If such thy Morning was, what was thy Noon! Alas, my dazzled Eyes answer too soon. 'Tis true, with our Erected Eyes we may To thy full Orb our Adoration pay; But humbler Minds Heroic Souls survey, As Men view Stars; at whose prodigious Height We see a Point, but not a Globe of Light. Great Lustre either distant shines, or when By Mortal View approached, 'tis nearer seen; 'Tis like th'old Sire that walked with God, whose Face Too bright, came veiled, to talk to humane Race. If then the Region of thy Soul's too high, To which the Fluttering Muses cannot fly; Not their winged Pegasus th' Attempt dares breath, But shrinks at the Ascent, and lags beneath: Thy Deeds then be the safer Theme we'll sing; He that would Paint the Sun, must draw the Spring. A Land there is, on Bold Foundations laid, Foundations that durst Nature's self invade; A Land, by heavens Creation never made: A Land, where Keels once cut their Liquid way; Where in the Surge the stretched Leviathan lay, Whilst all the Slimy Race did wondering round him play. A Nation, who to that strange Greatness come, Outdid th' Asylum of old Rising Rome. They robbed all Corners of the Earth, to be A People; for their Land, they robbed the Sea: First elbowed Neptune out, to build a Seat; And then they justled Monarches, to be Great. This Stubborn Race could face the Ocean's Lord, GREAT BRITAIN'S KING, and face him unadored: Disdained their Duteous Homage to allow; Too Stiff to Kneel, or else too Tall to Bow. Pampered to Pride, t'a Lust of Power high-fed; By Envy's Eldest Birth, Ambition, led, They durst dispute the Empire of the Main, Spurred with a hope more rash than Xerxes' Chain. Here our Great OSSORY's first Toils begun; 'twas CHARLES his Ocean saw his Rising Sun. His Country's Quarrel does his Hand embrace, Sent out to Lash this Bold Amphibious Race. A posting Mercury more swift ne'er rod To bear the Mandates of an Angry God, Wings on his Feet, and Duty in his Eyes, Than OSSORY with CHARLES his Vengeance flies. Not CAESAR's proud Armado could engage The valiant Anthony with deadlier Rage, Whilst the Egyptian Warrior by his side Saw Cleopatra's Glittering Galley ride; Filled with a Beauty that even Death could warm; A Mistress sight t' a Fight Lovers Arm; Both by her Wishes and her Eyes inspired, Wing'd as she Breathed, and as she Looked, she fired. Ambition never joined two Foes more fierce, Engaged for the disputed Universe; Whilst Caesar's WORLD as little could afford, As CHARLES his SEAS, Room for a Rival-Lord. On such a Theme our English Champion draws A Sword that's no less Glorious than his Cause: Here his long Banks his pouring Torrent breaks, And an unbounded loose to Ruin takes; Whilst Tempest-like it Gathers as it rolls: (The natural Start of all Impetuous Souls.) So roared his Cannons through the trembling Flood, Th'admiring Gods for his Spectators stood; Sallied from all the utmost Ports of Heaven To the Mid-Air, to see the Onset given. So loud, so dismal was the Voice of War, That at the Scene, the Bashful Thunderer With awful silence was astonished grown, Listening to Sounds more Dreadful than his own: Saw Bolts of Fire in Hissing Billows drowned, And heard the Shores with greater Shocks rebound Than when the Sweeting Cyclops burning Toil Makes his own Firmamental Waters boil. So did our OSSORY's keen Lightning play, Gild the Streams, and Burnishing the Sea; Whilst the enlightened Waves, at every Flash, Drank up more Fires, than when their watery Face, Nature's great Mirror, Elemental Glass, Drinks up the Stars; when in the sparkling Main The Pilot views a second CHARLES HIS WAIN; Reflected heavens inverted Concave lie, With twinkling Lights danced in a Waving Sky. Thus fought our OSSORY: And thus inspired, His heartened Soldiers, with a Zeal untired, Pushed their whole Strength to th'utmost Tug of War; Nor thought they could have trod on Graves too far, Such vigorous Health their cheerful Spirits wear: No unrewarded Valour murmured there. He only exercised those Nerves he fed, His Bounty fattening what his Courage led. Thus moved they in the Circle of his Charms; His Influence sat above, to guide their Arms. Soul of their World, did his great Genius flow. So the high Spheres their vast tuned Measures go; Whilst Seasons, Days, & Years, dance after 'em below. He was an Admiral, deserved to grace A Constellation, more than that Greek Race, Whose Honour in the ravished Golden Prize Bore the Rich Argonaut above the Skies. Where in Eternal Calms each Spangled Streamer shines, Whilst everlasting Lights adorn Immortal Pines. But now on Shore let's view his next Command, His Watery Chariot left, to drive at Land: Th'unharnessed Tritons to their Rest restored, Whilst his Yoked Lions wait their mounting Lord. Here, OSSORY, let MONS thy Deeds proclaim, And sing an English General's deathless Fame: Flanders last Battle fought, and won by Thee; A Battle 'gainst a Glorious Enemy; Flushed with Success, and long with Laurels Crowned: Perhaps before untaught to quit his ground. A Foe, who with his Arts of War prepared, Batteries and Trenches, and all Nature's Guard, Encamped with all th' Advantage of the Field, Did only to Victorious Courage yield. Raising that Siege, thou didst such Wonders do, Raise th' universal Siege of Flanders too. For to that one determinating Blow, The Northern Peace does her Foundations owe. Thus that great Work, for which, so long desired, Contending Kingdoms had in vain conspired, United fought, united toiled, and tired; Fate did alone for thy bold Arm decree, As being the only Labour fit for Thee. How far proud France's Fury, uncontrolled, Unbounded, like a Fiery Deluge roul'd; Till OSSORY did that Great Day appear, And bid the Conflagration finish there. So when Omnipotence the Globe had framed, Had spoke out Light, and warring Elements tamed; When nought but his great Word in Bounds could keep The Lawless Torrents of the Mighty Deep, He bid the Foaming OCEAN know the Shore; Thus far its Rages Limits, and no more. A scarce less Work for thy Illustrious Hand Had the Decision of one Day ordained: Flanders her Peace did to Thy Sword assign, Whilst the Libration of a World was Thine. The Belgic Lion from his Toil set free, And the long Plagues of War dispelled by Thee, Thy Bounteous Influence like o'rflowing Nile, Cleared the Sick Air, and fattened all the Soyl. Thus the old Gods from Ida's top beheld The Phrygian Plains with Greeks and Trojans filled; Saw Death and wild Destruction stalk around, And Massacre with Blazing Chaplets Crowned, Till the warm Cause some Heavenly mind inspired, From a Spectator to a Champion fired. And when on Heaps the dismal Ruins lay, Steps a descending God, and parts the Fray. Here let the Labours of our Hero cease, Encircled in his own Creation, Peace. The greatest Warriors have in Ease most share, And always act the shortest part in War: To Victory they cut too near a way, Too firm a Ground for lasting Triumphs lay, And the whole work of Years ends in a Day. Rare are the Toils of all Stupendious Power, Great Michael fought but once, and Jove no more. But stay, these humble Praises are too small; To say he Led, Fought, Vanquished, Triumphed, all. 'Tis not enough, unless all Tongues record His Principles more Glorious than his Sword. The Pen of Steel alone it must not be That to famed Chiefs writes Immortality. Men the True Hero like the Martyr paint: 'Tis the Great Cause that consecrates the Saint. When his Heroic Virtues spread so far, The universal darling Son of War, That Rival-States for his Alliance sued; His Hand and Sword by courting Nations wooed: First the great France his assailed Passions tried, Brought her gay Cause in all her tempting Pride; The Richest, Haughtiest, most Majestic Bride * Being courted by the French King to his Service, when Ambassador into France, with the proffer of 10000 Pistols per annum, and 20000 for his Equipage. . Upon her head she wore a Coronet Of Mystic Figure: for the Ground was Jet; A Sable Field with Sanguine Rubies set. Her best-loved Jewel on her Arm was placed; In Modern Mould a Roman Medal cast; A JULIUS CAESAR pictured to the Wast. Amidst her shining Breastplates Radiant Beams, Loaded with Pearl, and Studded o'er with Gems; A curious Eye might at a Glimpse see drawn, In Aery Rays of scattered Silver Dawn, An Inlaid Remnant of a CROSS she bore; But Shaded with the Massier PRIDE she wore. Upon her Shield (for she was Martial dressed) A Painter had in Miniature expressed Her vanquished Slaves, great Leaders once, and most The Lords of Cities, Towns, or Castles, lost: Some by her Shafts, the Lightning of her Eyes, Subdued and Chained, her Lawful Conquests prise; But others her Ignobler Fetters hold, Charmed by her well-tried Magic Philter, GOLD. To all this Pomp a wondrous dower she brought; Sure Baits which an unguarded Heart had caught. But OSSORY unmoved by Form or Show, Wisely surveyed this gaudy Temptress through. Th'Insatiate Thirst of unjust Power, he saw, Her Heart, like a Promethean Vulture, gnaw: A heart more worthy of his Doom than his, His Gild outdone even by her Victories: The illgot Trophies which her Arms acquire More Robb'ry than the stolen Promethean Fire. Here all her Depths he sounds; her Vows but Air, Bloody her Frowns, her Smiles Design and Snare. Of Broken Leagues he heard the murmuring sound, And Sacramental Bonds in Lethe drowned. In vain her Power, Success, or Treasure pleads; In vain her Arts, in vain her Nets she spreads. Flanders presents him with a Choice more fair; There was all Truth, all unstained Honour there. His Eye was strait t'a distressed Beauty led, Fixed like a second Royal Andromede. At Stake her Fortunes and her Glories lay: And all designed for a Devourers Prey. He saw the Monster roll the swelling Tide; Hungry he came, and gaped Destruction wide. Her Dangers made her Lustre brighter shine; Her Sufferings shaped her Lovely and Divine. Here the warm OSSORY could hold no more: Here his Wing'd Steed the fiery Rider bore; Whilst to her Aid our Angry Perseus rod. Revenge is the Espousal of a God. Roused by her Wrongs, a generous Sword he draws, Wedding his unbribed Hand t' a Spotless Cause. Thus doubly armed, to Royal * Disdaining the Advantageous proffers of France, and taking the Confederates side, for the Justice of their Cause; spending in their Service 6000l. of his own in one Campaigne. ORANGE flew, Showering like Jove in Gold, and Thunder too. Done like himself, an Action great and high: 'Twas more to face, than follow Victory. To tug with France, was but to fight more warm. The Noblest Grapling's with a Conquering Arm. Here the calm OSSORY takes a long Rest Of two whole Years in Glories Halcyon Nest. Th' unactive Christendom does not afford A second cause for his Miraculous Sword: Till roused by an Alarm from th' Africa Shore, Tangier and Honour call him out once more. The angry Moor the ROYAL CHARLES invade; Tangier by Christian * The Moors being taught the Art of Storming by Renegadoes. Arts and Arms betrayed. Apostate faithless Christian, by the first Of your own falling Traitors taught, and cursed: Who for his worshipped dearer Idol, Gold, His Paradise, and Sacred Master sold: His entailed Treasons to his Heirs conveyed, The Christian strength like their own God betrayed. Thus comes the skilled Barbarian to the Field, Fight behind an European Shield: An Enemy ne'er Terrible before, For Numbers dreadful, but for Conduct, more. Too soon the Town the pressing Savage feel, The fatal Earnest of his well-taught Steel; Whilst England wakened at their sad Alarms, Calls out the valiant OSSORY to Arms. No less the Loyal OSSORY prepares On his own Neck t'unload his Country's Cares, With twice their Zeal, but not with half their Fears. With Warlike Rage like a new Comet burns: To afric strait his pointed Vengeance turns. Here flying Fame with the glad Tidings posts, Which the shrill Tritons waft to th' Africa Coasts. The Ravished Tangerines' at his adored Dear Name, to Hopes, to Life, to Souls restored, Quit their Despair, and with one Echoing Cry, Their universal Voice was, Victory. Charmed with their Tutelar Saint, Tangier is all But one united Solemn Festival. Whilst jocund Gibraltar does his tuned Praise Above its own Herculean Columns raise. Their Ecstasies to those wild Raptures ran, Filled with the Deeds of this Prodigious Man; As they had foreseen the Miracle again Of the old Prophet on Philistia's Plain: Such certain Conquest from his Name conclude, As if the holding up his Arm subdued. But oh! in vain the Great Commission's given; 'Twas Sealed on Earth before 'twas Signed in Heaven: CHARLES calls him, but GOD sends him forth. Alas! Our Conqueror a new Rubicon must pass, Bound for a further more Triumphant Coast, Designed the Leader of a Brighter Host. 'Twas here th' Impoverished Mourning world he left, Too early of its dearest Pride bereft: Yes, happier Stars, caught up at Nature's Noon; Yond Azure Battlements o'erleapt too soon. The envious Fates snatched our Rich Hopes away, Ere half his Golden World discovered lay. What vast Achievements has one Grave entombed, Designs of Glory yet unwinged, unplumed! So on a Cedar's top, Lord of the Grove, O'er some proud Mountain, brood's the Bird of Jove; Till an unhappy Blast of Lightning shoots, Rends its tall Trunk from off its shattered Roots; And when in Dust the Marty'rd Relics lie, All her whole Nest of unfledged Eaglets die. With such a fall our OSSORY expired, OSSORY as far Lamented as Admired; A Tribute due t' his Consecrated Name; His Exequys as boundless as his Fame. Nor was this Grief alone t' his Friends confined: For he deserved so well from all Mankind, That even his Foes, spite of themselves, are just, And dedicate a Sigh to OSSORY's Dust: Whilst Chronicles must his sad Fate record Pitied by Envy, and by Fear deplored. Only th'unchristian Savages, the wild Barbarian Africks' well-pleased Genius smiled. The Moors so loud an Iô Paean sung, Till to their Mahomet their Echoes rung. Our Christian Heroe's death such Transport darts, Up from his amorous Paradise he starts, Leaving, to gratify his new-charmed Ears, Th'unfinished Pleasure of a Thousand Years. But tho' Tangier has a Defender lost, And spiteful Destiny his Wishes crossed; War, and War's darling-Goddess left him last: As living, he adored her, he embraced Her dying, in his pangs he held her fast. Still at Tangier * All the Deliriums of his Fever were wholly taken up with defending Tangier, and fight the Moors. his waving Ensigns fly; Forts, Bulwarks, Trenches glide before his Eye: And though by Fate itself disarmed, he dies, Even his last Breath his Sooty Foes defies; He still his Visionary Thunder poured, And grasped the very Shadow of a Sword. Not the Pellaean Conqueror's Fever burned So Fierce as his: his Dreams to Battles turned, Sieges and Storms; a Scene of Death so Great, As did his Active, Martial Life repeat. And when his Fight Frenzy roved too far, 'Twas but a Copy of th' old Giants War. In Antic Forms he wild Battalions drew, Raised Hills on Hills, Pelion on Ossa threw. Vast were th' Ideas of his mounting soul; 'Twas Glory all, War all, Ambition whole. And when th' Extravagant Hero soared too high, It was but some Aspiring Thought let fly, That Sallied out to take Eternity. Only his Storms did more Auspicious prove, T' assail the Skies he had all Friends above. Beyond their faint Original he flew, For he scaled Heaven like them, but won it too. Here couldst thou, Muse, to Numbers have confined The strong bold Starts of his great labouring Mind, His strange Convulsions, and Tempestous Flame; Know, 'twas the Earthquakes of his loosning Frame. Fancy he in a Fiery Chariot rod, And shook the Crystalline on which he trod. For his Approach here waiting Angels stay, Ready a Throne, prepared a Diadem lay: But our great Saint comes more prepared than They. Useless a Coronation-Robe was given; Majestic he set out, arrayed for Heaven. Few were the Drops t'anoint his sacred Brow; Fragrant he came, and Radiant as he flew. Quick was the Ceremony, short the State; But Long the Shouts their well-tuned Joys create: Their Glittering Guest in a full Choir they greet, Who brings that Light, which others die to meet. If such Celestial Pomp fills thy new Train, Let not thy Heavenlier Joys, blessed Soul, disdain That meaner Homage which poor Mortals owe, Paid by thy humbler Worshippers below: When Ages shall, in Monumental Brass, Write thy Recorded Praise till Time's last Glass; And with such Zeal preserve thy Hallowed Shrine, Till th'expired World's last Ashes mix with thine: Fame to all Nations shall thy Worth unfold, In heavens Prophetic Eloquence of old: Her wondrous Tongue, for wondrous Truths designed, Speaks in all Languages to all Mankind. Yet stay, Great Saint, loud as thy Deeds ere rung, In whate'er Soil thy planted Laurels sprung, There was a Region where thy Praise ne'er flew, And that forbidden Air thy Fame yet never drew. For from Thee they were banished, from thy Ear; In all their Flights durst never reach that Sphere. Thy Actions kept a Solemn Jubilee, By all men heard, by all men told, but Thee. And yet this Modest Godlike Chief must pay Nature's last Debt and die. Die! did I say? Pardon, bright Heir of everlasting Day. Great Worthies never yet entirely died; Death only does Invert their Pyramid. The Hero's Soul, the Basis of his Fame, That 'bove the Clouds mounts his Immortal Name, He gone, the Stars our happier Rivals claim. And when his vast translated Spirit, alone An Atlas load, builds its Eternal Throne; Does a whole Spacious Constellation fill; Not Heaven itself can hold him all: for still He leaves his Deeds behind him when he Dies: Points down his Pendant Glory from the Skies. Blaze out, blaze out, a Glory so divine, Till all Great Minds by thy Reflection shine; Their Pious Griefs to Emulation turn, Till their warm Pity up to Envy burn. So may this Sun of Honour set in State, Gild the Sable Clouds that Mourn his Fate. May his Example thus such Patriots breed, That shall to all his high Renown succeed; And, as his Courage is too large a Guest To make a Transmigration to one Breast; Like the old Greeks when Alexander died, Share his great Heart, his World of Fame divide. FINIS.