Threnodium Apollinare.  
TO THE MEMORY Of the Right Honourable PHILIP LATE Earl of LEICESTER.  
Sapiens dominabitur Astris.  
LONDON: Printed in the Year, MDCXCVIII.   

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE Earl of Leicester.  

GReat Hospitable ROOF, thy Walls so Fair,  
Once WITS whole Pantheon, and their LORD shined there;  
There the glad Muses smiled, and sung, and played;  
There their whole Winter's Suns, and Summer's Shade:  
Thy Glories now to rueful Sable turn,  
No cheerful Lights, but Funeral Tapers burn:  
For, oh, in Dust must now the lost Thalia mourn.   

In common Themes, when the Castalian Choir,  
For some sad Airs, string up their mournful Lyre;  
No more than an Obsequious well-tuned Woe,  
The warbling Murmurs there, all Artful Numbers flow.  
But to their Great MAECENAS, to that Dear,  
Loved, Honoured, Adored HEAD, the Genuine Tear,  
And the unmeasured Grief's all melting Nature here.  
What warmer Sighs the Eloquent Sorrow draws,  
Not where it Pleads, but where it Feels the Cause:  
Go vast the Difference (a Zeal so fired)  
'Twixt Raptures only Studied, and Inspired!   

And when their Plaint the wailing Muses join,  
At Younger Hearses, some Endimion's Shrine;  
As Mourning Sisters there they shed a Tear:  
But oh, they come all Mourning Daughters here.  
A longer Train their heavier Sorrows trail,  
In darker Cypress and the shadier Veil.  
Pity and Love may swell the weeping Eye;  
A deeper Fountain does this Stream supply:  
For here 'tis Honour, Duty, Piety.   

Nay a yet stronger Tie calls the whole Nine,  
To pay no common Tribute to this SHRINE:  
Science and Arts, every Studied Grace,  
Th' Hereditary Pride of that Learned Race,  
LEIC'STER's a Name Renowned to that Degree,  
The Homaging Minerva bends a Knee:  
That Name in Vassalage the Muses leads:  
The SYDNEY'S are Apollinary Heads.   

But is't the Muse alone the Cypress wears,  
Only the Heliconian Fount run Tears?  
His Cavalcade to that poor Pomp confined?  
No; the whole Gown, the Robe, the Bays, all joined,  
Wit, Politics, States, Academies, these,  
His equal Pupils, equal Nurseries;  
Down from the Pilot at the Helm Above,  
Even to the Strephon Songster of the Grove;  
Of solemn Grief a long unbroken Chain,  
Shall nobly fill his Numerous Funeral Train.  
So mourned, the whole Learned World his Rites supplies,  
He cantons Provinces for watery Eyes;  
Whilst their Arrears of Sorrow to defray,  
'Tis Pride to owe, and Gratitude to pay.   

But whilst this Great GAMALIEL sure was born,  
Proud Literatur's whole spacious Reign t' adorn;  
Shall WITS vast Empire, that unbounded Sway,  
The only Tribute to Great LEIC'STER pay?  
The Grateful Pen alone commence his Praise?  
The Pencil too must His famed Trophies raise.  
To LEIC'STER as his equal GLORIES Due,  
The Great Apollo and th' Apelles too,  
Her Lantscape Palaces, towers, Seas and Land,  
The gilded Stream, and all the shaded Strand,  
The Pencils whole CREATION, all her fair  
Poetic Worlds shall pay their Homage there.  
Around him all his Pentionary Band,  
Of Reuben's, Angelo's, and Raphael's stand.  
Entering those Walls, what an all dazzling Scene  
Does our Surveying Wonder entertain?  
At once amazed, and pleased, a Look we cast  
To Glories, back even to whole Ages past.  
Painting, that Monumental History,  
In whose Records, to every Reading Eye,  
Neither the Glorious nor the Beauteous die.  
In that rich Tablet see the Lawrelled Head,  
Even waked from his long sleeping Honours Bed,  
There th' Hero see in all his glittering Arms;—  
Here see some Phoenix Beauty, all her Charms,  
Raised from her Dust in Deathless White and Red!  
Art can give Life! See the Great Living Dead.   

If Heav'n-stoln Fires could animate the Clay;  
What Nobler Theft the daring Pencils play?  
So much the bolder Painter does outfly  
The old Promethean Petty Larceny;  
Not a poor Spark snatched from his Chariot Wheels;  
Not steals from JOVE, but JOVE Himself he steals.  
Him not the Skies Imperial Rover escapes;  
He hunts him through the Gold, Swan, Bull, all Shapes;  
The very GOD exposed in all his Amorous Rapes.  
Nay the still more Audacious Riffler pries  
Into the inmost Chambers of the Skies.  
He steals his very JUNO from his Arms;  
And with a Sacrilege even yet more bold,  
Unveils to Human Eyes the Naked GODDESS Charms,  
And gives the Trojan Boy once more the Ball of Gold.   

Illustrious ART, whom Ministering Nature, all  
Thy Handmaid, waits on thy Commanding Call!  
Like the Great FIAT, thou both Day and Night  
Call'st forth, and deckest in their own Shades and Light.  
Even heavens whole Hierarchy, the LORDS above,  
By Thee their whole Triumphant Chariots move,  
From th' Harnessed Dragon to the Bridled Dove.  
Mercurial Art, who captived Eyes to take,  
Thou dost a Virtue of Delusion make;  
Thou only Honest Cozener, Fair Deceit,  
Who canst even consecrate both Theft and Cheat.  
Thine were the Master-strokes Great LEIC'STER pleased,  
And such the Darling Arts His Favour raised.  
And thus if the Dodona's Grove, of Old,  
From Tongueless Oaks could ORACLES unfold;  
An easier Wonder shall His Fame record,  
Whilst speaking Shadows own their PATRON Lord:  
The fair Augusta's their MAECENAS greet,  
And bend their Towry Foreheads at His Feet.   

These were the Beauties which He loved so dear:  
Nor shall his Pencil-Glory finish here.  
In Death, 'tis true, with a disdainful Hand,  
His poorer Titian Troop He does disband.  
For now a nobler Draught must charm his Sight,  
Prospects of BLISS, all Portraitures more Bright,  
Drawn by th' Immortal LVKE's Diviner Light.  
And though his Menial Muses left behind,  
He's gone, and more Celestial CHOIRS has joined;  
All loftier Subjects, and sublimer Air:  
'tis Thou, URANIA, makest the Music there.   

Such Worthiest LEIC'STER lived, and such He died:  
So Shined his Rising and his Setting Pride.  
But with that Penetrating WISDOM, WIT,  
Depths so profound, a HEAD and SOUL so Great;  
Th' unthinking World may wonder, that Sublime  
And Towering Spirit made no Popular Climb.  
What tho' uncharmed with Public Trust and Power,  
To the gay glittering COURT he made no Tour:  
Nor fond of busy Tumult, Noise and Strife,  
He chose the gentler Harmony of Life?  
His whole Ambition his Own Walls contained;  
And quietly within Himself He reigned:  
Perhaps, with Nobler Pride he did despise  
To Herd in crowded Courts, only to Rise,  
No Higher Pitch, than shine in Galaxies:  
Not made a Part (th' Attendant on a Throne;)  
His Sphere of GLORY filled HIMSELF alone.  
So filled; that what could a Court-Feather add  
To His Rich Plume? Courts but His Levy made.  
Their Great Consulted OEdipus, HE sat  
An ORACLE above the Helm of State:  
Those Pilots taught, where He disdained to steer,  
Whilst Client Statesmen came like travelling Sheba's here.   

What though nor Courts nor Camps his Choice he made;  
But fixed his Bower beneath the Olive Shade?  
In Camps, indeed, does Honour truly shine:  
But, oh! 'tis drawn to a Gold Thread so fine;  
The Warrior toils for Fame with all that Pain,  
'Twixt Fifty Thousand Sharers, each a Grain.  
'Tis true, those Fragment Bays His Brow ne'er wore.  
Such a Divided Portion was too poor:  
Glory, was Leic'sters All; His own before.  
That Native Stock of Fame, so all Entire,  
Wanted no Steel to sparkle out her Fire.   

In that Recess of Life, within his Own  
Domestic Walls He reigned, and reigned Alone.  
His Menial Subjects led by so Divine a Sway;  
As Angels serve in Heaven, 'twas Glory to Obey.  
A Glory too like heavens, no Change it knew;  
An Angel Homage, and their Charter too.  
His Smiles were no blind Lottery of Chance.  
For Favour there was an Inheritance.   

This Life he chose; and ought we judge no less  
The Merit of his Choice, from the Success:  
Such his long Affluence of Happiness;  
And all the ponderous Harvest he had reaped:  
To see the Mass Industrious HONOUR heaped:  
HONOUR that no Columbus Sail ere furled;  
He found His Golden Mines in the Old World.  
Thus to behold the Prosperous LEIC'STER blest,  
And weigh but by what Title He possessed;  
Here let our finished Admiration rest.   

In all her Random Gifts of every Day,  
Fortune does there but the blind Goddess play.  
But when such WORTH does her best Graces share,  
She finds her Eyes to choose the Favourite there.  
That Darling Favourite even raised so High,  
He fixed her very Wheel, and taught her Constancy.  
So did Great LEIC'STER's generous Stars dispense  
His just Inheritance of Providence;  
Blessings that even by Claim he did demand,  
Not from the Giving, but Rewarding Hand.  
Their Fairest and the most Propitious Ray,  
The Grateful POWERS could do no less than pay.  
He Charmed 'em into Smiles.— So Jove of Old,  
First found the BEAUTY, and then show'rd the GOLD.   

But whilst the Blessings poured so high; the more  
The Flowing Tide, and the Increasing Store,  
Riches were there of that Illustrious Rise,  
No Nurse of Pride nor Child of Avarice.  
The fairest Plumes Prosperity could bring  
Gave but his Charity the Lighter Wing.  
Ascending Charity, Thy Head so crowned,  
Of Jacob's Ladder Thine's the Highest Round.  
Bright Charity with thy Mosaic Face,  
heavens and Great LEIC'STERS equal Darling Grace.  
'twas on thy Wings His pious Transports rod:  
The noblest Gratitude t' a smiling GOD.   

Thus whilst Great LEIC'STER, all he had to die,  
In his Paternal Bed of Rest shall lie;  
Marble and Epitaphs, alas, shall raise  
The meanest part of His Recorded Praise.  
His Trump shall sound from the Fed Mouths He filled:  
'tis They the noblest Mausoleum build.  
Relieved Distress, and Succoured Miseries,  
Stand round his Tomb with uplift Hands and Eyes;  
Those Living Monuments His Pile of FAME shall rise.   

Thus whilst the more peculiar Care of Heaven  
To that Loved Head, those lengthened Days had given;  
LEIC'STER's no Start, but Travelled Race; and all  
His long long Life makes but the Rolling Ball;  
Does t' all the full-blown Sweets of Goodness rise,  
And in his Silver-headed GLORY dies:  
Here let pretending YOUTH no longer plume  
In all her Juvenile vain Pride and Bloom.  
'tis true the Springtide Flowers, the Sweet and Gay,  
Are the fair Product of the smiling MAY:  
But for a worthier Growth, and solid Root,  
The Richer Crop is all the AUTUMN Fruit.  
What tho' the Vigorous Health, the Nervier Arm,  
And all the Sprightlier Heat Young Veins may warm?  
In Chiller Blood the warmer VIRTUES glow;  
Whilst Aetna-like, the Fire's beneath the Snow.  
AGE to Fair MINDS adds but th' enlightening Beam:  
The crazier Casket holds the brighter Gem.  
No Birdlime Senses the clogged Wing hold down;  
There the Full Flight of SOULS is all their Own.  
And thus, as the Almighty Founder pleased,  
Our Humane Frames from Moulds of Clay are raised;  
'tis Ripening Time that best refines the MAN:  
There wants the Years to raise the porcelain.  
Tho' th' Honourable Load of Age, despised  
By Giddyheaded Fools be poorly prized:  
As if Declining Years so low were run,  
That even their finished Work of Life were done!  
If possible, the very Nestor's Age,  
When truly scanned, is but Life's Middle Stage.  
The Reverend Seer, with the true Janus Face,  
T' a long past Life behind, not th' Halfway Race,  
To a vain World looks back, only to see  
His longer Way before, ETERNITY.   

And what tho' the rude Aches, Gout, Catarrh,  
In Hoary Heads make their rough Seat of War?  
Perhaps to Age this is a Favour given,  
To whet her for the greater Gust of HEAVEN.  
She from Short Pains does Endless Joys pursue,  
All at the Fairer and more Pleasing View:  
Whilst tired with Life, th' ungrateful Load resigned,  
She leaves a Hated not Loved World behind.   

'tis true, Translated VIRTUE to the Skies,  
By the Rewarding GOD'S may in her Nonage rise;  
Whilst JOVE his Starry Glories does allow,  
To Junior Favourites, the Minor Brow.  
What though a Constellation does adorn  
The Cassiopaea's Chair, and Hyla's Urn?  
Let the Great TREASURY dispense her Gems,  
More or less Bright, from Sparks to Diadems.  
To Youth of Beauty let their Claim be given,  
Their Legacies of Bliss, and Part of Heaven.  
The Elder-Brother's Birthright is His Share;  
Exalted WORTH th' exalted Prize must bear:  
He, like Alcides, brings His Finished Labours there.   

And since the Hour, the fatal Hours assigned,  
(For still the World must lose, that Heaven may find:)  
Say, in what Year shall th' English Annals tell,  
That her dear LEIC'STER, her loved PATRIOT, fell?  
In that blessed Aera, when th' hushed Tempests cease,  
In fair Britannia's Jubilee of PEACE,  
And all her smiling Carnival of Joy,  
It looks as if He made his Choice to Die.  
He lived to see the ALBION Dove bring o'er  
Her blooming Olive to our happy Shore;  
Then lulled in Pleasures, in that Halcyon Nest,  
He laid Him down to Everlasting Rest.   
FINIS.