AN ELEGY ON THE Most Reverend Father in God, HIS GRACE, JOHN, LATE Lord Archbishop of CANTERBURY.  
By N. TATE, Servant to His Majesty.  
LONDON: Printed for B. Aylmer, at the Three Pigeons against the Royal-Exchange in Cornhill; and W. Rogers at the Sun against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet. MDCXCV.   

TO THE READER.  
'tWAS Reverence for so Extraordinary a Subject, not Want of Inclination, that so long withheld me from making This Attempt: And I could willingly have suppressed it, in the Consternation that has since befallen us. But 'tis now Published in Submission to some Persons, whose Respect for the Great Deceased, inclined them to think too favourably of the Performance. However, if the Picture I have drawn of so great a Man be disliked, it may oblige some more Skilful Hand to do Right to His Memory, for whose Character the World has so just a Veneration.  
N. T.   

Licenced, JANUARY 1. 1694/ 5.   

AN ELEGY On His GRACE JOHN, Late Lord Archbishop of CANTERBURY.  

COmplaints, like Ours, in Ramah's Vale were heard,  
When Samuel's Awful Relics were interred.  
Like Him, by Heaven approved, and Earth admired,  
Our Age's greatest Prophet is Expired!   

Just Honours to his Sepulchre we'll pay,  
But some kind Seraph must instruct the way.  
A Garland for his Marble we'll compose  
Of Syrian Lilies, and the Sharon Rose:  
Arabia's Spice in one rich Pile should flame,  
And ahab's Balm, less precious than his Name.   

But when the Treasures of the East are spent  
In pious Offerings at his Monument,  
All Rites performed that to his Urn belong,  
To whom shall Fame entrust the Funeral Song?   

The Grace's Speechless to his Shrine repair,  
Even Art and Wit stand silent Mourners There;  
Yet bolder Zeal will Bands of Duty break,  
And Gratitude be privileged to speak.  
True Passion too can Inspiration bring,  
'Twas Grief first taught the Nightingale to sing  
From His, as from Elijah's powerful Tomb,  
Even my dead Muse shall vital Warmth resume.   

Hark! from on high I hear a Seraph say,  
Hence ye unhallowed, for my Charge make way:   

The Crowd retire— a Matron straight appears,  
Stars on her Head, her Face bedewed with Tears,  
How charming are her Looks—  
Thomas doubly now oppressed with Grief and Years!  
Divine 
* The Church of England.  Eusebia, though in Sables dressed,  
Is still by her Angelic Mien confessed.  
Charmed with her Voice the listening Winds repair,  
While Thus her balmy Sighs perfume the Air.   

Pity me, Heaven, for your All-searching Eye  
Can only to my Grief's deep Centre pry.  
Behold me, once of Mothers the most blessed,  
Of Mourning Mothers now the most distressed!  
Compelled my Temple's Glory to resign,  
My SUN extinguished, who with Rays divine  
Blazed out, and taught my Younger Stars to Shine.  
My Powerful Pan, my Ruling Pastor's dead,  
Whose Pious Care my Flocks and Shepherds fed.  
When mighty Realms enslaved to Error lay,  
And Empires stooped to Mystick Babel's sway,  
Then could I boast, such was my Patriarch's Care,  
To show th' Apostate World an Apostolic Chair.  
To Envy I appeal (for we may trust  
Envy herself with such Religious Dust),  
If ever Guide with more Reluctance took,  
Or managed with such Skill my Ruling Crook.  
A Crook, that once committed to His Hand,  
Wrought Miracles, and bloomed like Aaron's Wand.  
Endued with Power to work my Flocks Increase,  
And charm Contending Shepherds into Peace:  
Not wily Jacob's Mystic Arts of old,  
Prevailed with such Success on Laban's Fold,  
As his unblemished open Life, to gain  
The Separating Stragglers of the Plain.  
Matron's Abroad, for Reformation famed,  
From Superstitious Vanities reclaimed,  
My Temple's Ancient Honour saw Renewed,  
And blessed my Stars, and for my Friendship sued.  
On Me these Blessings my kind Saint conferred;  
Transporting Blessings!— but with him interred.  
With faint Delight shall I my Vintage press,  
Listless the Harvest of his Toils possess,  
Bereaved of Him who did my Comforts bless.  
As Israel's Guide from Pisgah's Mount withdrew,  
The Desert passed, and promised Land in view;  
To such rebated Joys my Tribes are led,  
Canaan in Prospect, but their Leader dead!  
How short-lived was the Transport I possessed,  
For which with Tears I had so oft addressed!  
For This did Saints and Angels long entreat,  
And Caesar court him to my pastoral Seat?  
Approach my Sons, with Me approach his Shrine;  
In One Condoling Dirge your Voices join;  
Your Albion-Rocks with these sad Accents rend,  
We have a Father Lost, Mankind a Friend.   

Thus mourned the Matron, and with Sighs oppressed,  
His Sacred Urn embracing, Wept the Rest.   

With no less Passion Britain's State Complained;  
No less the Loss that Britain's State sustained.   

When threatening Danger did the Realm surprise,  
Not Homer's Nestor could, like Him, Advise.  
His Words, as if Inspired, Impression made,  
Ulysse's Skill, without his Craft, displayed:  
His Counsels ne'er were varnished over with Art:  
With Policy He still did Truth impart;  
Spoke Oracles,— but always spoke his Heart.   

No passive Gorgon did his Reason charm,  
To hang dead Weights on our Restorer's Arm:  
His Measures He from sacred Sanctions drew,  
To Heaven and to his Country's Interest, true.  
Hence, by respect to Him, her Friends were known;  
And she discovered in His Foes her own.   

When first in Learning's Orb His Lustre blazed,  
The World looked up, transported and amazed;  
Nor less surprised, bewail his Beams withdrawn,  
Pensive and hopeless of another Dawn.  
So, pleased and wondering, our great Parent viewed  
The first day's Sun, and with charmed Eyes pursued;  
And when from Sight the setting Lamp withdrew,  
So He out-weeped the Night's distilling Dew;  
In sable Shades, Grief's Vigil kept untired,  
With Looks still Westward fixed, where Day expired.   

The Labyrinths of knowledge He descried,  
With REASON like a Sibyl for his Guide,  
And with Her Oracles divinely blest,  
As happily her Dictates he expressed.   

His powerful Style an artful Nature graced;  
Expressive words and all with Judgement placed;  
Hence they, like chosen well-ranked Troops prevailed,  
And through the Hearer's Ear his Soul assailed.  
His Eloquence was neither course nor vain,  
From Arrogance and Stiffness did refrain,  
Courtly Familiar, and Majestic Plain.  
Extensive Sense He into compass drew,  
Said what was Just, and always something New;  
That did surprisingly our Souls delight,  
As sovereign Beauty conquers at first Sight.   

He, thus completely Armed for Truth's Defence,  
His pious Warfare early did commence.   

Gigantic Atheism first His Vigour tried,  
A daring Foe that Heaven itself defied:  
Even Hell at first this Monster's Brood disclaimed,  
Nor one fallen Angel knew for Atheism damned,  
But Earth, more impious than the Realms of Night,  
Sent Hell a Race of Fiends that did her Furies fright.  
Ah stupid Crew! who Reason would employ  
Eternal Reason's Essence to destroy!  
The Fable's now to impious practice grown,  
These Sons of Earth would heavens true Jove dethrone.   

Rome's Dragon next our Champion did engage,  
The same that dared of old th' Archangels Rage,  
And flushed once more with Arbitrary Power,  
Waited Eusebia's Offspring to devour:  
But, when his Torrent-Pride did highest swell,  
Confronted by this second Michael, fell.  
And when at last he saw (as 'twas but just,  
The Champion with his rescued Charge to Trust)  
Eusebia's Altars made His Guardian-care,  
With Jaws expanded, through the blasted Air,  
Belched Curses, the last Refuge of Despair.   

These Monsters quelled, no Sphinx or Hydra rose,  
But whom He did with like Success oppose.   

Then, as first Heroes doubly gain Applause,  
By Conquests, and prescribing righteous Laws;  
Thus did our Pious Guide just Precepts give,  
Both how to Think aright, and how to Live.  
The Cheats of Siren Vice exposed to view,  
And Virtue in her native Beauty drew:  
Of her bright Paths a Prospect did display,  
Where smiling Peace and harmless Pleasures lay;  
Did straying Souls to her Enclosure bring,  
With charming Accents, such as Halcyons sing,  
Or Evening Zephyrs when they woe the Spring.  
Heaven He described as 'twere His native Home,  
And He an Envoy from those Regions come.   

But virtue's Image and the Graces, best  
In his bright Mind and Practice were expressed.   

Divinely Humble in Preferment's Height;  
Nor then disdained on needy Worth to wait:  
High Station only did his Beams extend,  
But none in his Advancement lost a Friend.   

By judgement's Compass every Course he Steered,  
And watched the Signals e'er the Storm appeared:  
His Prudence o'er the Syrges did prevail,  
With Ballast still proportioned to his Sail.  
Precipitately ne'er assumed a Trust,  
To Promise Slow, but in Performance, Just.   

Of Temper calm, and Sanatively cool,  
As Jordan's Current, or Bethesda's Pool:  
By Grace Instructed, and by Nature mild,  
Nor relished Life but when he Reconciled:  
His Carriage, Words and Works, breathed Gospel All;  
His very Look was Evangelicall.  
His Life and Aspect did just Patterns give  
What Figures Angels make, and how they Live.   

Th' Appearance of his Person brought a Charm  
That could at Sight contentious Rage disarm.  
So Boisterous Winds that furiously contend,  
And Sea and Air in wild Disorder blend,  
At Neptune's Presence, o'er the Waves Displayed,  
Sculk to their Caverns, and the Storm is Laid.   

To Souls oppressed with Sickness or with Grief,  
His Visits, like an Angels, brought Relief:  
When wronged, repeated Pardons did extend;  
To Suffer Resolute, timorous to Offend.   

His wondrous Charity no Limits knew,  
But, like heavens Manna, in the gathering, Grew.  
His Bounty ne'er by Limbeck-drops distilled,  
But in large Showers the thirsty Valleys filled.  
In Giving, some express such grutching Grief,  
That Want itself repines at the Relief;  
But he so Cheerfully did still impart,  
That with his Alms he seemed to give his Heart.   

But Day, my Muse, will from our Sphere retreat,  
E'er we his Virtue's Garland can complete;  
Nor all thy fairer Sisters that frequent  
Pirene's Banks, on that one Labour bend,  
Tho' Fancy's Treasure should be drained, can raise  
The full proportioned Tribute of his Praise.   

Sons of Mortality, Learned, Pious, Wise;  
Who boast no less than Kindred with the Skies;  
See where Entombed your great Example lies!   

Well! since his Spirit its native Skies regains,  
We'll celebrate at least its dear Remains;  
From Fate itself we'll force the sad Relief,  
The mournful Comfort to indulge our Grief.  
Permit ye Stars, who now his Presence boast,  
Earth's wretched Sons, to tell what they have lost!  
But he who justly will perform this Part,  
Must Truth consult, no studied Rules of Art;  
Invoke no Helicon but Jordan's Spring,  
And for his Epicede an Anthem bring.   

Much less can our unconsecrated Verse,  
His deathless Apotheosis rehearse.   

'Tis in a Sublunary Muse's Power,  
To furnish Trophies for a Conqueror;  
Home to his Palace from the vanquished Plain,  
Expanded Fancy may the Pomp maintain;  
But oh! when Virtue's Triumph we would paint,  
The Progress sing of some departing Saint,  
When some Elijah must to Heaven be caught,  
From Heaven the flaming Chariot must be brought:  
In such a Flight our Pegasus will Fire,  
To mount that Wain aloft there must conspire  
The Whirlwinds rapid Wings, and Steeds of Fire.   

The Tishbite's fiercer Spirit, when ravished hence,  
(Whose Ministry in Terrors did commence)  
With such tempestuous Rapture might dispense;  
But Transport, like our Prophet's Soul, Serene,  
Graced his pacific Life's concluding Scene;  
From Earth translated, gently, to the Skies,  
As Angels that on Flames of Incense rise.   

From high, where grateful Throngs about him press  
Of Souls by him directed up to Bliss;  
His Spired looks down, and sees the pastoral Chair  
Supplied, and made his mild Successor's Care:  
(For Heaven their Minds Resemblance formed Complete,  
Like the Twin-Cherubs of the Mercy-Seat.)  
Our Altars made so kind a Guardian's Charge,  
Does, even in Paradise, his Joys enlarge;  
Pleased that Eusebia does once more rejoice,  
Once more applaud her pious Monarch's Choice.   
FINIS.