AN ELEGY IN Commemoration of the Right Honourable James Earl of Salisbury, Who Departed this Life on the (7th) of this Instant June Anno Domini 1683. Mors Omnibus Communis, etc.  
12. June. 1683  

CAN Sal'sbury be dead? Can Death Surprise  
The Miror of mankind, and from our Eyes;  
The Briny Rivulets not force their way;  
Nor sullen grief her last due Tribute pay;  
At his sad Mournful Hearse whose high deserts,  
Fame's loudest breath to all the world imparts?  
What can the Good, the Great, the Just Expect,  
On Earth, if Mankind should such worth Neglect?  
If black Ingratitude her wings should spread,  
To shade the sacred Relics of the dead  
In dark Oblivion nature's self would groan,  
And make the mighty loss to England known;  
The loss of one in Arts and Arms Renowned,  
With Olive-Branches and with Laurels Crowned.  
Famed as his Aucestors, who braving Fate,  
Durst prop the Nation in its falling State,  
And almost bore a Tottering Empir's Weight.  
For Piety admired; in Councils Grave;  
Courteous at home, and in the Field as Brave;  
Bounteous to all, that did his Bounty Crave.  
Religious Friend, an Enemy to those,  
Who were his Princes and his Country's Foes.  
The Roman Engines by his prudence foiled,  
Back on him sought in vain to have recoiled:  
His Loyal mind unmoved stood like a Rock,  
And unconcerned repelled the raging Shock  
Of Boisterous Billows when they went most high  
Proof armed with Innocence and Constancy;  
He did the worst of dangers still outvie.  
Sure Bucklers those are which can never fail,  
But will against the worst of ills prevail;  
Strong Forts Impregnable that none can scale.  
No force can ravish from a virtuous breast,  
That inward calmness that secures its Rest.  
Let Tides rise high, and Tempests rufle loud,  
Winds fight with Winds, and Cloud, still justle Cloud,  
Till all seem Chaos; yet in this Extreme,  
He's undisturbed that holds Truth's Golden Mean.  
Cecil, that Name long to our Nation known,  
Has proved an Ornament to Grace our Throne;  
Esteemed a Jewel in the British-Crown,  
Polished by Deeds, that purchased high Renown.  
But since the World has lost his better part,  
His great immortal mind which durst assert,  
Unto the last his Kings and Country's Right,  
Since that to Heaven has swiftly taken Flight:  
On Wings of Cherubs, Centred there in bliss,  
Lodged on a Coast full stored with happiness;  
Whence cares, and fears, are banished, Peace and Rest  
Are the attending constant welcome Guest.  
And all is Love, such Love as ne'er can die,  
But lives and lasts to all Eternity.  
Let Virtue Mourn the loss of him below;  
And Charities Dim Eyes with Tears o'erflow.  
Let Mournful Cyprus shade each learned brow,  
Let all true worth with weighty sorrow bow;  
And Sing his Requiems with a doleful sound,  
For all of these Death's Shaft, in him, did wound.    

EPITAPH  

Mourn Reader, for beneath this Marble lies,  
(Till the last Trumpet Summons him to rise)  
Great Sal'sbury: Nay, stay, 'tis but his dust,  
Heaven with the rest would Earth no longer trust.  
His better part's exalted far above,  
The reach of Fate those endless joys to prove,  
For which he laboured in his Pilgrimage,  
Whilst here he trod the World's uncertain Stage;  
Yet Mourn his loss, for though he joys possess,  
We by his death have gained unhappiness.  
Wisdom by him her Orator still speak,  
And would no other for her Champion take,  
Than he whose Virtues kept the world awake.    

LONDON Printed for Langly Curtis. 1683.