AN ELEGY ON Captain William Harman, Late Commander of His Majesty's Ship Guernsey. Occasioned by a former Copy of Verses on the same Subject.  

Hast Thou for this, by thy calm valour, taught  
How Young men can fight, and how Old men ought?  
Is this the guerdon of the Stout, and Brave?  
Are these the Flowers strewed on thy Watery Grave?  
Must we confess, to th' honour of Argier,  
Thou thou were't Killed i'th' straits, but thou were't Murdered here?  
Dear Sir, could I as well acquainted be  
With thy blessed Ghost, as once I was with Thee,  
Thou wouldst (what thou didst never yet,) complain,  
That thou were't now by Goose-shot basely slain.  
Thou, who so oft, when Bullet, Ball, and Fire  
Did jointly, to thy ruin, all conspire,  
Stoodst on the Billows, as on Native Ground,  
Fixed like the Poles, when all the World turned round.  
Thy Father's Courage was so tried and known,  
'Twas fit to be bequeathed to Thee alone.  
Valour in Thee would scarce for Virtue go,  
(For Harman's Son must like a Harman do:)  
Had not thy Brain commanded still thy Heart,  
Improving Nature by well-measured Art.   

This the brave Sprag foresaw, when Thee he chose  
To run the Gauntlet, through our then Belgic foes:  
When the disabled Cambridge breathless lay;  
Though (like a Stag imbauched) she stood at Bay,  
Till Thou Her, as Aeneas did his Sire,  
Brought'st nobly off, and spitd'st out all their Fire.  
At Eighteen to so high a pitch to soar,  
Had been a mir'acle, were not Harman More.   

— But did not I a Poetaster blame?  
And am I not myself become the same?  
Pardon, dear Friend, if Sorrow make me mad:  
Men know not what they say, when they are throughly sad.  
Take but a parting Tear— But why on Thee  
Are Drops bestowed, when covered with a Sea?  
Yet Thou were't so beloved, that had the Shore  
Received thy Corpse, thou'had'st been entombed in More.  
For though thy Courage did the Stoutest awe,  
Thy Gen'erous Mildness equally gave law.  
Thy ' obliging temper with its potent charms  
Vi'ed conquests e'en with Thy victorious arms.  
Nor Friend, nor Foe thy ' unbounded power controls;  
Thou thou or'ecom'st Their Forces, and inslav'st Our Souls.   

What Valour, Art, and Prudence could command  
Was still performed by Thy successful hand:  
And when resistless Fate thy Foe appeared,  
Though ne'er so pow'erfull, yet she was not feared.  
Nay though her Pow'er has placed her among the Gods,  
She dar'ed not to attack Thee, but with Odds.   

Methinks I see the Great Leviathan fly  
With winged hunger to devour the fry:  
Sure of her Prey, she sport's upon the Main,  
And hugs the thought of what she ne'er shall gain.  
A greater Rage the Guernsey does inspire,  
She spreads her Sails, and fills them with her Fire:  
Only complains One single Ship to meet;  
She, and her Captain, used to ' engage a Fleet.   

They stand not long at distance to dispute,  
But with warm breath each other's sides falute.  
The insulting Turk with Bulk and Numbers swelled  
The English Valour not by Monsters quelled.  
The Infidel twice seized the Noble Prey:  
Twice from her rave'nous jaws she's snatched away.  
English ne'er lose what they ' are resolved to save:  
Nor can the Bulky over-pow'er the Brave.  
This Harman sees and does; with his bold Hand  
Example gives: with his wise Head, Command.  
'Midst his own wounds he makes the rest secure:  
His Courage keeps them Stout, his Conduct Sure.  
And though the Shot thrice pierce his valiant breast,  
The Soul, he's losing, he imparts to th' rest.  
A Soul so active, and diffus'edly great,  
'Twould serve, alone, to animate a Fleet;  
And 'spight of all Argier, command the Main;  
'Twould quickly ' have brought their Crescent to her wane.   

Nor will we now thy Death Misfortune call:  
He never bravely stands, that fears to fall.  
Shall we bewail that man, who ' has lost his blood  
In his King's Favour, for his country's Good?  
No, 'tis Ourselves that we commiserate,  
Who are deprived by this thy early fate:  
Thy early fate, which did designs defeat  
As great as could be good, as good as great.   

Live then, blessed Friend, thy life's remainder out  
In the hearts of all that Loyal are, or Stout.  
May our great Charles, revenge thy death, and all  
Their Fleet a Victim to ' His just fury fall.  
May Harmans' daily from the Waves arise  
To spread His Conquests through all Seas and Skies:  
Till's Flag command, wherever it does appear:  
But may ' He ne'er buy, e'en Victory, so dear.   
Licenced according to Order.   

London, Printed in the Year, 1678.