AN ELEGY On the DEATH of Sir NATHANAEL HERN, K t. An Eminent ALDERMAN of the City of LONDON, who Died on Saturday, the 16th of this instant August, 1679. TRiumph, all you triumph, who never see Without a triumph, falling Gallantry. Behold these Corpse and triumph: Let some go, Through France to Rome, and in their journey show How we do weep, and what doth cause our Woe. Let them report, how we do here Lament At their Success, while yet they're innocent. How Death doth list himself, while they stand by, Viewing him championing for Popery. He doth their Stabs and Poisons supersede; They may confine their Daggers, have no need To sharpen Poisons, to make Patriots bleed: Their work is taken from their hand, and they See England falling, whilst themselves may play: Their Engines are relieved, by him whose Course Steals on, disdaining Vigilance and Force: No Guards surprise his Art, no Courts condemn The Malice that Kills us, and Kills for them. Since Fraud and Violence betrayed and slew Godfrey (that word we may now well endow With Power to speak forth, what is great and true,) Since he was so devoured, by that fell thirst; And so devoured, because he met it first. England, I think, ne'er summoned was to Tears By an Alarm, that so expressly bears All Characters of Grief upon its Air; As this which now breaks in, and strikes our Ear. My Memory doth not rebuke my Tongue, I think, no other can object, 'tis wrong. Oh then! Let none appear in any face, Which would not well become that solemn Place, In which that Body lies, which not long since As urgently did challenge Reverence, As it now calls for Grief: it loud doth call, It is the Relict of that manly Soul, Which Worth filled up, and greatn'd, it broke forth In all his Acts, they Dictates were of Worth: This did inform his Soul, inform his Place, And did adjust him to his Sphere; this Grace Moved in his works, in an Heroic Pace. Like some good Angel, managing his Feet To Paths, where Honour his Approach did greet. He to this Conduct did Obedience pay; Always did ask, always did tread this way: Or rather in this Path his Mansion reared, And being once planted, always here appeared. Did you find him? this way your Eyes you steered. Yet Honour he ne'er wooed, but did espouse Virtue, and Honour waited in itts' House. It saw and praised him, for he never strayed From his chaste Vows; this he loved, this him swayed. Reflect all you, whose Converse made him yours; (I'll not add Fuel to his Kindred's Grief May Heaven unto it, lend its sweet Relief) Collect, pronounce what my Report secures. I'm sure the Store is great from whence you may Call Proofs, t' attest my Truth, his Gallantry. You know his Speech which Privacy concealed: For what was Public, Fame to all revealed. You saw high Excellence itself display, Seeing his Mind, in his words open its way, This decked his Speech with a most constant Ray. You were led to that Closet, where did stand The wonderful Effects of Virtues Hand: You saw, admired what your Eyes did fill, The noble Products of Celestial skill, No darkening Tincture, of aught base or ill. You knew him to condole his Country's woe In his large Prospect viewing Blood to flow Bound for our Coast in a tumultuous Throw. He grieved to see Unfaithfulness in th' Arms Which should defend his Dear Prince from the harms He did incur, when he for us stemmed storms. He saw Darts pointed towards his Back, whilst Zeal For England's good, enjoyed his Face to dwell There where the Breach, was making on our Weal He startled at this sight, made Heaven to hear The sad Resentments, started by his Fear. You, that do know these things, Proclaim 'em all; Let London see what fell when he did fall: Portray him to the Age, which wants him still, And let it see, what will upbraid its iii. Sow these Relations, with unwearyed Hands; Labour to cultivate our Barren Lands. Reverse this great Mortality of Faith: Enliven Virtue's Ashes with your Breath. Dear GOD! which dost his worth Remand and Crown, Redeem ours from its dark Oppression; Tho Soured by Sin, let it retrieve its loss. Let it heave off its dull inveterate dross. Let it so sparkle forth, that Papists may Find their Eyes dazzled, when they aim at Prey. And may Return to Rome, and there Declare And Curse, HERN'S Last Breath, which Perfumed our Air. If we doubt thus Improve his Loss, e'er long You'll hear a Shaftsbury, or Player's gone. All Manhood will renounce our Land, and then, Owls, Dragons, Satyrs, will make it their Scene: You do beat off your Guards, your hands disown, And yourselves Prostrate to Destruction. You Bind yourselves, and on the Altar lay Your Rights, and Importune the Fatal day, Clearing beforehand him that shall you slay Who then takes up the Standard which HERN bore, To face outrageous Vices Swelling Power? If all that can't blame HERN'S Life would agree To follow it, this present Age would see The Dirt cleared, the next wonder at the streams Purity: How great a Beauty will our Land put on, will't not forstal the Conflagration? FINIS.