ELEGY 〈…〉 Death of the late Honourable GEORGE LORD DARTMOUTH.  
Who Departed this Life in the TOWER of LONDON, October the 25th. 1691.  

'tIS so, there's no Defen 〈…〉 against our Fate▪  
the Pious, Valiant, Just and Fortunate  
The Youth and Aged in their 〈◊〉 Turns  
Must leave their Ashes in Sepulchral Urns▪  
Grim Death no Sex nor Age for Favour spares▪  
But Downy Youth and Age with Silver Hairs  
Submit alike to his Imperious Will,  
No Mortal having yet obtained the Skill  
To bribe him for an hour, or make him stay  
While he should one Ejaculation say;  
Sometimes indeed he does some Warning give,  
And each Days Sickness is a fresh Reprieve,  
But others from Life's Stage he snatches Quick,  
And they are gone before, they know they're Sick.  
Should sudden Death the Noble Dartmouth find▪  
Dartmouth the Brave, the Valiant, Just and Kind?  
Renowned abroad, and well-beloved at home,  
Nor t'any place without Applauses come;  
The Soldier's Darling and the Seaman's Love,  
Who both as Rivals for his Friendship strove.  
His Valiant Soul knew well how to Command  
A Fleet by Sea, and a Campaign by Land:  
Oft has he dared the Ocean's angry Wave,  
And oft at Land approved himself as Brave.  
Nor were his private Virtues better known,  
Than those which did the Valiant Soldier Crown,  
Affable, Courteous, to his Foes a Friend  
Who's stubborn Hearts would oft to's Goodness bend;  
Courageous, Wise, Just, Discerning, always Brave,  
His Passions Master, and not he their Slave.  
No little sneaking Arts advanced his Name,  
His proper Merits raised him to his Fame:  
Merit which formerly advanced so few,  
His Prince's Notice on his Actions drew;  
So very few to Honour find the Way  
By mere Desert, that we may justly say,  
Where one it does to just Preferment raise,  
It raises thousands by some otherways;  
Prevailing Friends, but more prevailing Money,  
〈◊〉 ever yet did fail of failing any.   

Not to lament at such a Great Man's Fall,  
And show some Sorrow at his Funeral  
Were rude; a Soldier now may drop a Tear  
Without a Blemish to his Character.  
But Sighs and Tears and loud Complaints are Vain,  
They cannot call the Hero back again,  
Nor would he come, but too too well we know,  
To change his Bliss for our sad Scene of Woe.   

Great Dartmouth once the Valiant, Just, and Wise,  
Joy of our Hearts, and Pleasure of our Eyes,  
Is now no more That dismal Word no more  
Like opening of a Wound just closed before,  
Renews our Griefs, and makes our Sorrows double,  
And adds Affliction to our former Trouble.  
Grief knows no Bounds when 'tis with Passion joined,  
But rushes on and never looks behind,  
Till Reason can restrain the Headstrong Passion,  
And Sorrow strike the Sail to Moderation.  
Dry then thy Cheeks, my Muse thy Sighs refrain,  
Since Tears are fruitless and since Sighs are vain.    

His EPITAPH.  
REeader, tread softly on the Dust  
Of Dartmouth, Valiant, Prudent, Just;  
All silent Praises of his Name  
Are but faint Echoes of his Fame.  
His Memory will still survive,  
While Soldiers and while Seamen live;  
Nor need we then, large Structures raise,  
When each Man Trumpets out his Praise.   

LONDON, Printed for David Sley, 1691.