AN ELEGY Upon His late MAJESTY (of Blessed Memory) King CHARLES the Second.  
9 februar. 1685/4.  

SO left the World Jerusalem's Great Guide,  
When He in Peace upon His Pillow Died;  
So like Our Realm, all Israel made their Moan,  
Even King Solomon upon His Throne.  
But could the Tears of all the Princes Save  
The Great, Just Hezekiah from His Grave?  
Or could Our Sighs, or could Our Tears Avail?  
Or could Our Prayers with Wayward- Death Prevail?  
Fame tells (how once) a Mighty-Shield from Heaven  
Unto the Great Anchise's- Son was Given,  
That Shined with Oar and Gems in every Part,  
And would not take a Dint from Mortal-Dart;  
Like that Bright-Shield, Thy Everlasting-Name  
(Engraved with Wonders by the Hand of Fame)  
Shall Live, and shall Outlast all Strength and Rage  
Of Envious-Time, and All- Destroying-Age.  
In Thy Blest-Reign, Thou Great-Caelestial-Man!  
The Golden-Tree of Union First Began;  
Glorious, as that which in Old-Eden Sprang,  
When Angels on the Tender Branches Sang;  
Under the Shadow of whose Sacred-Wings  
We Sat, and did Admire the Best of KINGS:  
Then Loyalty, that was before near Dead,  
With Courage Lifted Up its Beautious-Head:  
So Mercy came, and on the Waters stood,  
After the Deluge of the Roaring-Flood;  
Then Peace appeared, and Broke those Heavy-Chains  
With which the Rebel-Gyant Bound her Veins.  
My Muse (of all Apoll's- Tribe) the Worst,  
To Thy Great-Sepulchre comes only First;  
Thy God-like-Acts let Abler Pens Paint forth  
(In Words, worth Dying for, Declare Thy Worth.)  
But after All that Art can Here Bestow,  
They shall Perfumes upon the Violets strew:  
They Gild Refined-Gold with Care and Pain,  
And Smooth the Ice, and must at last Complain  
Their Fading Laurels cannot Grace Thy Hearse,  
For the Great-Task's too Hard for Humane Verse.  
Great is Our Loss, and most Severe Our Fate,  
That Such a Life should have so Short a Date:  
Well may the Nation Mourn, Concerned to See  
No Pitch of Glory from the Grabe is Free.  
He that can make Remarks on All that's Rare,  
May See how Short, how little Time things share,  
That are most Wondrous, Bright, or Good, or Fair.  
Were All the Soft and Pearly-Dews Distilled  
Of every Flower in every Fragrant Field,  
Even All the Sweets that Hibla's- Hives do yield:  
In One Broad Mazor had We All the Gums  
And Spices that from Rich- Panchaia comes,  
The Offerings were (alas!) too Mean and Small  
To lay and Prostrate at Thy Funeral.  
Although from Us Thou art Removed away,  
Thy Fame, like Light, shall Shine to Perfect Day:  
Thy Way is Gay and Rich in every part,  
Drawn forth by All the Chymick-Angels Art;  
And those Blest-Angels which so much Admire  
Goodness on Earth, to their Coelestial-Quire  
Shall Carry Thy Bright-SOUL upon their Wings,  
To make a Present to the KING of KINGS.   
FINIS.   

Entered according to Order.   

LONDON, Printed by J. Millet, MDCLXXXIV/ V.