AN ELEGY Upon the Death of that Renowned PRINCE RUPERT. Who Departed this Life on Wednesday, Novemb. 29. 1682.  
30. Nou. 1682  

AH! Cruel Death, what hast thou lately done?  
Robbed Us of Him who all men's Hearts had won;  
That Bud of Honour, and Our King's Delight,  
Who for God's Cause by Sea and Land did Fight,  
To Vindicate a Prince too much abused,  
Exiled from His Due Right, and strangely used  
By Rebel-Subjects, but at last was He  
Restored again by Heavens Great Deity:  
And now He's safely settled in His Throne,  
'Twas Thy Desire He should Enjoy His Own;  
Whom Loyal Subjects Honour and Obey,  
Thy Soul (Great RUPERT) Posted is away:  
I fear thy Counsel may be wanted here,  
Who to this Nation was a Loyal Peer,  
That Heaven from Foreign parts did hither send  
To be Religious, and Great Charles his Friend.  
Thy actions for Our King were still untainted,  
For things less noble, Rome some Men have Sainted.  
But if thy Wisdom here we chance to miss,  
This Comforts us, thy Soul Lives now in Bliss;  
Triumphant Death, by uncontrolled Arrest,  
Did snatch thee hence to make thee ever Blessed.  
Then why should we at Death's surprise repine?  
What is our Loss, Advantage is of thine:  
At thy blessed Birth kind aspects did appear,  
By Kings and Peasants both, beloved here.  
But now grim Death has seized thee as a Prey,  
Instead of Down, thou now must lie in Clay;  
Thou must accept what Mortals all must have,  
Thine Honour yet will blossom in the Grave:  

When many Years thou hast been dead and gone,  
The World will say thou wert a Princely one,  
Scarce Equalised, and out vied by none.   
What Hero ever yet adventured more.  
Than thou, for Charles his right, on Strand Shore?  
Or who more freely could have lost his breath  
For England's good, than he whose murmuring breath  
Hath left his Vitals, while his Soul is fled  
To Heaven above, through Earth his fame is spread.  
Who now is gone his Carols for to sing  
Before Jehvoah, our Eternal King.  
Then since a Flood of tears cannot prevail  
Him to Retrieve, whom Death doth once assail,  
Nor add one Minutes time to his last breath,  
That now is Conquered by all-conquering Death,  
'Tis but in vain to Mourn, a sin to grieve,  
None can live longer than God gives him leave;  
The old, the young, the strong, the weak must go,  
When Death doth call to the dark Cell below.  
Thrice blest is he who at the Judgement-day  
Possess those Joys that never shall decay.  
And since thy loyalty made thee Renowned,  
In Heaven I hope thy actions will be Crowned;  
Whose active mind, in these our latter days,  
Recorded is, and hath entailed thy praise:  
When thy poor Bones are turned into dust,  
How wilt thou flourish then amongst the Just?  
And when thou shalt appear at Judgement-bar,  
Where Saints and Sinners all adjudged are,  
God's Everlasting Peace remain with thee,  
And thus I end my Mournful Elegy.    

The Epitaph.  

HEre lies a Prince never to be forgot,  
Yet could not scape what every Mortal's Lot;  
Whose Actions well might Crowned be with Bays,  
But Death hath put a period to his Days;  
And though his Body must return to Dust,  
I hope his Soul doth dwell amongst the Just.   
FINIS.   

Printed for J. Deacon, at the Rainbow, near St. Andrews Church, in Holbourn, 1682.