MEMENTO MORI:   outline of tombstone which surrounds poem, including emblems of death on top of domed tablet  
AN ELEGY On the Death of His Grace the Duke of Grafton.  
WHen first around our Isle the News was spread  
(Ah, dismal News!) the Noble Duke was dead.  
Such was the sudden Transport of our Fears,  
We were unwilling to believe our Ears;  
But when the Confirmation of it came,  
Ah, doleful News! Ah, dismal Word of Fame!  
Like Men entranced we stood, and in amaze,  
With ghastly Eyes did on each other gaze.  
But he is gone—  
And he whose Eyes bedew his sacred Urn,  
Each pious drop into a Pearl will turn  
To adorn his Hearse: But he who none can vent  
Doth bring more Marble to his Monument.  
Him Heaven a Pattern did for Hero's form,  
Quick in Advice and eager to perform.  
In Council calm, fierce as a Storm in Fight;  
Danger his Sport, and Labour his Delight:  
To him the Fleet, and Camp, the Sea, and Field,  
Did equal Harvests of bright glory yield.  
Who can forget how Valiantly, how Free,  
He did assert the Empire of the Sea.  
The gallic Fleet endeavoured but in vain  
The Tempest of his Fury to sustain;  
Shattered and torn before his Flag they flew,  
Like Doves that the exalted Eagle view,  
Ready to stoop and seize them from on high,  
With all the Wings of fear and haste do fly.  
The glorious Feats this valiant Duke hath done,  
Hath England's highest Admiration won:  
And though in deepest Grief we mourn him gone,  
We may rejoice that he was ours so long.  
And if the Immortal dead do see, or know,  
The various Actions of Mankind below,  
Sure his bright Soul with kind concern looks down,  
And breathes auspicious Wishes to the Crown.  
How blessed were we, had we the Blessing known,  
When we had Princely GRAFTON for our own;  
But Heaven, that we our mighty Happiness  
Might truly understand, did make it less,  
And did his Noble Soul from us remove  
To increase the Number of the Blessed above:  
Ye partial Heavens must Princely Heroes thus,  
Though they have lived like Gods, yet die like us.  
Patience in smaller Evils may be shown,  
But oh! such Grief as this admits of none.  
In vain we Hope and Sigh, in vain we Pray,  
If what we Love must thus be torn away:  
But we confess with Grief, that Prince's Breath  
Is frail like ours, like us they stoop to Death.  
And we must own how fond we began  
To fancy GRAFTON somewhat more than Man:  
'Twas he whose flaming Courage did disdain  
The slow Advances of a vulgar Man.  
His early Years in bloody Wars did show  
What riper Age might for his Country do.  
'Twas he who did in raging Fire and Storms  
Defend the Crown our gracious King Adorns.  
'Twas he who made the Irish Rebels Quake,  
And trembling French their Trenches to forsake;  
But ah, he's gone!—  
Excelling Prince, oh! once our Joy and Care,  
Now our eternal Grief and deep Dispair:  
Whether were all those careful Angels fled,  
That were entrusted with thy sacred Head?  
Where were they then! how did they misemploy  
There Time, when thou didst on thy Deathbed lie,  
And bowed thy Head to awful Destiny!  
Impartial Death, like Tarquin's Wand,  
The soon reaches those that highest stand,  
Letting Ignoble, Useless, Shrubs alone,  
And strikes the stately full grown Poppy down.  
But when a Noble Hero yields to Fate,  
Then Sorrow rises in the greatest State.  
The sullenest Mortal than will shed a Tear,  
And Death in all its grandeur doth appear.  
But oh! I've done, for whilst to mind I call  
His Godlike Worth, the Tears like Rivers fall  
From my swelled Eyes, half languished now with Cares,  
Shaded with Grief, and almost quenched in Tears.   

Lisensed,  
Octob. 27. 1690. J. F.   

LONDON, Printed by Richard Cheese, Jun. in the Year 1690.