GEMITUS & TRIUMPHUS. A Dream.  
Upon the much lamented Death of WILLIAM late Lord Archbishop of CANTERBURY. By Peter Glean, Gent.  

LAte as I lay with surging Cares oppressed,  
The rude Invaders of my placid Rest,  
I begged an Interval but to retire,  
To Fuel up my languid vital Fire:  
But stubborn Care, reluctant Care, denies  
Rest to my Soul, and Slumber to my Eyes.  
At last, when quite fatigued, I stole away;  
Nor could this noisy Tumult make me stay;  
'Tis true it kept my grosser Shell of Clay,  
But the immortal Watcher of that Frame,  
Always awake, always the same,  
Was swiftly towering on the rapid Wing  
Of soom good Daemon, some celestial Thing;  
Such as those airy Emissaries be,  
That with young Prophets talk in Ecstasy.  
This airy Charioteer wasted me even  
Where good men's Souls they say embark for Heaven;  
Where, when my labouring Thoughts I could recount,  
I found myself on th' top of Pisga's Mount;  
Where, looking round about, as I did stand  
Pleased with the Landscape of the happy and,  
I saw (methought) a Reverend Matron set  
Wearing the Symptoms of Disconsolate,  
Yet still complied with her sinister Fate;  
Not once she uttered a reluctant moan,  
Yet I observed she in a modest Tone  
More than once repeated, He is gone.  
Yet with that Constancy, that humble Sense,  
She never once betrayed her Patience.  
The whilst a wat'ry Deluge drowns my Eyes,  
Whilst my relenting Soul did sympathize,  
My Pity equal to her Grief did rise,  
Zealous to know and ease her Miseries.  
And whilst my anxious Thoughts were thus employed,  
With elevated Hands and Eyes she cried,  
Eripe heu miseram; another Word  
She added, which could not be understood  
By me; who, all this while, stood ignorant  
Of the mysteriousness of this Complaint.  
Conscious at last that I should seem to be  
Lost in the Practice of Humanity,  
And by a slow supine omission Sin,  
I resolutely threatened to begin  
To ask the Cause of all these Signs of Grief,  
The better to proportion some Relief.  
Then trembling I approached, so as we see  
Strangers address themselves to Majesty,  
And stooping too one Knee, because I knew  
That Posture to her Reverence was due:  
Lady, (says I) If this unbyass'd Breast  
May be with so Divine a Secret blest,  
Suspend your Grief a while, and let me know  
From what black Radix all this Sorrow grow,  
Undraw the Tragic Curtain of your woe.  
Let me in your Calamities partake,  
That which makes you sad, may me happy make,  
And to th'Unfortunate it is we know  
Comfort, to have Confederates in woe.  
So 'twill me happy make, if I may be  
An Instrument to ease your Misery:  
And sure if in my Sphere it lies I'll do't,  
I'll ransack every dark Recess throughout,  
But that I'll find the hidden Mischief out.  
And then— But here she stopped me, Silence brake,  
And very Gravely, like herself she spoke:  
Enough, (tender young Man) enough, I see  
A Specimen of Christian Love in thee.  
Wipe off those useless Tears, my Loss is by  
An indispensable Necessity:  
Therefore your Consolations pray retain,  
They're kind-indeed, yet but to me in vain;  
Yet here I think you only have betrayed  
How much your Love exceeds your Power to aid.  
'Twas not (young Man) from any mortal Arm,  
Or humane Violence, my Sorrow came,  
And therefore 'twere Profane for to believe  
That humane Powers are able to relieve:  
Death is the Cause, that Providential Rod,  
That fatal Executioner of God,  
He has bereaved me of my Eldest Son;  
Alas! he's gone! (wring her hands) he's gone!  
My Son, my Father, Friend or what can be  
Nearer in Love, or Consanguinity?  
For since my Lord and Husband spilt his Blood,  
He has the surest and the firmest stood  
To all my Customs, and Prerogatives,  
Whilst I a Mute in helpless Widowhood.  
And for my sake has undergone of late  
The heavy Censures of an angry State:  
Yet he; good, patiented, he; easily retired,  
For 'twas a Solitude that he desired.  
I followed him, there lovingly we sat,  
Nor envied Monarches in our safe retreat;  
Though some I know vainly believed that I  
Had left him too in this Catastrophe,  
Because that looked like humane Constancy:  
No, there I left the Torrent, 'cause before  
I ne'er Allegiance to th' Custom swore:  
No Scene of fresher Troubles did arise,  
But I consorted in his Miseries.  
When tied to th' last Confinement of his Bed,  
With tender Palms I pressed his dying Head.  
Watching the languid Motions of his Eyes,  
As th'Indian does the Occidental Skies.  
Though I was sure my setting Sun should rise,  
Fetching a dying Sighs, and that must be  
Not 'cause he left the Churlish World, but me.  
His Pious Soul thus glanced without strife  
Out of his Mouth, that Sally-port of Life:  
After I'd seen him this last Tribute pay,  
I kissed his frigid Lips, and came away,  
Leaving th' exhausted Magazine of Breath  
T'adorn the Triumphs of insulting Death;  
And to this Mount my swift Courier did tend,  
Where good men's Genius's to Heaven ascend.  
And here I wait assuredly to see  
Him on his Voyage to Eternity.  
His thinner Substance stem the wat'ry Clouds,  
Marching along in the Celestial Roads  
Till to the blessed Empyreum—  
But here she broke abruptly off, and gazed  
About, with Arms stretch out, like one amazed;  
I fearing some Alarm turned me round,  
For now I heard a noise of Trumpets sound,  
And vocal Acclamations from on high,  
Which shook the Architecture of the Sky:  
And still descending nearer unto us,  
Grew more articulate, and harmonious.  
At last a Hurricane drew back a Cloud,  
Which did before the Royal Prospect shroud:  
When from behind appeared a numerous throng  
That to th' aetherial Mansions did belong,  
Who in a Consort, Io Poean sung.  
Whilst the Seraphic Choristers throughout  
Their sweeter Hallelujahs echo out.  
Some road in Chariots wrapped in Fiery Gowns,  
None but wore Coronets, and some had Crowns;  
Myriad of lesser Cherubs seemed to sport  
Those little Outguards of th' aetherial Court;  
The Sun his busy Rays the while employs  
To gild the craggy Meteors of the Skies;  
And all the new accomplished Scene to dress,  
To entertain the now approaching Guest;  
Whom in a Chariot than I chanced to spy  
Rising afar off in the low hung Sky,  
As from the Ocean: So in a Scallop road  
The Azure Thetis, with her marine God.  
Yonder your Hero comes, (Matron) I cried,  
See, see, he does in active Triumph ride,  
Whilst his Retinue flies he drives in haste,  
Nor ever furious Jehu drove so fast;  
I spied on's Chariot, though with wonder smitten,  
Vltra militiam triumphanti written.  
At last the two Retinues did unite,  
Shouting as when two Royal Armies meet.  
I feared this loud Concussion, I confess,  
Had cracked the Machine of the Universe;  
And heard a Voice shriller than all the rest,  
In which three times distinctly was expressed,  
Euge bone serve! etc.—  
And then 'twas Echoed loudly by the rest.  
So marching on they disappeared straight,  
And distance drew a Veil before my sight.  
Sure with such Equipage ne'er Consul came  
To make his pompous Ent'ry into Rome.  
In such a Chariot ne'er was Consul drove  
Up to the Roman Capitol of Jove:  
ne'er with such pointed Glories did Romance  
Adorn the Nuptials of an earthly Prince:  
And whilst my Thoughts with such Encomiums swelled,  
Thus spoke the Matron. Now you have beheld  
(Young Man) the glorious Triumphs of my Son,  
You think (I warrant) all is past and gone;  
No, more illustrious Glories are to come,  
What you have seen 's but the Praeludium:  
He that was late so servilely installed  
Is now a Saint going to be enthralled:  
He that an humble Captive did lie down  
Is raised a conquering Hero in Renown:  
He that— But hold a sudden Exigence  
Of my confused Affairs does call me hence.  
Farewell, dear Saint! dear Martyr! and to you  
(Pointing at me) I bid no long Farewell.  
And then away she flew.   

Thus I awaked in Sweat and Agony,  
As't fares with Men that are in exstasy.  
At last my Sense returned, I stare upright,  
And then resolved this raptured Dream to write:  
And leaving the Confinement of my Bed,  
I heard the Reverend Primate C. was dead.  
With that I into new Convulsions fell,  
For fear I should mistake the Parallel;  
Though I was told before, and partly knew,  
All that I heard, and seen, to him was due.  
But this is a new Theme, too great for me,  
Which none can Fathom, 'cause there's no degree  
In an indefinite Immensity:  
On which so easy 'tis much to improve,  
And so impossible to say enough.  
Which never can defined more truly be,  
Than when we own the Impossibility.  
And therefore all the Honour we can show him,  
Is but a little part of what we own him.  
What can loquacious Zeal then more imply,  
Since all Encomiums into silence die?  
Silence, the properest Language, I confess,  
Wonder and Veneration to express.   
FINIS.