ON the Death of his Grace JOHN DUKE of ROTHES, LORD High CHANCELLOR of SCOTLAND, etc.  
ELEGY.  

ISRAEL for Moses forty days did Mourn,  
Our Joy to Grief, twice forty days may turn;  
Scotland's Conductor, ROTHES, Wise and Brave,  
Ah! now Himself Conducted is to Grave:  
ROTHES did Rule our Helm in Storms, and Grace  
The Halcyon Calmness of our Ocean's Peace:  
Dread Comet, ah! too dreadful not in vain.  
Fatal to Albion's Pole, and Charles' his Wain;  
Judicious DUKE, able to quench all Jars,  
On which may rise Uncivil, Civil Wars,  
Most prudent Statesman, Sage to Reconceal,  
Knowing thy King's Will, was the Kingdoms Well,  
In Court, in Camp, in City, Field, or Town;  
Worthy to bear a Batton or a Gown.   

No Fate could make thy Loyalty relent:  
Nor Bondage of thy long Imprisonment;  
Give Thou then Grieved, it was that then the while  
Thou could not Serve thy Master in Exile;  
Yet there Thy Thoughts, and Corrospondence too,  
Acted the most a Prisoner could do;  
Yet never Winter made of Summer, more  
Joyful to Thee, when Heavens did Him Restore:  
And made Thyself after a long Restraint:  
A vigorous, and most Active Instrument,  
For which, Thou didst Thy Monarch's Love Inherit,  
The due Reward of Thy Desert and Merit;  
A Love most Firm, and Great, to be Admired,  
But Changed to Sorrow, since Thy Breath expyred.   

Great DUKE, Lord Chancellor, Gen'ral, Thesaurer,  
His Majesty's most High Commissioner.  

What Greatness could Thou Want, Thy King could Give,  
Who only in Thy Destiny did Grieve;  
He Could not also give Thee long to Live.    

Yet, since Heaven's Doom, no Flesh from Death reprives;  
thou'rt Mourned by Scotland's Representatives;  
Thy Death makes York, our High Commissioner Sad:  
He, even more High, then ere our Nation had.   

To Pen Thy Praise, exceeds all Poet's Skill;  
And does require Apollo's Choicest Quill;  
Sure then Thy Name great Honour does obtain,  
To whom the Highest Praises are but Mean.  
Then Blest are You Celestial Minds that move,  
Uncessantly the Spacious Orbs Above;  
For if Your Toil prove Irksome, You may Rest,  
And Trust Your work to this New Heavenly Guest.   
M. M.