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Heroick Stanza’s,
Consecrated to the Memory of His Highness,
OLIVER,
Late Lord Protector
of This
Commonwealth, &c.
Written after the Celebrating of His Funeral.
1 AND 1 now ’tis time; for their officious haste, | |
| Who would before have born him to the Sky, | |
| Like eager Romans e’er all Rites were past, | |
| Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly. | |
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2 Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame, | 5 |
| Join’d with the loud Applause of publick Voice, | |
| Since Heaven, what Praise we offer to his Name, | |
| Hath render’d too Authentick by its Choice. | |
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3 Though in his Praise no Arts can liberal be, | |
| Since they, whose Muses have the highest flown, | 10 |
| Add not to his Immortal Memory; | |
| But do an Act of Friendship to their own. | |
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4 Yet ’tis our Duty and our Interest too, | |
| Such Monuments as we can build, to raise; | |
| Lest all the World prevent what we shou’d do, | 15 |
| And claim a Title in him by their Praise. | |
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5 How shall I then begin, or where conclude, | |
| To draw a Fame so truly Circular? | |
| For in a Round, what Order can be shew’d, | |
| Where all the Parts so equal perfect are? | 20 |
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6 His Grandeur he derived from Heav’n alone, | |
| For he was great, e’er Fortune made him so; | |
| And Wars, like Mists that rise against the Sun, | |
| Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. | |
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7 No borrow’d Bays his Temples did adorn, | 25 |
| But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring; | |
| Nor was his Vertue poison’d, soon as born, | |
| With the too early Thoughts of being King. | |
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8 Fortune (that easie Mistress of the Young, | |
| But to her ancient Servants coy and hard) | 30 |
| Him, at that Age, her Favourites ranked among, | |
| When she her best-lov’d Pompey did discard. | |
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9 He, private, marked the Faults of others Sway, | |
| And set as Sea-marks for himself to shun; | |
| Not like rash Monarchs, who their Youth betray | 35 |
| By Acts their Age too late wou’d wish undone. | |
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10 And yet Dominion was not his Design; | |
| We owe that Blessing not to him, but Heav’n, | |
| Which to fair Acts unsought Rewards did join, | |
| Rewards that less to him, than us, were giv’n. | 40 |
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11 Our former Chiefs, like Sticklers of the War, | |
| First sought t’ inflame the Parties, then to poise: | |
| The Quarrel lov’d, but did the Cause abhor, | |
| And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise. | |
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12 War, our Consumption, was their gainful Trade; | 45 |
| We inward bled, whilst they prolong’d our Pain; | |
| He fought to end our Fighting, and assay’d | |
| To stench the Blood by breathing of the Vein. | |
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13 Swift and resistless through the Land he pass’d, | |
| Like that bold Greek, who did the East subdue; | 50 |
| And made to Battels such Heroick Haste, | |
| As if on Wings of Victory he flew. | |
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14 He fought, secure of Fortune, as of fame; | |
| Till by new Maps, the Island might be shown, | |
| Of Conquests, which he strew’d where-e’er he came, | 55 |
| Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown. 2 | |
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15 His palms, tho under Weights they did not stand, | |
| Still thriv’d; no Winter could his Laurels fade: | |
| Heaven in his Portraict shew’d a Work-man’s Hand | |
| And drew it perfect, yet without a Shade. | 60 |
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16 Peace was the Prize of all his Toil and Care, | |
| Which War had banish’d and did now restore: | |
| Bolognia’s 3 walls thus mounted in the Air, | |
| To seat themselves more surely than before. | |
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17 Her Safety, rescued Ireland, to him owes; | 65 |
| And treacherous Scotland, to no Int’rest true, | |
| Yet bless’d that Fate which did his Arms dispose, | |
| Her Land to civilize, as to subdue. | |
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18 Nor was he like those Stars which only shine, | |
| When to pale Mariners they Storms portend: | 70 |
| He had his calmer Influence, and his Mien | |
| Did Love and Majesty together blend. | |
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19 ’Tis true, his Count’nance did imprint an Awe, | |
| And naturally all Souls to his did bow; | |
| As Wands of Divination downward draw, | 75 |
| And point to Beds where Sov’raign Gold doth grow. | |
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20 When, past all Off’rings to Pheretrian Jove, | |
| He Mars depos’d and Arms to Gowns made yield, | |
| Successful Counsels did him soon approve | |
| As fit for close Intrigues as open Field. | 80 |
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21 To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf’d a Peace, | |
| Our once bold Rival in the British Main, | |
| Now tamely glad her unjust Claim to cease, | |
| And buy our Friendship with her Idol, Gain. | |
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22 Fame of th’ asserted Sea, through Europe blown, | 85 |
| Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love; | |
| Each knew that Side must conquer, he wou’d own; | |
| And for him fiercely, as for Empire, strove. | |
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23 No sooner was the French-Man’s Cause embrac’d, | |
| Than the light Monsieur the grave Don out-weigh’d: | 90 |
| His Fortune turn’d the Scale where-e’er ’twas cast, | |
| Tho’ Indian mines were in the other laid. | |
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24 When absent, yet we conquer’d in his Right; | |
| For tho’ some meaner Artist’s Skill were shown, | |
| In mingling Colours, or in placing Light, | 95 |
| Yet still the fair Designment was his own. | |
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25 For from all Tempers he cou’d Service draw | |
| The worth of each, with its Alloy, he knew; | |
| And, as the Confident of Nature, saw | |
| How she Complections did divide and brew. | 100 |
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26 Or he their single Vertues did survey, | |
| By Intuition, in his own large Breast, | |
| Where all the rich Idea’s of them lay, | |
| That were the Rule and Measure to the rest. | |
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27 When such Heroick Vertue Heaven sets out, | 105 |
| The Stars, like Commons, sullenly obey; | |
| Because it drains them, when it comes about; | |
| And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay. | |
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28 From this high Spring, our Foreign Conquests flow, | |
| Which yet more glorious Triumphs do portend; | 110 |
| Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe, | |
| If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend. | |
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29 He made us Free-men of the Continent, | |
| Whom Nature did like Captives treat before; | |
| To nobler Preys the English Lion sent, | 115 |
| And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar. | |
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30 That old unquestion’d Pirate of the Land, | |
| Proud Rome, with Dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard; | |
| And trembling, wish’d behind more Alps to stand, | |
| Although an Alexander were her Guard. | 120 |
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31 By his Command we boldly cross’d the Line | |
| And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise; | |
| We trac’d the far-fetched Gold unto the Mine, | |
| And that which brib’d our Fathers, made our Prize. | |
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32 Such was our Prince, yet own’d a Soul above | 125 |
| The highest Acts it could produce to show: | |
| Thus poor Mechanick Arts in Publick move, | |
| Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go. | |
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33 Nor dy’d he when his Ebbing Fame went less, | |
| But when fresh Laurels courted him to live: | 130 |
| He seem’d but to prevent some new Success, | |
| As if above what Triumphs Earth could give. | |
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34 His latest Victories still thickest came, | |
| As near the Centre, Motion does increase; | |
| Till he, press’d down by his own weighty Name, | 135 |
| Did, like the Vestal, under Spoils decease. | |
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35 But first, the Ocean, as a tribute, sent | |
| That Giant-Prince of all her Watry Herd; | |
| And th’ Isle, when her protecting Genius went, | |
| Upon his Obsequies loud Sighs conferr’d. | 140 |
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36 No Civil Broils have since his Death arose, | |
| But Faction now, by Habit, does obey; | |
| And Wars have that Respect for his Repose, | |
| As winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea. | |
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37 His Ashes in a Peaceful Urn shall rest, | 145 |
| His Name a great Example stands to show, | |
| How strangely high Endeavours may be bless’d, | |
| Where Piety and Valour jointly go. | |
