| |
| | Under this stone does lie |
| One born for Victory. |
FAIRFAX the valiant; and only he | |
| Whoe’er, for that alone a conqueror would be. | |
| Both sexes’ virtues were in him combined: | |
| He had the fierceness of the manliest mind, | |
| And eke the meekness too of womankind. | 5 |
| He never knew what Envy was, or Hate. | |
| His soul was filled with worth and honesty; | |
| And with another thing, quite out of date, | |
| Called modesty. | |
| |
| He ne’er seemed impudent but in the field, a place | 10 |
| Where impudence itself dares seldom show her face. | |
| Had any stranger spied him in the room | |
| With some of those whom he had overcome, | |
| And had not heard their talk, but only seen | |
| Their gestures and their mien, | 15 |
| They would have sworn he had, the vanquished been. | |
| For as they bragged, and dreadful would appear; | |
| While they, their own ill lucks in war repeated: | |
| His modesty still made him blush to hear | |
| How often he had them defeated. | 20 |
| |
| Through his whole life, the part he bore | |
| Was wonderful and great, | |
| And yet it so appeared in nothing more | |
| Than in his private last retreat. | |
| For it’s a stranger thing to find | 25 |
| One man of such a glorious mind, | |
| As can dismiss the Power he has got; | |
| Than millions of the fools and braves | |
| (Those despicable fools and knaves), | |
| Who such a pother make, | 30 |
| Through dulness and mistake, | |
| In seeking after power, but get it not. | |
| |
| When all the nation he had won, | |
| With great expense of blood had bought, | |
| Store great enough, he thought | 35 |
| Of fame and of renown: | |
| He then his arms laid down | |
| With full as little pride | |
| As if he had been of his enemies’ side; | |
| Or one of them could do that were undone. | 40 |
| He neither wealth, nor places sought; | |
| For others, not himself, he fought. | |
| He was content to know | |
| (For he had found it so) | |
| That when he pleased to conquer he was able, | 45 |
| And left the spoil and plunder to the rabble. | |
| He might have been a king, | |
| But that he understood | |
| How much it is a meaner thing | |
| To be unjustly Great, than honourably Good. | 50 |
| |
| This from the world, did admiration draw; | |
| And from his friends, both love and awe: | |
| Remembering what in fight he did before. | |
| And his foes loved him too, | |
| As they were bound to do, | 55 |
| Because he was resolved to fight no more. | |
| So blessed of all, he died. But far more blessed were we, | |
| If we were sure to live till we could see | |
| A man as great in War, in Peace as just, as he. | |
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