VIII.

(State,

Great Excellence oft proves dangerous to the
A Comet Vertue when hung out by Fate
Toit self and others ruin does create.
But filent he, yet alive as the Day,
Born to command, and willing to obey.
Nature to him the happy temper gave,

All kind he was as profprous Love,
Gentle as Venus gentleft Dove,

In fight beyond a fancied Hero brave.

Thou Virgin Mother Church, which now doft

The fwelling Surges of a double Tide,

Safe only because dafh'd on either fide,

O what a Friend now in thy day
Hath Fate in Oory fnatch'd away!
And ye who holy Friendship do adore,

His equal you will never fee, before

(ride

You Offory fhall in Heaven rejoyn, ne'er to be

(parted more.

IX.

Accurfed Fever, Deaths* fbarp-poisoned Dart, Accurfed Fruit, accurfed Earth,

Which to the fatal Tree gave birth; What Mine of ftrange confufion have you laid In the most regular Breast that e'er was made! Thofe Eyes, from which swift Lightning once (did part,

To melt the temper'd Steel, or harder Heart, Like wafting Meteors now portend

(end. With blood shot Beams his own approaching

The Seat where Honours Records lay,

Where was defign'd the Fall of Africa,

(they,

(Scarce Heavens Decrees more firmly fet than Like Parchments in the Fire now shrunk away.

* Febris acuta, virulenta.

Thofe

Thofe * Purple Waves, which like the Nile

From his undifcover'd Head

Health and freb Honours on its Soil did shed,
And bid all Egypt fmile;

Now with Vefuvean waves fcorch all their way,

And to the + King o'th' little World à Mortal

X.

(Tribute pay.

Injustly we accufe the Sovereign Law, (draw. Which all things to their proper place does

Full ripe for Heaven he fpurn'd the Earth,

The monumental feat of mifcall'd Birth.

No Art, no Violence, can controul (Though on it Offa you, and Pelion roul) Th' afcending motion of a Heaven.born Soul. His Fever like Elias fiery Carr,

(Whilft the fad Prophets mourn him from afar) Kindled his Funeral Pile into a Star.

His Blood.

+ His Heart.

Others

(

Others may praise the Feats of mortal breath,
But I the opportunity of Death.

He faw not popular Fury threat the Stage,
Nor Epidemick Madness feize the Age.

He liv'd not till his Wreaths did grow

Wither'd and pale upon his Brow,

As Pompey and great Scipio.

Few, Heavens choice Favourites, the privi

(ledge have,

To bring their Fame untainted to their Grave.

Who the wild Paffions knows of human kind,

Fortune and falfe Mortality

This truth will find,

When wanted most and best belov'd, 'tis happiest

(then to dye.

UPON

UPON THЕ

DEATH

Of his GRACE the late

Duke of OR MOND,

R

Eligious Difcord, Fury of this Ifle,

A little Truce, cease jour harsh Notes a
while!

Honour, Religion, Virtue, Learning, all
Demand our Tears at their Great Patron's fall.