ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
DUDLEY LORD CARLETON,
VISCOUNT DORCHESTER, LATE PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF
STATE.
THE' infernal sisters did a council call
Of all the fiends, to the black Stygian hall;
The dire Tartarian monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismal Erebus and Night,
Where'er dispersed abroad, hearing the fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came.
Revenge, whose greedy mind no blood can fill,
And Envy, never satisfy'd with ill:
Thither blind Boldness, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour, envious Age.
These, to oppress the Earth, the Furies sent+:
The council thus dissolved, an angry Fever,
Whose quenchless thirst by blood was sated never,
Envying the riches, honour, greatness, love,
And virtue (load-stone, that all these did move)
Of noble Carleton, him she took away,
And, like a greedy vulture, seized her prey.
Weep with me, each who either reads or hears,
And know his loss deserves his country's tears!
The Muses lost a patron by his fate,
Virtue a husband, and a prop the State.
Sol's chorus weeps, and, to adorn his hearse,
Calliope would sing a tragic verse.
And, had there been before no spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with tears.
4 Something is here wanting, as appears from the want both of rhyme and connection. J. N.
ON THE DEATH OF MY LOVING FRIEND AND COUSIN,
MR. RICHARD CLARKE, GENT.
LATE OF LINCOLN'S-INN.
It was decreed by stedfast Destiny
(The world from chaos turn'd) that all should die.
He who durst fearless pass black Acheron,
And dangers of the' infernal region,
Leading Hell's triple porter captivate,
Was overcome himself by conquering Fate.
The Roman Tully's pleasing eloquence,
Which in the ears did lock up every sense
Of the rapt hearer; his mellifluous breath
Could not at all charm unremorseless Death;
Nor Solon, so by Greece admired, could save
Himself, with all his wisdom, from the grave.
Stern Fate brought Maro to his funeral flame,
And would have ended in that fire his fame;
Burning those lofty lines, which now shall be
Time's conquerors, and out-last eternity. find,
Even so lov'd Clarke from death no 'scape could
Though arm'd with great Alcides' valiant mind.
He was adorn'd, in years though far more young,
With learned Cicero's, or a sweeter tongue.
And, could dead Virgil hear his lofty strain,
He would condemn his own to fire again.
His youth a Solon's wisdom did presage,
Had envious Time but given him Solon's age.
Who would not therefore now, if Learning's friend,
Bewail his fatal and untimely end?
Who hath such hard, such unrelenting eyes,
As not to weep when so much virtue dies?
The god of poets doth in darkness shrowd
His glorious face, and weeps behind a cloud.
The doleful Muses thinking now to write
Sad elegies, their tears confound their sight;
But him to' Elysium's lasting joys they bring,
Where winged angels his sad requiems sing.
PHOEBUS, expell'd-by the approaching night,
Blush'd, and for shame closed in his bashful light,
While I, with leaden Morpheus overcome,
The Muse whom I adore enter'd the room:
Her hair with looser curiosity
Did on her comely back dishevell❜d lie:
Her eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have waked sleeping Endymion.
She bade me rise, and promised I should see
Those fields, those mansions of felicity,
We mortals so admire at: speaking thus,
She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus,
On whom I rid; knowing, wherever she
Did go, that place must needs a temple be.
No sooner was my flying courser come
To the blest dwellings of Elysium,
When strait a thousand unknown joys resort,
And hemm'd me round; chaste Love's innocuous
A thousand sweets, bought with no following gall, Joys, not like ours, short, but perpetual.
How many objects charm my wandering eye,
And bid my soul gaze there eternally!
Here in full streams, Bacchus, thy liquor flows,
Nor knows to ebb; here Jove's broad tree bestows
Distilling honey; here doth nectar pass,
With copious current, through the verdant grass:
Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his looks,
And thou, Narcissus, loving still the brooks,
Once lovely boys! and Acis, now a flower,
Are nourish'd with that rarer herb, whose power
Created thee, War's potent god! here grows
The spotless lily and the blushing rose ;
And all those divers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gaudy ground.
No willow, Sorrow's garland, there hath room,
Nor cypress, sad attendant of a tomb.
None but Apollo's tree, and the' ivy twine
Embracing the stout oak, the fruitful vine,
And trees with golden apples loaded down,
On whose fair tops sweet Philomel alone,
Unmindful of her former misery,
Tunes with her voice a ravishing harmony;
Whilst all the murmuring brooks that glide along,
Make up a burthen to her pleasing song.
No screech-owl, sad companion of the night;
No hideous raven with prodigious flight,
Presaging future ill; nor, Progne, thee,
Yet spotted with young Itis' tragedy,
Those sacred bowers receive. There's nothing there
That is not pure; all innocent and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Under a row of storm-contemning bay,
I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre
Teach the deaf stones to hear him and admire.
Him the whole poets' chorus compass'd round,
All whom the oak, all whom the laurel crown'd.
There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home,
Better than thou couldst give, ungrateful Rome!
And Lucan (spite of Nero) in each vein
Had every drop of his spilt blood again:
Homer, Sol's first-born, was not poor or blind,
But saw as well in body as in mind.
Tully, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Of Greece's admired wise-men, here possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gain
A life as everlasting as their fame.
By these the valiant heroes take their place;
All who stern Death and perils did embrace
For Virtue's cause. Great Alexander there
Laughs at the Earth's small empire, and did wear
A nobler crown than the whole world could give :
There did Horatius, Cocles, Sceva, live,
And valiant Decius; who now freely cease
From war, and purchase an eternal peace.
Next them, beneath a myrtle bower, where doves
And gall-less pigeons build their nests, all Love's
True faithful servants, with an amorous kiss
And soft embrace, enjoy their greediest wish.
Leander with his beauteous Hero plays,
Nor are they parted with dividing seas:
Porcia enjoys her Brutus; Death no more
Can now divorce their wedding, as before:
Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe he
Embraced, each bless'd with the' other's company:
And every couple, always dancing, sing
Eternal pleasures to Elysium's king.
But see how soon these pleasures fade away!
How near to evening is Delight's short day!
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