On the death of the truly valiant, and loyal George, Duke of Albemarle, late general of His Majesties forces, and knight of the Honorable Order of the Garter a pindariqu' ode / by Thomas Flatman.

ON THE DEATH OF The Truly Valiant, and Loyal GEORGE, Duke of Albemarle.

A Pindariqu' Ode.

Stanza I.

NOw blush thy self into Confusion, Ridiculous Mortality! With Indignation to be trampled on By them that court Eternity; Whose generous deeds, and prosp'rous state Seem poorly set within the reach of Fate:

Whose every Trophy, and each Laurel Wreath Depends upon a little breath: Confin'd within the narrow bounds of Time And of incertain Age, With doubtful hazards they engage, Thrown down, while Victory bids them higher clime, Their Glories are eclips'd by Death; Hard circumstances of Illustrious Men, Whom Nature (like the Scythian Prince) detains Within the Bodies Chains, Nature that rigorous Tamberlain. Stout Bajazet disdain'd the barbarous Rage Of that insulting Conquerour; Bravely himself usurp'd his own expiring Power, By dashing out his Brains against his Iron Cage.

II.

But 'tis indecent to complain, And wretched Mortals curse their Stars in vain; In vain they waste their tears for them that dye? Themselves involv'd in the same destiny. No more with sorrow let it then be s'ed, The Glorious Albemarle is dead:

Let what is said of him Triumphant be; Words as gay as is his Fame, And as manly as his Name, An Epinicion not Elegy. Yet why should'st thou (ambitious Muse) believe Thy gloomy Verse can any splendors give, Or make him one small moment longer live? Nothing but what is vulgar thou canst say, And misbecoming numbers sing: VVhat tribute to his Memory canst thou pay, Whose Virtue sav'd three Realms, and could oblige a King

III.

Many a year distressed, Albion lay, By her unnatural off-spring torn, Once the worlds terror, then its scorn, At home a Prison, and abroad a Prey: Her valiant Youth, her valiant Youth did kill, And mutual Blood did spill: Usurpers then, and many a Mushrome Peer VVithin her Palaces did domineer; There did the bloody Vultur build his nest, There the Owls and Satyrs rest, By Zim, and Ohim all possest:

Till (Englands Angel-Guardian) thou With pity, and with anger mov'd For Albion thy belov'd, (Olive-chaplets on thy brow VVith bloodless hands held'st up her drooping head, And with thy Trumpets call'dst her from the dead. Bright Phospher to the rising Sun! That Royal Lamp by thee did first appear Usher'd into our happy Hemisphere: O may it still shine warm, and clear! No cloud, nor night approach It, but a constant Noon!

IIII.

Nor here did thy undaunted Valour cease, Or wither with unactive peace: Scarce were our civil Broils allay d, VVhile yet the wound of an intestine VVar Had left a tender Scar; When (of our new prosperities afraid) Our jealous Neighbours fatal Arms prepare: In floating Groves the Enemy drew near, Loud did the Belgian Lion roar; Upon our Coasts th' Armada did appear, And boldly durst attempt our native shore.

Till His victorious Squadrons check'd their pride, And did in triumph o're the Ocean ride. Under a gallant Admiral He fought YORK whose success a taller muse must sing; Who so his Country lov'd, that he forgot He was the Brother of a King. Whose daring courage might inspire A meaner Soul than His with Martial Fire. With Thunder, Lightning, and with Clouds of Smoke He did their insolence restrain, And gave His dreadful Law to all the Main, Whose surly Billows trembled when He spoke, And crouch'd their willing necks under His Yoke. This the stupendious Vanquisher has done, Whose high prerogative it was alone, To raise a ruin'd, and secure an envy'd Throne.

V.

Then angry Heav'n began to frown, From Heav'n a wasting Pestilence came down On every side did Lamentations rise, Baleful sigh, and heavy groan, All was plaint, and all was moan! The pious Friend with trembling love, Scarce had his latest kindness done

In sealing up his dead Friends Eyes E're with his own surprizing Fate he strove, And wanted one to close his own. With Iron Scepter Death bore all the sway O're our Imperial Golgotha. Yet he with kind, tho undisturbed eyes, Durst stay and see those numerous Butcheries. He in the Field had seen Death's grisly Face, Heard him in Niter talk aloud; Beheld his grandeur in a glittering croud, And un-amaz'd seen him in Cannons Gape. Ever unterrify'd his Valour stood Like some tall Rock amidst a Sea of Blood. 'Twas Loyalty from Sword and Pest sav'd Him alive, The safest Armour, and the best Preservative.

VI.

The Flaming City next implor'd His Aid, Successfully it pray'd His Force against the Fire, whose Arms the Sea obey'd Wide did the impetuous Torrent spread Then those goodly Fabricks fell; Temples themselves promiscuously there Dropt down, and in the common Ruine bury'd were, The City turn'd into one Mongibell.

That haughty Tyrant shook his curled head, His breath with vengeance black, his face with red. Then every cheek grew wan and pale, Every heart began to fail: And had not our Annointed's flame (From heaven towards his Subjects sent.) Out-blaz'd the furious Element, What could the furious Element tame? Nought but thypresence could it spower suppress, Whose stronger light put out the less. As London's noble structures rise Together shall thy memory grow, To whom that beauteous Town so much does owe For its reviv'd tranquillities: London! joint-Favourite with Him thou wert; As Both took up a room within our heart, So now with thine indulgent Sovereign joyn, Respect His great Friend's Ashes, for he wept o're thine.

VII.

Thus did the Duke conclude His mighty stage, Thus did that Atlas of our state With His prodigious acts amaze the Age, While worlds of wonder on his shoulders sate:

Full of glories, and of years He trod His shining, and immortal way, VVhilst Albion compass'd with new Seas of tears Besought His longer stay. Saucy that pen that dares describe Thy bliss, Or write Thine Apotheosis! Whom Heaven, and thy Prince to pleasure strove, Entrusted with their Armies, and their Love. In other Courts tis dangerous to Deserve, Thou didst a kind, and grateful Master serve, VVho (to express his gratitude to Thee) Scorn'd those ill-natur'd Arts of Policy. Happy had Belisarius bin, (VVhose forward fortune was his Sin) By many victories undone, He had not liv'd neglected, dy'd obscure, If for Thy Prince those Battels he had won, Thy Prince, magnificent above his Emperour.

VIII.

Among the Gods, those Gods that dy'd like Thee, As great as theirs, and full of Majesty Thy sacred Dust shall sleep secure, Thy Monument as long as theirs endure:

There, free from envy, Thou with them Shalt have Thy share of Diadem. Amongst their Badges shall be set Thy Garter and Thy Coronet: Or (what is statelier) Thou shalt have A Mausolaeum in thy Princes breast, There thine embalmed name shall rest; That Sanctuary shall thee save From the dishonours of the Grave: And every wondrous History, Read by incredulous Posterity, That write's of Him, shall honourably mention Thee Who by an humble Loyalty hast shown How much sublimer gallantry, and renown 'Tis to Restore, than to Usurp, a Monarch's Crown,

FINIS.