An elegy on that illustrious and high-born Prince Rupert, who dyed on Wednesday November the 29th.

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Title
An elegy on that illustrious and high-born Prince Rupert, who dyed on Wednesday November the 29th.
Author
A person of quality.
Publication
London, :: Printed for Langly Curtis,
1682.
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Subject terms
Rupert, -- Prince, Count Palatine, 1619-1682 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
Elegiac poetry, English -- 17th century.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/B03160.0001.001
Cite this Item
"An elegy on that illustrious and high-born Prince Rupert, who dyed on Wednesday November the 29th." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/B03160.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 1, 2025.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

[illustration] outline of tombstone including emblems of Death which surrounds text

MEMENTO MORI

AN ELEGY ON That Illustrious and High-Born PRINCE RUPERT, Who Dyed on Wednesday November the 29th.

1. Dec. 1682

FArewell, thou Bravest of the Great, Farewell, When Fame shall thy Unbiast Virtues tell; Thy Match no History shall ever find, Thou Universal Favourite of Mankind; Whilst Factions Boyl, whilst Bandying Parties clash, And meeting Tydes their angry Billows dash, Whilst Heat meets Heat, and thwarting Ferments Reign, Rupert alone, firm to Truths Golden mean Held his, even Souls miraculous Ballance right, The Countries Darling, yet the Courts delight; Honour in Thee, united all Her Charms, In glories Race, in Battle and in Arms; No fiercer Fires e're fill'd a Heroes Breast, In Peace thy mind a perfect Halcyon Nest, Where Manly Virtue kept Her Princely Throne, Yet so retir'd as if Her State were gone: A mind so firm, all irregular Heat, The restless Burning Feavour of the Great; A mind where all Perfections mixt so well, The equal Glory of a Camp or Cell.
When future Ages shall with Honour tell Things Dismall, that black Master-peice of Hell, The Royal Martyrs Wound, a Blow so great, Posterity shall start but to repeat: In the sad Tale, Great Ruperts Deeds shall come, And blossom on his Sacred Masters Tomb.
No hand more Active, and no sharper Sword, The Throats of Englands Rebel Hydra gor'd; And if in that lost day, when Fates dire Blow, Had destin'd Truth and Loyalties overthrow; Inth' Universal wrack, Great Rupert sunk, Whilst starting Fortune from his Bannors shrunk; His Courage only swel'd his Sails too High, Till his great Soul onset his Victory: Our English Hannibal, like him, alone By his unmannaged Conquests overthrown.
Whilst that mad Chandteer, with fury hurl'd, Ambition drives the Jehues of the World; Whilst Ensignes fly, Drums beat, and Trumpets sound, Or Conquering Heroes are with Lawrells Crown'd, Fames deathless Book shall keep in Leaves of Brass, Proud Ruperts Name enroul'd till Times last Glass: Nor is thy Memory here only Crown'd, But lives in Arts, as well as Arms renown'd; Thou Prideless Thunderer, that stoop'd so low, To force the very Bolts thy Arme should throw, Whilst the same Eyes Great Rupert did admire Shining in Fields, and sooty at the Fire: Perceiving thee advanced in Fields and Arms so far At once the Mars and Vulcan of the VVar, Till Dancing Cyclops shall thy praise repeat, And on their Anvils thy tun'd Glorys Beat.
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