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<DATE>2008-04-03</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
</RESPSTMT>
<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B080316.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B06649">
<STC T="W">W2925</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99885212</BIBNO>
<VID>182596</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT>
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 2 -->
<HEAD>To His Grace JAMES DUKE of ORMOND, &amp;c. Lord Lieutenant of IRELAND, On His return to that Government.</HEAD>
<LG>
<L>_NOt that the Soul of Poe&s;y was flown,</L>
<L>Or wanted Argument to Work upon;</L>
<L>Or that the Air was thick, or that the Mu&s;e</L>
<L>Was cramm'd with ea&s;e, or <HI>Bed-rid</HI> with di&s;u&s;e,</L>
<L>Has &s;he kept <HI>State,</HI> or <HI>Chamber,</HI> all this while,</L>
<L>Or as 'twas thought by &s;ome, for&s;ook the <HI>I&s;le;</HI></L>
<L>But that &s;he mis't, &s;ince your departure hence,</L>
<L>Her Patron, and his wonted influence.</L>
<L>Bani&s;ht from <HI>Pla'o</HI>'s Common-wealth and from</L>
<L>Saint <HI>Au&s;tin</HI>'s City, wanting You at home,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>What could &s;he do? &s;he rov;d or'e ground untrod,</L>
<L>Dark as her Fancy, neither track, nor rode;</L>
<L>Till tir'd with notions, &s;atisfied with none,</L>
<L>She fancy'd an Idea of her own.</L>
<L>A man of <HI>Plato</HI>'s grand Nobility,</L>
<L>An imbred greatne&s;s, innate hone&s;ty;</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>A man not fram'd of <HI>Accidents;</HI> And whom</L>
<L><HI>Misfortune</HI> might oppre&s;s, not overcome:</L>
<L>One, who lov'd <HI>Vertue</HI> for her &s;elf; and &s;till</L>
<L>Was <HI>good,</HI> not by nece&s;&s;ity, but will:</L>
<L>Who did, but what he ought; what's ju&s;t, and fit;</L>
<L>And never bia&s;t by an Appetite:</L>
<L>Who weigh'd him&s;elf, not by <HI>Opinion,</HI></L>
<L>But <HI>Con&s;cience</HI> of a worthy action:</L>
<L>Who, like the Sun, by how much higher, the le&s;s</L>
<L>His &s;haddow: VVho never us'd power, to oppre&s;s:</L>
<L>A man! who might (in this) with <HI>Cae&s;ar</HI> vye,</L>
<L>Forgetting nothing but an injury.</L>
<L>VVrap't in that Melancholy trance, &s;he heard</L>
<L>The Name of <HI>Ormond!</HI> At that mighty word,</L>
<L>She &s;tretcht; and fell to ruminate her dream,</L>
<L>Not gue&s;&s;ing yet, whence &s;he had took the Theam;</L>
<L>'Till calling in her Spirits, at next view</L>
<L>Found twas no more, than what &s;h'ad sketcht from You,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>You! than in whom (Great Sir) <HI>Achilles</HI> &s;hield</L>
<L>Did not more Multitude, nor Mixture yield,</L>
<L>Nor better put together: As in Paint,</L>
<L>Tis not the &s;ingle Colour makes the Saint,</L>
<L>Nor all, if not well mingled; There mu&s;t be,</L>
<L>Proportion too, and corre&s;pondency:</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Such is Your chain of Vertue; what el&s;ewhere</L>
<L>Lay loo&s;e, and &s;catter'd, are con&s;tellat here;</L>
<L>And tho&s;e &s;o truly linkt, 'tis hard to tell</L>
<L>VVhat's wanting, or, what unagreeable.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>VVhat but a &s;oul &s;o fram'd, had ever dar'd</L>
<L>Stemme the late Torrent,<NOTE PLACE="marg"><HI>In the late Rebellion.</HI></NOTE> and have not de&s;pair'd</L>
<L>His Ma&s;ters fortune? what? what but a brea&s;t</L>
<L>Lin'd through with <HI>Cato,</HI> dur&s;t have &s;tood the Te&s;t?</L>
<L>Or would not, when the Sun did di&s;appear,</L>
<L>Have ki&s;t his, hand unto a Meteor?</L>
<L>Such too, were You; You! who almo&s;t alone,</L>
<L>Dur&s;t gra&s;p a Spear, and underprop a Crown?</L>
<L>Dur&s;t, Loyalty (when't was a Crime) retrive,</L>
<L>And force it back to i<GAP DESC="illegible" REASON="missing" EXTENT="1 letter">s for&s;aken Hive.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>But, what am I, who thus pre&s;ume to rai&s;e</L>
<L>A <HI>Trophy</HI> to Your Memory, not prai&s;e:</L>
<L>Your Urne mu&s;t bloom; and that la&s;t Du&s;t &s;tand &s;afe,</L>
<L>VVhich has two Kingdoms for an Epitaph:</L>
<L>Nor can it, till the Sea gives up its Dead,</L>
<L>But <HI>O&s;&s;ory,</HI> and <HI>Arran,</HI> mu&s;t be read:</L>
<L>Yet&mdash;while You fill the Land, <HI>Your</HI> Son's the Sea;</L>
<L>VVhere! where (Alas!) &s;hall the next <HI>Ormond</HI> be?</L>
<L>He mu&s;t, like <HI>Sultans,</HI> who them&s;elves allow</L>
<L>To build no <HI>Mo&s;che,</HI> but what their Swords endow,</L>
<L>He mu&s;t enlarge, or &s;weat for want of room,</L>
<L>And croud him&s;elf within his Grandfires Tombe.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tombe! Let it not be nam'd; the Sounds too &s;harp;</L>
<L>May <HI>You,</HI> yet live, to tune our jarring Harp;</L>
<L>Sweeten her &s;trings, and make the World confe&s;s</L>
<L>Di&s;cords, make Mu&s;ick more, but Kingdomes le&s;s:</L>
<L>May <HI>Your</HI> return, like the encrea&s;e of <HI>Nile,</HI></L>
<L>Bode the like happy <HI>Omen</HI> to this <HI>I&s;le:</HI></L>
<L>Long may <HI>You</HI> &s;hine, a Star in <HI>CHARLES</HI> his Wain,</L>
<L>And di&s;arm'd <HI>Fortune,</HI> make Attaques in vain:</L>
<L>Be, like the upper Region &s;ecur'd;</L>
<L>Not &s;hook by Thunder, nor by Clouds ob&s;curd:</L>
</LG>
<LG TYPE="couplet">
<L><HI>Thus live; Thus &s;hine; Thus, Ages read your&s;tory;</HI></L>
<L><HI>And to Crown all Exchange Your Grace, for Glory.</HI></L>
</LG>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Jo. Wil&s;on.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="license">
<P><HI>Licen&s;ed</HI> <DATE>Octob. 15. 1677.</DATE></P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>Roger L'E&s;trange.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P>Printed by <HI>H. Brugis,</HI> for <HI>T. Vere,</HI> at the <HI>Angel</HI> without <HI>Newgate,</HI> 1677.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
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