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<DATE>2008-09-06</DATE>
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<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B080811.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B01561">
<STC T="W">B190</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99882652</BIBNO>
<VID>182595</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="elegy">
<PB REF="1" MS="y"><!-- PDF PAGE 16 -->
<HEAD>MINERVA's Check to the Author, Attempting to write an
<FIGURE>
<P>VIVIT POST-FVNERA VIRTVS</P>
<FIGDESC>blazon or coat of arms</FIGDESC>
</FIGURE>
ELEGY Upon the Right Honourable and much to be Lamented ROGER Fir&s;t Earl of ORRERY, Who departed this Life at <HI>CASTLE-MARTER</HI> in the County of <HI>CORK</HI> in <HI>IRELAND,</HI> <DATE>16 <HI>Octobris Anno</HI> 1679.</DATE></HEAD>
<L>THat News hath Wings, we ev'ry day do find,</L>
<L>And Ill doth ever leave the be&s;t behind:</L>
<LG>
<L>Admire not then the death of <HI>ORRERY,</HI></L>
<L>Renown'd all's days, &s;hould in a moment flie,</L>
<L>Both far and near the World to terrifie.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>At <HI>Cork,</HI> at <HI>Dublin, London,</HI> and at <HI>Paris</HI></L>
<L>Too &s;oon't arrives, and <HI>ROME,</HI> but there ne'er tarries,</L>
<L>Till at both <HI>Indies,</HI> or where e'er more far is.</L>
</LG>
<L>'Mong&s;t the Worlds Trea&s;uries, it there declare,</L>
<L>Than any theirs, a Pearl more rich, more rare</L>
<L>W' have lo&s;t; thus ranging all the World about,</L>
<L>Finds many zealous mournful Poets out:</L>
<L>But &s;till I thought the Mu&s;es triple Trine,</L>
<L>And Learned Crew concern'd, mu&s;t have de&s;ign</L>
<L>Some Eagles Quill &s;hould make the worthy Pen,</L>
<L>To write their Dictates on the be&s;t of Men;</L>
<L>But chanc'd to view a mournful Elegy</L>
<L>Upon his Death, enough to &s;tupifie</L>
<L>The Reader, whil&s;t the Poet did invite</L>
<L>Each Poeta&s;ter on him Di&s;tichs t' write.</L>
<L>This Author took I for good warrant to it,</L>
<L>To be as bold as any Errant Poet:</L>
<L>But quick as Thought <HI>Minerva</HI> &s;aid in ha&s;te,</L>
<L>Hold, hold, poor man! don't Time and Paper wa&s;te;</L>
<L>He was my Fo&s;ter Child, 'twas my good hap</L>
<L>The Babe to dandle fir&s;t upon my Lap,</L>
<L>Who kindly took my Brea&s;ts, and throve &s;o well,</L>
<L>That in the Liberal Arts he did excell.</L>
<L>Thy grov'ling Fancy, and too low pitch'd Eye,</L>
<L>Cannot reach up unto the Poets Skie:</L>
<L>Be not like tho&s;e that to &s;hoot up are-bold,</L>
<L>At what their dazled &s;en&s;e cannot behold:</L>
<L>Thine hand to th' Stars thou may'&s;t extend as well,</L>
<L>As <HI>ORRERY</HI>'s due prai&s;e conceive, or tell:</L>
<L>His Noble Birth, Life, Death, is a fit Story,</L>
<L>Re&s;erv'd to Crown &s;ome Poet Laureat's Glory:</L>
<L>His Du&s;t is Sacred, therefore do not dare</L>
<L>The Mu&s;es Darling, and the Graces Dear,</L>
<L>With thy rude Rhimes, devoid of Time and Mea&s;ure,</L>
<L>Once to prophane, (a Sacred Poet's Trea&s;ure.)</L>
<L>I ble&s;s'd him young thus 'bove thy reach, and &s;tature,</L>
<L>Be&s;ides what <HI>Mars</HI> be&s;tow'd on's Noble Nature.</L>
<L>Thou fain would'&s;t tell how th' Graces &s;till invite him</L>
<L>Their Gue&s;t, when <HI>Mars</HI> doth cea&s;e t' excite him</L>
<L>Brighter in Arms, than's Arts ere-while to &s;hine,</L>
<L>In God's and's King's cau&s;e &s;till defending thine.</L>
<L>His care to breed brave Hor&s;es thou would'&s;t write,</L>
<L>In Peace for Plea&s;ure, and in War for fight:</L>
<L>Thou fain would'&s;t talk on' s Vict'ry at <HI>Knockny Clar&s;hy,</HI></L>
<L>And give him (next to God) the <HI>God-a-mercy;</HI></L>
<L>While thou&s;ands yet alive would with thee &s;ay,</L>
<L>His Prowe&s;s (under God) obtain'd that Day.</L>
<L>But what is this to all that he hath done,</L>
<L>To th' Towns and Ca&s;tles he by force hath won?</L>
<L>Thou'd&s;t find an endle&s;s Task on 't, to declare</L>
<L>His Peaceful Virtues, or 's exploits in War.</L>
<L>In general terms I know thou'd&s;t prai&s;e thus far,</L>
<L>Prudent in Coun&s;el, pro&s;perous in War:</L>
<L>But home to &s;peak his prai&s;e, and to de&s;cend</L>
<L>Unto particulars, there were no end.</L>
<L>Singly admire his prudence in the thing,</L>
<L>So well contriv'd that did re&s;tore the King,</L>
<L>Who&s;e con&s;tant Loyalty &s;ince th' Re&s;toration</L>
<L>'S a worthy pattern to th' un&s;table Nation.</L>
<L>Thou ken&s;t not of the Knots, or the Meanders</L>
<L>Of State-Intrigues, di&s;play'd 'mong&s;t bold Commanders.</L>
<L>Then lay thy Pen by, don't i'th' lea&s;t Eclip&s;e</L>
<L>A General's Glory by thy Pen, or Lips.</L>
<LG>
<L>Let <HI>England, Scotland, Ireland,</HI> mourning &s;ay,</L>
<L>For three&s;core years and more enjoy'd have they,</L>
<L>In <HI>ORRERY</HI> an <HI>Atlas,</HI> lo&s;t this day.</L>
</LG>
<L>His death's a lo&s;s unparallel'd, the King</L>
<L>A grave wi&s;e Coun&s;ellor, and mo&s;t loving</L>
<L>Subject hath lo&s;t, the Church a Gracious Son,</L>
<L>The Realm a Peer, yea, and a Peerle&s;s one;</L>
<L>The Court a Pillar, th' Army a Commander</L>
<L>Of high Conduct, as was great <HI>Alexander;</HI></L>
<L>The Countreys lo&s;s as great yea greater rather,</L>
<L>In <HI>ORRERY</HI> is lo&s;t a mo&s;t dear Father.</L>
<L>Th' ha&s;t company enough, who, than to mourn,</L>
<L>Can't other glory add unto his Urn.</L>
<L>I tell thee &s;till thou need'&s;t not, can'&s;t not write</L>
<L>Great <HI>ORRERY</HI>'s due prai&s;e, who Shines too bright</L>
<L>His Sacred Poems now but in the Pre&s;s,</L>
<L>Will &s;peak his noble prai&s;e in fairer dre&s;s:</L>
<L>His Wit and Worth were 'bove thy Ken or Story,</L>
<L>Who therefore's wrapt into immortal Glory.</L>
<L>But 'cau&s;e thou had'&s;t a mind to do thy be&s;t,</L>
<L>Thou, with his Coat of Arms, a Mourner re&s;t.</L>
<L>Thou art forewarn'd (&s;he &s;aid.) Now farewell Friend.</L>
<L>So ere I had begun, I made an <HI>END.</HI></L>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>T. B.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P><HI>LONDON:</HI> Printed for <HI>Rowland Reynolds,</HI> at the <HI>Middle-Exchange</HI> in the <HI>Strand.</HI> 1680.</P>
</DIV1>
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