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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A43434 An Heroick elegy upon the most lamented death of that excellent hero Sir Edmund Wyndham, Knight Marshall of England 1681 (1681) Wing H1585; ESTC R33602 1,222 2

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AN HEROICK ELEGY Upon the most Lamented Death of that Excellent Hero Sir Edmund Wyndham Knight Marshal of ENGLAND A Wake ye dead ye glorious Heavenly Host And bid your Welcomes to a new come Ghost A Ghost of Honour Rob'd with Christian Grace Who now hath fought his Fight and gain'd his Race Who hath pass'd bravely o're this Worlds great Stage Adorn'd with Crowns of Honour and of Age. He was a man of most accomplish'd Parts The learned Master both of Arms and Arts. Doubly Palladian so he doth poffess The Crown of Glory and of Righteousness Nay what to mortal more be added can He was a most unblemish'd honest man Who amongst you can boast a greater thing Than t' have been nursing Father to a King And such a King who studies still to bless These Kingdoms with a lasting Happiness Nay in the fiercest heats of Wars Alarms Did carry him in 's heart as well as Arms. So that His Majesties most Royal Sence Plac'd Marshals Staff where he might's Conscience For his Endeavours always were to bring Great Glories to his Gracious God and King Farewell good Windham then whose virtuous Soul Did all Rebellious Vermine here controul Who beat long Serpents out of their round Beds And broke the many headed Hydra's Heads He was the Glory both of Sword and Gown And known Supporter of the Royal Crown Which he appear'd to be in th' worst of Times When all this Land was laden with foul Crimes When all Religion too was banish'd hence And Treason pass'd for good Convenience When horrid Rebels kept their King in Awe And Civil Arms were cri'd up Common Law When all these Kingdoms were in mischief hurld He stood unmov'd th' Eighth Wonder of the World Fix'd like that Empiraeum nor did know Or care for Tumults of these Orbes below These Orbes below I mean which still go round And ne'er are quiet till they do confound When base Rebellion was pure Virtue made And ourst High-Treason was become a Trade He like another Archimed did bring Engines to work to Reinthrone his King Those Engines sure were Angels that he sent To help his opprest Prince in 's Banishment When all was out of help nay hopes of man He then advanc'd his Angels Guardian He never fear'd Rogues Pillage nor spar'd Purse That he might clear his Country from that Curse Which when His Majesty well understood He 'd have him like himself so great as good Nor could his gracious goodness make a shift To give this Land a more Basilick Gift Nay sure his Royal Favour could afford No greater Honour than his Marshal's Sword And who could better manage it than he Whose Soul was the rich Sheath of Loyalty Who can but humbly prostrate now adore So brisk a Soul in body 'bove Fourscore Yet he must yield at last to cruel Death But for a Pause to gain immortal Breath Where he doth now his Io Paeans sing For his good King on Earth to Heaven's great King More Comfort is that he hath left behind Such Noble Sons th' high Offspring of his Mind That you cann't chuse but hope that we shall see These Kingdoms bless'd in their Posterity Let Hackney Poets now make haste and run To court the Glories of the Rising Sun Whilst honour'd Windom's Coarse more like the Sun Shines forth most glorious at his going down And so he meets in that most pompous Dress In th' other world the Son of Righteousness London Printed An Dom. 1680 1.