On the Death of the Illustrious Duke of Gloucester.

GReat Glou'ster's dead, and yet in this we must
Confess that angry Heaven is wise and just.
We have so long and yet so ill endured
The woes which our offences had procured,
That this new stroke would all our strength destroy.
Had we not known an intervall of Joy.
And yet perhaps this stroke had been excused,
If we this intervall had not abused.
But our Ingratitude and Discontent
Deserv'd to know our mercies were but lent:
And those complaints Heav'n in this rigid fate
Does first chastise, and then legitimate.
By this it our Divisions does reprove,
And makes us joyn in grief, if not in love.
For (Glorious Youth) all Parties do agree,
As in admiring, so lamenting thee;
The Soveraign Subject, Foreiners delight:
Thou wert the universal Favourite.
Not Rome's belov'd and brave Marcellus fell
So much a Darling or a Miracle.
Though built of richest bloud and finest earth,
Thou hadst a heart more noble then thy birth:
Which by th' afflictive changes thou didst know,
Thou hadst but too much cause and time to shew.
For when Fate did thy Infancy expose
To the most barbarous and stupid Foes;
Yet thou didst then so much express the Prince,
As did even them amaze, if not convince.
Nay, that loose Tyrant whom no bound confin'd,
Whō neither Laws nor Oaths nor Shame could bind,
Although his Soul was then his Look more grim,
Yet thy brave Innocence half softened him.
And he that Worth wherein thy Soul was drest
By his ill-favour'd clemency confest;
Lessening the ill which he could not repent,
He call'd that Travel which was Banishment.
Escap'd from him, thy Trials were encreas'd;
The scene was chang'd, but not the danger ceas'd.
Now from rough Guardians to Seducers gone,
Those made thy Temper, these thy Judgmt known;
Whil'st thou the noblest Champion wert for Truth,
Whether we view thy Courage or thy Youth.
If to foil Nature and Ambition claims
Greater reward then to encounter Flames,
All that shall know the story must allow
A Martyr's Crown prepared for thy brow.
But yet thou wert suspended from thy Throne,
Til thy Great Brother had regain'd his own:
Who though the bravest Suff'rer, yet even he
Could not at once have mist his Crown and Thee.
But as Commission'd Angels make no stay,
But having done their errand go their way:
So thy part done, not thy restored State,
The future splendour which did for thee wait,
Nor that thy Prince and Countrey must mourn for
Such a Support and such a Counsellor,
Could longer keep thee from that bliss whence thou
Look'st down with pity on Earth's Monarchs now;
Where thy capacious Soul may quench her thirst,
And Younger Brother may inherit first.
While on our King Heav'n does this care express,
To make his Comforts safe he makes them less.
For this successful Heathens use to say,
It is too much, (great Gods,) send some allay.