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B03219 An elegy on the death of the most illustrious Lord, the Earl of St. Albans: who departed this life the first day of this instant January, 1684. 1684 (1684) Wing E398; Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.3[146]; ESTC R36108 1,251 1

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MEMENTO MORI AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the most Illustrious LORD THE EARL of St. ALBANS Who Departed this Life the first Day of this Instant January 1684. GO stop the swift-wing'd Moments in their flight Arrest the Envious Course of Day and Night Alas it will not be we strive in vain Not all our Art can one poor Hour regain TIME flyes in haste to meet Eternity As Rivers to the Bosome of the Sea There to be lost nor can we bribe the stay Of the least Minute to prolong the Day Which is by Fate ordain'd to be our last VVithout reverse when once the Doom is past For if there cou'd have been the least Reprieve To Mortal Breath thou had'st been still alive St. ALBANS still had blest our wondring Eyes VVho now the Tyrant Death's pale Captive lies Let us contemplate thee brave Soul and tho' VVe cannot track the way which thou didst go In thy Celestial Journey and our Heart Expansion want to think what now thou art How bright and wide thy Glories yet we may Remember thee as thou wert in thy Clay Great without Title in thy self alone A mighty Lord thou stood'st oblieg'd to none But Heaven and thy self for that great worth VVhich the propitious Stars that rul'd thy Birth Inspir'd into thy Noble Soul and Thou Not wanting to thy self did'st make it grow To such prodigious height thou wast become So truly Glorious that struck Envy Dumb. All Differences did in thy praise conspire And ev'n thy Foes if such cou'd be admire Thy Noble Life which like the constant Sun Did in the same Ecliptic always run Ever most loyal to the Royal Cause VVhich from the Heaven of Heavens its Tule draws VVhere now thou liv'st free'd from th' uncertain sport Of Time and Fortune in the Starry Court A Glorious Potentate while we below But fashion woes to mittigate our woe And now my sorrows follow thee I tread The Milky way and see the Snowy Head Of Atlas far below while all the high Swoln Buildings seem but Attoms to my eye How small seems greatness here how not a span His Empire who commands the Ocean Both that which boasts so much its mighty Ore And th other which with Pearl hath pav'd its shore Nor can it greater seem when this great All For which Men quarrel so is but a Ball Cast down into the ayr to sport the Star And all our general Ruines mortal wars Depopulated States caus'd by their sway And Mans so reverend wisdom but their play By thee St. Albans living we did learn The art of life and by thy light discern The truth which Men dispute but by thee Dead VVer taught upon the worlds gay pride to tread And that way sooner Master it than he To whom both Indies tributary be Thus shall we gain by Death while we Deplore His Fate remembring how great and good St. Abans was and yet but flesh and blood As we how should the brave example move On kindled Souls and lift us up above Low-thoughted Care of dull Mortality Since if as Good we shall be Great as He. The EPITAPH HAil Sacred House in wh●ch his Reliques Sleep Blest Marble give me leave t' approa●h and Weep Vnto thy Self great Spirit I will R●peat Thy Own brave STORY tell thy Self how Great Thou wert in Mind's Empire and how all Who Out-Live Thee see but the FVNERAL Of Glory and if yet some Vertuous be They but the Apparitions are of Thee Printed for I. Deacon at the Angel in Guilt-spur-street without New-Gate 1684.