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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A11194	The tvvo famous pitcht battels of Lypsich, and Lutzen wherein the ever-renowned Prince Gustavus the Great lived and died a conquerour: with an elegie upon his untimely death, composed in heroick verse by John Russell, Master of Arts, of Magdalene Coll. in Cambridge.	Russell, John, d. 1688.; Russell, John, d. 1688. Elegie upon the death of the most illustrious and victorious Prince Gustavus Adolphus King of Swethland &c. aut	1634 (1634)	STC 21460; ESTC S116282	35,062	94

utmost force But when the Signall was again resounded The cheerfull Souldiers as no whit astounded Strictly did each embrace his Camerade And Must we charge them once again they said Then let us bravely and with manly Hearts And like true Souldiers act our latest parts Then with such rage and furie did they close As if they had reserved all their blowes For this last onset and those new-come Bands Did quickly feel their over-weightie hands They found that though the light did still decrease Yet the stout Swethes would not their furie cease After they had sustained for a while Their rough encounter and no little spoil They did betake them to a shamefull flight Under protection of the wings of Night Leaving the field to their victorious foes Who on the same their wearied limbes repose Among his wounded Friends and Enemies On the cold ground the conqu'ring Souldier lies And ne're complaineth of so hard a Bed Where VICTORIE her pleasing arms hath spread FINIS AN ELEGIE UPON THE IMMATURE AND MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF that most Christian Souldier and Renowned Prince GVSTAVVS THE GREAT King of Swethes Goths and Vandals c. Composed immediately after the first rumour of his death by JOHN RUSSELL ¶ Printed by the Printers to the Vniversitie of CAMBRIDGE 1634. An Elegie upon the death of the King of SWEDEN WHat strange sad silence doth the world astound Why doth not Fames still echoing trumpet sound She 's grown forgetfull or else hoarse I fear That we no more victorious sounds can heare 'T was but of late when as the thundring noise Of doubled triumphs conquests and applause Fill'd our Horizon and the aire did ring With shouts of praisse to Sweds victorious King Was this a dream and fanci'd apparition And now is vanisht like a fleeting vision Could all the world be thus deluded No 'T was surely reall and no feigned show Those bloudie battels and those dismall fights We lately heard were not like vap'rie sights Compos'd of airie breath which to the eye Two dreadfull Armies grappling do descrie These these were reall and thy direfull steel Victorious Prince shall after-ages feel And those deep wounds which in thy furious ire Thou didst inflict by force of thundring fire Shall leave wide scarres upon the Germane land Which shall for ever to their terrour stand This thou hast done alreadie and amaz'd Remotest kingdomes where thy deeds are blaz'd But on a sudden loe thou dost appeare To stop in middle of thy full career All tongues are silent and our greedie eares Heare nothing now but terrours doubts and fears Or Fame her self is dead or he that gave Life unto Fame is sunk into his grave Fame cannot die Oh! can he die whose look So many thousands dead at once hath strook What mortall durst give him a wound whose eye Hath made grimme Death to start and turn awrie Sure he 's not dead Swethland for grief would roar And make their grones heard to our English shore If he were dead whom they have priz'd more deare Then their own proper lives and did not fear To runne like Lions at their Princes words Upon the mouthes of Cannons points of Swords He 's dead I fear For can he living be And we no spoils nor further conquests see Can he be living and not heard to thunder To batter cities trample kingdomes under Whose very soul was fire Aethereall pure Such as no mortall bodies can endure His breath was direfull smoke and from his hands Flew show'rs of iron balls that quell'd whole lands Can that Sulphurious dust more quick then winde Once toucht with flame in prison be combin'd Not steel nor iron nor the hardest brasse Can stay its furie for the shortest space Though mightie mountains prest this living flame Yet would it tear them and an entrance frame His Hellish breath and dismall noise to vent Nor would it cease till all its furie 's spent Thus hath it been with Europes Northern Starre And Sweds Victorious Prince made all for warre Whose Spirit toucht with fire from heav'n did blaze Like to some Comet sent for to amaze And scourge us mortall wights whose direfull breath Doth shoot down vengeance terrours plagues death Had Turk and Tartar and the Triple Crown That awes the Christian world and treadeth down Monarchs as slaves themselves in one combin'd This Heav'n-sent Furie had like lightning winde Shot through them all and like to scatt'red corn Their feeble squadrons had been rent and torn Till his Celestiall vigour were quite spent No Warres no Ruines could his ire content But now his date is out and his Commission Is stopt from heav'n with a new Prohibition He 's dead Oh bitter word enough to make Stones for to weep and iron hearts to ake So soon alas in so unwisht an houre Is all our joy quell'd by some secret power Why do not we then breathe such dolefull grones And poure such melting tears as should hard stones Dissolve into salt drops that they and we Might so expresse one mournfull Elegie What! are we spent and drie I see no teares I heare no grones no wailings pierce my eares Oh pardon me I fear my faltring tongue Distract with troubled sorrow doth you wrong 'T is slender grief that doth by weeping vent And 't is not much that can by tears be spent But this this sorrow like a mortall wound Strikes deep and doth our senses quite astound Lies like a lump of lead or heavie weight Upon our heart and pincheth it so strait That neither sigh nor grone can issue thence But lies as dead and quite bereft of sense Since then 't is so we cannot weep let 's borrow From others help so to expresse our sorrow Ye glistring lamps above ye Northern starres That roll about the Pole your frozen Carres In Thetis waves plunge over head and eares That ye may have your fill of brinish teares And by sad influence make the heav'ns to lowre And to the earth send down a weeping showre But chiefly on that place that cursed ground Where Adolph first receiv'd his mortall wound Let never grasse nor verdant herb grow there Nor any tree nor ground it self appeare Let it be all a lake whose face may look Just like the colour of th' Infernall brook Like pitchie Styx or black-stream'd Acheron Or like Cocytus or dark Phlegethon That it may seem to all a mourning vail That doth the surface of that ground empale And let its murm'ring waves make such a noise As may expresse to us the dolefull voice Of some that crie that roar that shriek that grone Of some that mourn that weep that wail that mone That after-ages to their children may Tell this sad storie when they passe that way These souls do mourn for Swethlands conqu'ring King But these whose clamours fearfully do ring Are such as in this place di'd by his power And thus expresse their horrour to this houre Meanwhile Renowned Prince sleep thou secure No further pains nor travels to

GUSTAVE ADOLPHE Roy de Suede Tué à la Bataille de Lutz ente 16. g. bre 1632 agé de 3● ans THE Tvvo Famous Pitcht Battels of LYPSICH AND LUTZEN Wherein the ever-renowned Prince GUSTAVUS THE GREAT lived and died a Conquerour WITH AN ELEGIE UPON his untimely death composed in Heroick Verse By JOHN RUSSELL Master of Arts of Magdalene Coll. in CAMBRIDGE Me castra juvant lituo tubae Permistus sonitus belláque matribus Detestata Printed by the Printers to the Vniversitie of CAMBRIDGE 1634. And are to be sold by Philip Scarlet AD NOBILISSIMVM SUUM PATRONUM EPIGRAMMA TV mihi sis Phoebus mea sit tibi Luna libellus Quem facis en radiis ipse micare tuis Sidereos volui titulos nomina clara Supremâ in nostri figere parte libri Quò possent plenè suffundere luce coruscâ Quaelibet in scriptis inferiora meis Jam mea si Livor contorto lumine spectet Carmina percussus sydere mutus erit TO THE RIGHT NOBLE TRUELY VALOUROUS AND HEROICK GENTLEman WILLIAM Lord CRAVEN BARON of Hampsteed MARSHALL c. RIGHT HONOVRABLE THe ardent affection wherewith the best sublimest Spirits have ever embraced the Sonnes of the Muses is not in any example so apparent as in that matchlesse pattern of true Valour and Magnificence ALEXANDER the Great who having finisht the Conquest of Persia and hearing every day of more Victories did thus expresse his sorrow and discontented affection Think you to please me with any news unlesse ye can tell me that HOMER is alive again Such was his ambitious love to Poetrie Under protection of this invincible example I boldly make my Approaches My Lines are alreadie drawn and perfected whereby I am resolved to attempt your Lordships Favour and I hope I shall winne the same without any danger or repulse Yet do I not think to carrie it by any advantageous surprise or forcible irruption but onely by a free and voluntarie yeelding which you may easily perform without any derogation to your Honour and Valour And seeing now my speech is to a Souldier give me leave in that little that I have to speak to keep the same dialect Forasmuch as I am now to expose my self to a World of Enemies I thought it fit to marshall these my lines after a warlike order I have prefixed the approbations of my judicious in the front of this Book to be as it were a Vantguard Then followes in the middle my own Poem which I account as the Main and upon this I do most of all relie Then I have reserved in the last place some few Elegiack Verses which because they have alreadie past the Pikes of sharpest censures and come off cleare in the judgement of the world I make them my last refuge and have placed them as you may see in the Rear In this order I stand readie to receive the assaults of envious Carpers and curious Criticks I do not stand in any fear of your Honourable acceptation and gracious interpretation of these my labours The name and subject of my Book which is GVSTAVVS Battels is enough to assure me from all doubts suspicions Seeing you have not thought much to spend your best bloud in defence of his cause I cannot think you will be backward to patronize the memorie of his Name The unfeigned Admirer of your Heroick Vertues JOHN RUSSELL To the Candid Reader LEst any Cynicall Critick should compare my book to the Town of Mindas which being but a small Citie was notwithstanding beautified with stately gates I am in this respect forced to Apologize for my self and my learned Friends who have adorned this small volume of mine with their ample Approbations Know then Courteous Reader that I could not subtract these Encomiasticks without apparent wrong to the subject of my Book for you shall finde that they have imitated that cunning Engraver who had with such art inwrought his own Image with the Image of Minerva that they could not be separated without defacing of both so have my Friends here interwoven my most undeserving Name with the sublime praises of GUSTAVUS that the one cannot be separated from the other without manifest disfiguring of the Poem Besides there are some that are more delighted with brief concise Epitomes then with larger Treatises these Verses which I have premised seem to have contracted that which I have more amply handled the Honour and Praise of GUSTAVUS the Great And to conclude that which these Criticks would fain make an argument of arrogance and ostentation seems to me a perspicuous testimonie of my timorousnesse and modestie in that I dare not enter into the world without so many to guard me and usher me the way Farewell J. R. TO HIS FRIEND THE AVTHOVR IN DEFENCE OF HIS Heroick Poem WHat wilt thou answer Poet for this wrong To make a King thy Subject and thy Song A King whose Fame and long-liv'd actions scarce Can be contain'd in measure of a verse O inconsiderate Muse Of him is' t fit That every budget brain and common wit Should write a farthing Pamphlet Every one At 's death can have a verse in brasse and stone Thus will censorious Criticks talk and those That th' Empire claim of Poetrie and Prose Yet care not Once GVSTAVVS was a scoffe And Tinker call'd at last came bravely off He clipt the Eagles wings and took from thence A quill for thee Fabritius art thou since Silent Go take thy pen grave Doctour write Thy Muse methinks this Poem might excite J. PULLEN Fellow of Magd. Coll. TO HIS FRIEND THE AVTHOVR of this Heroick Poem I Nothing finde unhappie in thy Book But what 's not thine the subject When I look Upon thy Muse and finde it full of bloud Yet I conclude thy Vein is sound and good And shall live long by that which is not thine But lively represented in thy line That Hero's death thou dost with life declare And in that which thou giv'st thou 'lt surely share R. BULKLEY Fellow of S. Johns Coll. To my Friend Master RUSSELL upon this ensuing Poem of the King of Swedens Battels 'T Was a Proud Greek whose vast Ambition Pin'd for new Worlds who vow'd his Counterfeit Should be pourtraid on pain of death by none But best Apelles Pride surnam'd him Great And 't was a prouder Tuscan misemployd His dying thoughts about his Elegie Charging his Marble might be rather void Then not adorn'd by Prince of Poetrie Thus did not Sweden taint his greatnesse He Suffers all Prose or Verse Nor doth his Shade Disturb but help the Artist Deitie Accepts an offring from the meanest trade Friend thy first-fruits are sacred GVSTAVES Name Is then O Muses more authenticall Nor shall 't be Heresie in verse to claim Aid from live Names and still Imperiall He shall preserve thy Papers and vent more Then an enlarg'd Edition His Name Shall be thy Title too and fill the doore Of the rich Shop it lies in like

the Frame Of some rare Frontispice with neat device Tying unto it the Spectatours eyes So both in equall tye are excellent Thy Book 's His Elegie He its Monument WHat loose Prose could not pay to Swedens Herse Thou hast discharg'd in thy Heroick Verse Th' Intelligencers Feet on which he 'l runne Now round the world like a surveying Sunne 'T was greater art to chuse thy Theme then write Some Poems But to pen it in despite Of others grief or silence argues Love Great as thy Art And if the People prove Thy hand hath rudely op't a publick wound Newly clos'd up the Magistrate's not bound As Athens mulcted Phrenicus to be Their Censor and to fine thy Historie No Let us know our Guilt that Matchlesse Man Whose Dirge thou sing'st hath murdred Nay I can And dare tell how too 'T was the fond excesse Of our big thoughts decreas'd his Happinesse Whose modest Soul we vext with restlesse crie Of love pretended Proud Idolatrie His purer Breast divin'd asmuch while we Mad men still tempted him with Prophesie Oh! had this Frenzie rested in the heart Onely of us the People little Art Might frame a Plea But our great Rabbins too Oh Learning what huge mischiefs mayst thou do Seduc'd by Pride and Flatt'rie nay those Brains That wear the Sacred Cappe through all their veins Descri'd infected bloud whose tainted streams Danger'd the Nations whil'st noisome steams Exhal'd as high as Heav'n That starrie Sphere Stranger to vapours could not now be cleare Egypt examin'd Starres and father'd lies On their pure Substances all Mysteries Are pri'd into and stretcht The Chiliast Takes sev'rall shapes now poses us in vast Contemplative just nothings and then slips Into a Cassock picks th' Apocalyps And showes us Wonders which poore I dare swear His fleering heart well knew were never there The unclaspt Book was read the Signes unseal'd The Trumpets Phials and the Beast reveal'd The Pope and Cesar slain outright and all By GVSTAVE and by Heav'n This was his fall The Sinne was ours the troubled Vertue his So Evil hasted Goodnesse to her blisse Now th' An'grams blush and had not Pirrhus art Excus'd the letter when the Authours heart Glow'd with a lie by this time Levi had Like Iss'chars asse coucht under 's burden glad Though strong to be releas'd Let this suffice We all confesse we slew him and our eyes Shall testifie our sorrows LYPSICH may And LUTZEN tell his Life some half the way What we confesse tells all perfects the Storie More then the Annals of his living Glorie Oh! this Confession well-penn'd would be His Chronicle his Tombe his Elegie T. RILEY Fellow of Trin. Coll. TO THE AVTHOVR OF this ensuing Poem Master RUSSELL HOw dares thy mortall Fancie undertake A Theme Divine unlesse for Vertues sake The Germane Eagle to advance thy skill In praising Swethland lends a conqu'red quill Yet when thy Self and loftie Bird have done Neither are able to behold this Sunne Go strive to write and cast away thy pen Repent thy self and take it up agen Sometimes thy self and sometimes Swethland blame And midst thy praises check his glorious Name Tell valiant Swethland if thy Eagle brings A flight too low his Greatnesse clipt her wings CAESAR WILLIAMSON Fellow of Trinit Colledge To his ingenious Friend Master RUSSELL upon his Heroick Poem LEt those soft Poets who have dipt their brains In am'rous humours thaw to looser strains Let Cupid be their theme and let them pay Service to Venus in a wanton lay And let these Rhymers of our silken Age Unlade their Fancies on an emptie page Mars is thy theme thy Muse hath learn'd to talk The Cannon-language of the Warre and walk A loftie March while thy faint readers dread And tremble at each syllable they reade Leade on Stout Poet in thy Martiall state And let these Pages on GVSTAVVS wait Armed with verse of proof and those that aim To wound thy Muse or print upon thy Name Their darts of malice in their full pursuit Charm'd like those stones thrown at the Thracian Lute May they forget their message and in fierce Career dance at the musick of thy verse And if those eyes with pois'ned flame that shine Like Basilisks shed poison on a line To blot a syllable that sounds the least GVSTAVVS Warre Jove turn them to that Beast Then rest GVSTAVVS do not change thy room Within this Book for any marble tombe Each line 's a golden chain to hoise thee farre 'Bove Fate then blaze as fastned to a starre And for these Leaves presented thee a bough Of Laurell shall adorn the Poets brow JOHN SALTMARSH Magd. Coll. To his friend the AUTHOUR INgenious friend that dost so bravely sing The conquests of the Swethes Victorious King Who by thy thundring lines dost seem to follow Aswell the tents of Mars as of Apollo And in depainting of a bloudie fight Dost intermingle Terrour with Delight Though I could tell thee that thy verses worth Abundantly will gild and set them forth Although I might without base flatterie say Thy forehead doth deserve a wreathe or Bay Yet I forbear thy modestie is such I dare not praise at least not praise thee much Indeed what need'st thou my too slender praise To usher thy so sweetly-soaring layes Into the world since that the very name GUSTAVUS will more highly grace the same Then if the rarest Laureats choisest quill To pen thy praise should shew its utmost skill How richly is thy work rewarded See! Thou mak'st GUSTAVUS live GUSTAVUS thee And by thy loftie Muse I know not now Whether shall more be honour'd he or thou Sweds Great * Anagram of GUSTAVUS AVGVSTVS Oh how could I dwell Upon that Name How often could I spell Its every sacred syllable and when I 've done 't a thousand times begin agen That Name who honours not Oh may he be O'rewhelm'd with never-dying infamie His blessed Memorie who adoreth not Oh may he be eternally forgot Thy book my friend if I do not mistake Will please and sell for Great GUSTAVUS sake STEPHEN JONES of S. Johns Coll. THE BATTELL OF LYPSICH HAve you not heard the ever-restlesse Ocean Beat on the shore with waves continuall motion Which fill our eares with sad and murm'ring tones Just like the dolefull sighs and hollow grones Of thousands that together have conjoyn'd T' expresse the sorrows of a wounded minde For some disastrous Fate perhaps the death Of some deare Prince untimely reav'd of breath They fill the troubled aire with confuse cries Which are resounded by the trembling skies Which these sad tunes so often do repeat That now the woodie Choristers forget Their wonted strains and either stand as mute Or to these notes their warbling voices suit The willing aire instructing to expresse To humane eares soul-moving heavinesse Sweet Philomel now thinks upon her rape And former wrongs that she may fitly shape A tune of lively sorrow and make known The grief of others fully as her own Like this

hazard of a Fight The sunne-burnt Spaniards too were present there And if proud looks their Enemies could fear Sure though but few they were yet they alone A greater Armie would have overthrown Th' Italian now renowned more by farre For am'rous Courtship then for skill in Warre Yet hither came resolved for to die Or to defend Romes hated Monarchie And now my Muse repeat each great Commander That did attend Swedens Imperiall Standard For sure it is not fit their Names should die Or yet in dark oblivion buried lie Duke Bernard the sole Glorie of the day The Left Wing did for their prime Guide obey The King himself did the Right Wing command And at the Head of Steinbocks Troups did stand The Battell was conducted by Grave Neel A valiant Swethe and clad in shining steel Betwixt them and the Rear a compleat Band Of Musquettiers did Hinderson command A hardie and experienc'd Scot whom Fame Hath in these warres eternis'd with a Name The Battell of the Rear Knipphausen led A Noble Souldier and a skilfull Head To whose fair conduct did their Enemies owe The greatest part of their sad overthrow The Right Wing Bulach led a Colonell Of no small Spirit as his foes can tell Ernest of Anhalt did the Left Wing guide A man in Warres well exercis'd and tri'd Behinde their backs and in the utmost Rear A Regiment of Horse reserved were Which are by Oeme conducted whose stout heart Not any dangers could have made to start Now had GVSTAVVS speech his souldiers fir'd And double vigour into them inspir'd Make me sayes he your Pattern if you see That once I shrink I give you leave to flee This having spoken without further pause With speedie hand his shining blade he drawen Then waving't o're his head he doth advance Toward his Foes with fearlesse countenance And now their throats those fierie Engines stretch Whose sound and furie such a distance reach And ere one can behold or see his Foe Doth wound him deadly with a farre-sent blow In Aetna's sulph'rie cell inclos'd doth lie If we will credit grave Antiquitie A Monstrous Giant who is prison'd there For that to fight ' gainst Heav'n he did not fear As often as he turns his sides for room He fills Trinatria with a pitchie fume Disgorging from his hellish jawes such smoke And duskie flames as the pure aire do choak Ev'n thus black Lutzen for a time did shroud Her mournfull face within a pitchie cloud Proceeding from the Cannons fierie breath That ne'r speaks lesse then slaughtring wounds death No sight doth now appeare but the bright blaze Which the inflamed sulph'rie dust doth raise Here many Noble Spirits who did scorn To shrink for dangers were in sunder torn By those resistlesse Balls whose furious Course Cannot be stopt by any humane force Oh how my Muse deplores the Fates of those Who nothing wisht but to behold their foes That so their Valour when they once had tri'd Might by their Enemies be testifi'd Some murd'ring shot their noble thoughts prevents And furiously their corps in sunder rents And which their manly hearts could not endure Kills them within a cloud of smoke obscure The angrie Steeds offended at the noise That thundred from the Cannons iron jawes Do fling and spurn and scarce the curbing rein Can their proud sp'rits in any rank contain They fain would rush through midst of smoke and fire As if their breasts did burn with greater Ire The slaughtred heaps that round about them lie Cannot at all their Courage terrifie The brazen Trumpet Echoes in their eares Whose pleasing sound doth fright away all feares What Muse is able to rehearse or tell What direfull slaughters in this fight befell When humane Bodies onely do oppose Against the Cannons castle-rending blowes Whose Furie would make hardest rocks to shiver Whose very sound doth make the earth to quiver Whose hellish breath is able to command Most firm-cemented stones to fly like sand Squadrons of men were too weak walls to stay Such dreadfull force as would have found a way Through Rocks of hardest iron and would make A spatious Tower with its blast to shake No wonder then to see the field so spread With scatt'red limbes and bodies strucken dead When as the Cannon and the Culvering Their flaming furie round about do fling A murd'ring Curto here a rank doth spoil And there another sweeps away a file A brace of Demi-cannons here doth play Which through a squadron make a rugged way So blustring Boreas when his rage he doubles And Sea and Land with furious motion troubles From sturdiest Oaks their rended branches throwes And all the field with these his ruines strowes The unaffrighted Swethes marcht forward still And up again those breaches quickly fill Valiant GVSTAVVS with an angrie eye Sees how his foes their greater shot did ply With too too much advantage for he found Their Pieces mounted on the higher ground And on firm platforms the Imperialist His Ordinance could traverse as he list While that the Swedish more uncertainly Did in their motion at their Foes let flie The Swethes had left them now no other way To hinder this their so unequall play But on their Cannons mouthes to march and so To stop their throats and make them overthrow Their own defenders For these Engines are Of such a hellish temper that they care Neither for friend nor foe but both alike With equall slaughter will their furie strike In ancient fights when as they us'd t' advance In their first front a square of Elephants Who wheresoe're their unresisted force They chanc'd to bend they made an headlong course And with their massie Bodies over-laid All that their furie would have checkt or staid Sometime on their own Squadrons they would turn And under feet their chiefest friends would spurn With such a vengefull Rage as if that those They had mistaken for their deadliest foes Thus in these modern Warres it oft doth chance That the loud-roaring Shot and Ordinance Being once reverst upon their friends will thunder And without mercie tear their ranks in sunder Courage my Hearts cries Swethlands noble King And then his troups through show'rs of lead doth bring Just in the Cannons face who roar'd and spake So loud that all the neighb'ring Hills did quake But in their way a traverse ditch was made From whence with frequent shot their Enemies plaid Full in their teeth This trench them safe did hide And made them all the Swedish shot deride Till the provoked Swethes came storming on And made them wish them further off and gone At that same time the Crabats had a minde To fall upon their carriages behinde To seise upon their Arms and Ammunition And to blow up their Powder and Provision Bulach observes them with a watchfull eye He charg'd them home and made them quickly flie These light-arm'd Crabats never use to stand For any space and fight it hand to hand But if at first encounter they have mist They