An elegy on the usurper O. C. by the author of Absalom and Achitophel ; published to shew the loyalty and integrity of the poet. Poem upon the death of his late Highness Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland Dryden, John, 1631-1700. 1682 Approx. 10 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 5 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A36619 Wing D2269 ESTC R13600 14924706 ocm 14924706 102958 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A36619) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 102958) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1568:21) An elegy on the usurper O. C. by the author of Absalom and Achitophel ; published to shew the loyalty and integrity of the poet. Poem upon the death of his late Highness Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland Dryden, John, 1631-1700. 8 p. [s.n.], [Dublin?] reprinted : MDCLXXXII [1682] In verse. Attributed by Wing and NUC pre-1956 imprints to Dryden. Published originally (1659) as: A poem upon the death of His late Highness, Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland & Ireland. "With a 'postscript' signed 'J.D.' and purporting to be written by Dryden, but really consisting of satirical verses directed against him"--NUC pre-1956 imprints. Reproduction of original in the Trinity College Library, Dublin University. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. 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Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Cromwell, Oliver, 1599-1658 -- Poetry. 2002-08 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-09 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-10 John Latta Sampled and proofread 2002-10 John Latta Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-12 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion AN ELEGY ON THE USURPER O. C. BY THE AUTHOR OF ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL . Published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the Poet. Reprinted in the Year MDCLXXXII . AN ELEGY ON THE USURPER O. C. By the Author of ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL . Published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the Poet. ANd now 't is time for their Officious haste , Who would before have born him to the Sky , Like eager Romans , e're all Rites were past , Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly . Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame , Join'd with the loud Applause of publick Voice , Since Heaven the praise we offer to his Name Hath rendred too authentick by its choice . Though in his praise no Arts can Lib'ral be , Since they whose Muses have the highest flown Add not to his Immortal Memory , But do an act of Friendship to their own . Yet 't is our Duty and our Interest too , Such Monuments as we can build to raise , Left all the World prevent what we should do , And claim a Title in Him by their Praise . How shall I then begin or where conclude , To draw a frame so truly circular ? For in a Round what Order can be shew'd , Where all the parts so equal perfect are ? His Grandure he deriv'd from Heaven alone ; For he was great e're Fortune made him so , And Wars like Mists that rise against the Sun , Made him but Greater seem , not Greater grow . No borrowed Bays his Temples did adorn , But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring , Nor was his Virtue poison'd soon as born , With the too early thoughts of being King. Fortune ( that easie Mistress of the young , But to her Antient Servants coy and hard ; ) Him at that age her Favorites ranck't among , When she her best lov'd Pompey did discard . He private mark't the Faults of others sway , And set as Sea marks for himself to shun , Not like rash Monarchs , who their Youth betray , By Acts their Age too late would wish undone . And yet Dominion was not his Designe , We owe that blessing not to him , but Heaven , Which to fair Acts Rewards unsought did join ; Rewards which less to him than us were given . Our former Chiefs , like Sticklers in the War , First sought t'enflame the Parties , then to poize , The Quarrel lov'd , but did the Cause abhor , And did not strike to hurt , but make a noise . War , our Consumption , was their gainful Trade , We inward bled whilst they prolong'd our pain , He Fought to end our Fightings , and essay'd † To stanch the Blood by breathing of a Vein . Swift and resistless through the Land he past , Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue , And made to Battel such Heroick hast , As if on wings of Victory he flew . He fought secure of Fortune as of Fame , 'Till by new Maps the Island might be shown , Of Conquests which he strew'd where e're he came ; Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown . His Palms , though under Weights , they did not stand , Still thriv'd , no Winter could his Laurels fade , Heaven in his Portraict shew'd a Workmans hand , And drew it perfect yet without a shade . Peace was the price of all his Toyls and Care , Which War had banisht and did now restore , Bolognia's Wall thus mounted in the Air , To seat themselves more surely than before . Her safety rescued , Ireland to him owes , And treacherous Scotland to no Interest true ; Yet blest that Fate which did his Arms dispose , Her Land to civilize as to subdue . Nor was he like those Stars which only shine , When to pale Mariners they Storms portend , He had his calmer Influence , and his Main Did Love and Majesty together blend . 'T is true , his Count'nance did imprint an aw , And nat'rally all Souls to his did bow , As wands of Divination downward draw , And point to Beds where sovereign Gold does grow . When past all Offerings to Pheretrian Iove He Mars depos'd , and Arms to Gowns made yield , Successful Councels did him soon approve As fit for close Intreagues , as open Field . To supplicant Holland he vouchsaft a Peace Our once bold Rival in the British Main , Now tamely glad her unjust Claim to cease , And buy our Friendship with her Idol Gain . Fame of th' asserted Sea through Europe blown , Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love , Each knew that Side must conquer he would own , And for Him fiercely as for Empire strove . No sooner was the Frenchman's Cause embrac't , Then the Light Monsieur the grave Don out-weigh'd , His Fortune turn'd the Scale where it was cast , Though Indian Mines were in the other laid . When absent , yet we conquer'd in his Right ; For though some meaner Artists Skill were shown , In mingling Colours , or in placing Light , Yet all the fair Designment was his own . For from all Tempers he could Service draw , The Worth of each with its Allay he knew ; And , as the Confident of Nature , saw How the Complexions did divide and brew . Or he their single Virtues did survey , By Intuition in his own large Brest , Where all the rich Ideas of them lay , That were the Rule and Measure of the rest . When such Heroick Virtue Heaven sets out , The Stars like Commons sullenly Obey ; Because it drains them when it comes about , And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay . From this high Spring our Foreign Conquests flow , Which yet more Glorious Triumphs do portend , Since their Commencement to his Arms they ow , If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend . He made us Freemen of the Continent , Whom Nature did like Captives treat before , To Nobler Preys the English Lyon sent , And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar . That old unquestion'd Pirate of the Land , Proud Rome , with dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard , And trembling wish'd behind more Alps to stand , Although an Alexander were her Guard. By his Command we boldly crost the Line , And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise , We trac'd the far fetch'd Gold unto the Mine , And that which brib'd our Fathers made our Prize . Such was our Prince , yet own'd a Soul above , The highest Acts it could produce to show ; Thus poor Mechanick Arts in publick move , Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go . Nor dy'd he when his ebbing Fame went less , But when fresh Laurels courted him to live , He seem'd but to prevent some new Success , As if above what Triumphs Earth could give . His latest Victories still thickest came , As near the Center Motion doth encrease , Till He , press'd down with his own weighty Name , Did like the Vestal under Spoils decrease . But first the Ocean as a Tribute Sent The Gyant Prince of all her Watry Herd , And th' Isle , when her protecting Genius went , Upon his Obsequies loud Sighs confer'd . No Civil Broils have since his Death arose , But Faction now by Habit does obey ; And Wars have that Respect for his Repose , As Winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea. His Ashes in a peaceful Urn shall rest , His Name and great Example stand to show How strangely high Endeavours may be blest Where Piety and Valour jointly go . POSTSCRIPT . THe Printing of these Rhimes afflicts me more Than all the Drubs I in Rose-Alley bore . This shews my nauseous Mercenary Pen Would praise the vilest and the worst of Men. A Rogue like Hodge am I ; the World will know it ; Hodge was his Fidler , and I John his Poet. This may prevent the Pay for which I write ; For I for Pay against my Conscience fight . I must confess , so Infamous a Knave Can do no Service , though the Humblest Slave . Villains I praise , and Patriots accuse , My railing and my fawning Talents use , Iust as they pay I flatter or abuse . But I to men in Power a Turd am still , To rub on any honest Face they will. Then on I 'le go , for Libels I declare , Best Friends no more than worst of Foes I 'le spare , And all this I can do , because I dare . He who writes on , and Cudgels can defie , And knowing he 'l be beat , still writes on , am I. J. D.