A poem upon the death of His late Highness, Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland & Ireland written by Mr. Dryden. Dryden, John, 1631-1700. 1659 Approx. 10 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 7 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A36664 Wing D2330 ESTC R1635 12265168 ocm 12265168 58017 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. A36664) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 58017) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 181:22) A poem upon the death of His late Highness, Oliver, Lord Protector of England, Scotland & Ireland written by Mr. Dryden. Dryden, John, 1631-1700. 12 p. Printed for William Wilson and are to be sold in Well-Yard, near Little St. Bartholomew's Hospital, London : 1659. Reproduction of original in University of Chicago Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Cromwell, Oliver, 1599-1658 -- Poetry. 2002-07 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-08 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-09 Mona Logarbo Sampled and proofread 2002-09 Mona Logarbo Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A POEM UPON THE DEATH OF His Late Highness , OLIVER , Lord Protector OF ENGLAND , SCOTLAND , & IRELAND . Written by Mr. Dryden . LONDON , Printed for William Wilson ; and are to be sold in Well-Yard , near Little St. Bartholomew's Hospital , 1659. HEROICK STANZA'S , Consecrated to the Memory of His HIGHNESS , OLIVER , Late Lord PROTECTOR OF THIS COMMONWEALTH , &c. Written after the Celebrating of his Funeral . I. AND now 't is time ; for their officious haste , Who would before have born him to the Sky , Like eager Romans , e'er all Rites were past , Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly . II. Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame , Join'd with the loud Applause of publick Voice ; Since Heaven , what Praise we offer to his Name , Hath render'd too Authentick by its Choice . III. Though in his Praise no Arts can liberal be , Since they , whose Muses have the highest flown , Add not to his Immortal Memory ; But do an Act of Friendship to their own . IV. Yet 't is our Duty , and our Interest too , Such Monuments as we can build , to raise ; Lest all the World prevent what we shou'd do , And claim a Title in him by their Praise . V. How shall I then begin , or where conclude , To draw a Fame so truly Circular ? For in a Round , what Order can be shew'd , Where all the Parts so equal perfect are ? VI. His Grandeur he deriv'd from Heav'n alone , For he was great e'er Fortune made him so ; And Wars , like Mists that rise against the Sun , Made him but greater seem , not greater grow . VII . No borrow'd Bays his Temples did adorn , But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring ; Nor was his Vertue poison'd , soon as born , With the too early Thoughts of being King. VIII . Fortune ( that easie Mistress of the Young , But to her ancient Servants coy and hard ) Him , at that Age , her Favourites rank'd among , When she her best-lov'd Pompey did discard . IX . He , private , mark'd 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 wou'd wish undone . X. And yet Dominion was not his Design ; We owe that Blessing not to him , but Heav'n , Which to fair Acts unsought Rewards did join , Rewards that less to him , than us , were giv'n . XI . Our former Chiefs , like Sticklers of the War , First sought t' inflame the Parties , then to poise : The Quarrel lov'd , but did the Cause abhor ; And did not strike to hurt , but make a noise . XII . War , our Consumption , was their gainful Trade ; We inward bled , whilst they prolong'd our Pain ; He fought to end our Fighting , and assay'd To stench the Blood by breathing of the Vein . XIII . Swift and resistless through the Land he pass'd , Like that bold Greek , who did the East subdue ; And made to Battels such Heroick Haste , As if on Wings of Victory he flew . XIV . 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'er he came , Thick as the Galaxy with Stars are sown . XV. His Palms , tho under Weights they did not stand , Still thriv'd ; no Winter could his Laurels fade : Heaven in his Portraict shew'd a Work-man's Hand , And drew it perfect , yet without a Shade . XVI . Peace was the Prize of all his Toil and Care , Which War had banish'd , and did now restore : Bolognia's Walls thus mounted in the Air , To seat themselves more surely than before . XVII . Her Safety , rescu'd Ireland , to him owes ; And treacherous Scotland , to no Int'rest true , Yet bless'd that Fate which did his Arms dispose , Her Land to civilize , as to subdue . XVIII . Nor was he like those Stars which only shine , When to pale Mariners they Storms portend : He had his calmer Influence , and his Mien Did Love and Majesty together blend . XIX . 'T is true , his Count'nance did imprint an Awe , And naturally all Souls to his did bow ; As Wands of Divination downward draw , And point to Beds where Sov'raign Gold doth grow . XX. When past all Off'rings to Pheretrian Iove , He Mars depos'd , and Arms to Gowns made yield ; Successful Counsels did him soon approve , As fit for close Intrigues as open Field . XXI . To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf'd 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 . XXII . Fame of th'asserted Sea , through Europe blown , Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love ; Each knew that Side must conquer , he wou'd own ; And for him fiercely , as for Empire , strove . XXIII . No sooner was the French-Man's Cause embrac'd , Than the light Monsieur the grave Don out-weigh'd : His Fortune turn'd the Scale , where e'er 't was cast , Tho Indian Mines were in the other laid . XXIV . When absent , yet we conquer'd in his Right ; For tho some meaner Artist's Skill were shown , In mingling Colours , or in placing Light ; Yet still the fair Designment was his own . XXV . For from all Tempers he cou'd Service draw ; The Worth of each , with its Alloy , he knew ; And , as the Confident of Nature , saw How she Complections did divide , and brew . XXVI . Or he their single Vertues did survey , By Intuition , in his own large Breast , Where all the rich Idea's of them lay , That were the Rule and Measure to the rest . XXVII . When such Heroick Vertue 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 . XXVIII . From this high Spring , our Foreign Conquests flow , Which yet more glorious Triumphs do portend ; Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe , If Springs as high as Fountains may ascend . XXIX . He made us Free-men of the Continent , Whom Nature did like Captives treat before : To nobler Preys the English Lion sent , And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar . XXX . 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. XXXI . By his Command we boldly cross'd 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 . XXXII . Such was our Prince , yet own'd a Soul above The highest Acts it cou'd produce to show : Thus poor Mechanick Arts in Publick move , Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go . XXXIII . 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 . XXXIV . His latest Victories still thickest came , As near the Centre , Motion does increase ; Till he , press'd down by his own weighty Name , Did , like the Vestal , under Spoils decease . XXXV . But first , the Ocean , as a Tribute , sent That Giant-Prince of all her Watry Herd ; And th' Isle , when her protecting Genius went , Upon his Obsequies loud Sighs conferr'd . XXXVI . 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. XXXVII . His Ashes in a Peaceful Urn shall rest , His Name a great Example stands to show , How strangely high Endeavours may be bless'd , Where Piety and Valour jointly go . FINIS .