Now stop mine Eyes, for fear your Floods should fail,
And I want tears for all I must bewail;
But yet I need not doubt; Springs I espy,
Yea Fountains, which will give a fresh supply
For two young Plants, who both sprang from one Stem,
Beloved of God, I hope, as well as men.
Dear Hewlins, of what use might you have been,
If you to spare th' Almighty good had seen?
What cruel Tyrants had we lately here,
That two such tender Branches would not spare?
But when I think, of Grace that they had store,
And with what patience they their Sufferings bore,
It gives such comfort I can weep no more.
What Testimony did they leave behind,
Of that sweet joy which they in Christ did find?
When wicked men all pity do deny,
Our Saviour to compassion's mo•'d thereby;
⟨p. 28⟩And doubtless they are placed in that High Sphere,
Where th' Spirits of Just Men Triumphant are.
Ah me! Alas! what means this Sea of Blood?
Oh! See, see, see, it breaks forth like a Flood.
Must Walcot, Bateman, Ayliff, Ansly too
Be all forgot, are no sighs to them due?
No, no, that must not be; I'm drenched in tears,
To hear this cry of Blood sound in mine Ears.
But lo! another Stream issues amain,
My sinking Spirits, Lord, with speed sustain.
Poor Nelthrop's gone too, and the Lady Lisle;
Nay more, the Gallant Noble Lord Argile.
Hath Scotland bred a greater Man than he?
Of Noble Birth, and Ancient Pedigree.
No danger could his High-born Soul restrain,
He strove his Countries Liberty t' obtain.
And it to free from Romish Usurpation,
Beyond most of the Nobles in that Nation;
For which his Enemies many snares did lay,
Both his Estate and Life to take away,
Who only did design Tranquillity
To th' State; and to secure it from Slavery.
Were I but able I'd advance his Praise,
And with high strains of grief his Glory raise.
A Nobleman, Just, Pious, Valiant, Wise,
Able for Counsel, or for Enterprise;
Fit to set Cato Copies if alive,
Whose sharp discerning Judgment soon could dive
Into their Plots, though laid as deep as Hell;
But missing his Design, our Statesman fell.
⟨p. 29⟩Success sometimes does not the Wise attend,
The most Sagacious sometimes miss the end
They aim at; and yet may not be i'th' wrong;
The Race is not to th' swift, nor to the strong
The Battle is not always; and we see
This Scripture Proverb was made good in thee.
Farewell Argile! my weeping Muse shall burn
Her withered Laurel, at thy mournful Urn;
Now stop mine Eyes, for fear your Floods should fail,
And I want tears for all I must bewail;
But yet I need not doubt; Springs I espy,
Yea Fountains, which will give a fresh supply
For two young Plants, who both sprang from one Stem,
Belov'd of God, I hope, as well as men.
Dear Hewlins, of what use might you have been,
If you to spare th' Almighty good had seen?
What cruel Tyrants had we lately here,
That two such tender Branches would not spare?
But when I think, of Grace that they had store,
And with what patience they their Sufferings bore,
It gives such comfort I can weep no more.
What Testimony did they leave behind,
Of that sweet joy which they in Christ did find?
When wicked men all pity do deny,
Our Saviour to compassion's mo•'d thereby;
⟨p. 28⟩And doubtless they are plac't in that High Sphere,
Where th' Spirits of Just Men Triumphant are.
Ah me! Alas! what means this Sea of Blood?
Oh! See, see, see, it breaks forth like a Flood.
Must Walcot, Bateman, Ayliff, Ansly too
Be all forgot, are no sighs to them due?
No, no, that must not be; I'm drencht in tears,
To hear this cry of Blood sound in mine Ears.
But lo! another Stream issues amain,
My sinking Spirits, Lord, with speed sustain.
Poor Nelthrop's gone too, and the Lady Lisle;
Nay more, the Gallant Noble Lord Argile.
Hath Scotland bred a greater Man than he?
Of Noble Birth, and Ancient Pedigree.
No danger could his High-born Soul restrain,
He strove his Countreys Liberty t' obtain.
And it to free from Romish Usurpation,
Beyond most of the Nobles in that Nation;
For which his Enemies many snares did lay,
Both his Estate and Life to take away,
Who only did design Tranquillity
To th' State; and to secure't from Slavery.
Were I but able I'de advance his Praise,
And with high strains of grief his Glory raise.
A Nobleman, Just, Pious, Valiant, Wise,
Able for Counsel, or for Enterprize;
Fit to set Cato Copies if alive,
Whose sharp discerning Judgment soon could dive
Into their Plots, though laid as deep as Hell;
But missing his Design, our Statesman fell.
⟨p. 29⟩Success sometimes does not the Wise attend,
The most Sagacious sometimes miss the end
They aim at; and yet may not be i'th' wrong;
The Race is not to th' swift, nor to the strong
The Battel is not always; and we see
This Scripture Proverb was made good in thee.
Farewel Argile! my weeping Muse shall burn
Her wither'd Laurel, at thy mournful Urn;
