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         Murray, Mungo, 17th cent.
      
       
         
           1681
        
      
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         ESTC R180800
         52614798
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         175983
         
           
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             On the death of his Grace John Duke of Rothes, Lord High Chancellor of Scotland, &c. Elegie.
             Murray, Mungo, 17th cent.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             s.n.,
             [Edinburgh? :
             1681]
          
           
             Mourning border.
             Signed at foot: M. M.
             Reproduction of original in: National Library of Scotland.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Rothes, John Leslie, -- Earl of, 1630?-1681 -- Death and burial -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Elegiac poetry, English -- Scotland -- Early works to 1800.
           Broadsides -- Scotland -- 17th century.
        
      
    
     
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           ON
           the
           Death
           of
           his
           Grace
           JOHN
           DUKE
           of
           ROTHES
           ,
           LORD
           High
           CHANCELLOUR
           of
           SCOTLAND
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           ELEGIE
           .
        
         
           
             ISRAEL
             for
             Moses
             fourty
             days
             did
             Mourn
             ,
          
           
             Our
             Joy
             to
             Grief
             ,
             twice
             fourty
             days
             may
             turn
             ;
          
           
             Scotlands
             Conductor
             ,
             ROTHES
             ,
             Wise
             and
             Brave
             ,
          
           
             Ah!
             now
             Himself
             Conducted
             is
             to
             Grave
             :
          
           
             ROTHES
             did
             Rule
             our
             Helm
             in
             Storms
             ,
             and
             Grace
          
           
             The
             Halcyon
             Calmness
             of
             our
             Oceans
             Peace
             :
          
           
             Dread
             Comet
             ,
             ah
             !
             too
             dreadful
             not
             in
             vain
             .
          
           
             Fatal
             to
             Albions
             Pole
             ,
             and
             Charles
             his
             Wain
             ;
          
           
             Judicious
             DVKE
             ,
             able
             to
             quench
             all
             Jarrs
             ,
          
           
             On
             which
             may
             rise
             Uncivil
             ,
             Civil
             Warrs
             ,
          
           
             Most
             prudent
             States-man
             ,
             Sage
             to
             Reconceal
             ,
          
           
             Knowing
             thy
             Kings
             Will
             ,
             was
             the
             Kingdoms
             Well
             ,
          
           
             In
             Court
             ,
             in
             Camp
             ,
             in
             
               City
               ,
               Field
            
             ,
             or
             Town
             ;
          
           
             Worthy
             to
             bear
             a
             Batton
             or
             a
             Gown
             .
          
        
         
           
             No
             Fate
             could
             make
             thy
             Loyalty
             relent
             :
          
           
             Nor
             Bondage
             of
             thy
             long
             Imprisonment
             ;
          
           
             Give
             Thou
             then
             Griev'd
             ,
             it
             was
             that
             then
             the
             while
          
           
             Thou
             could
             not
             Serve
             thy
             Master
             in
             Exyle
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             there
             Thy
             Thoughts
             ,
             and
             Corrospondence
             too
             ,
          
           
             Acted
             the
             most
             a
             Prisoner
             could
             do
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             never
             Winter
             made
             of
             Summer
             ,
             more
          
           
             Joyful
             to
             Thee
             ,
             when
             Heavens
             did
             Him
             Restore
             :
          
           
             And
             made
             Thy Self
             after
             a
             long
             Restraint
             :
          
           
             A
             Vig'rous
             ,
             and
             most
             Active
             Instrument
             ,
          
           
             For
             which
             ,
             Thou
             didst
             Thy
             Monarchs
             Love
             Inherit
             ,
          
           
             The
             due
             Reward
             of
             Thy
             Desert
             and
             Merit
             ;
          
           
             A
             Love
             most
             Firm
             ,
             and
             Great
             ,
             to
             be
             Admir'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             Chang'd
             to
             Sorrow
             ,
             since
             Thy
             Breath
             expyr'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             Great
             DVKE
             ,
             Lord
             
               Chancellour
               ,
               Gen'ral
               ,
               Thesaurer
            
             ,
          
           
             
               His
               Majesties
            
             most
             High
             Commissioner
             .
          
           
             
               What
               Greatness
               could
               Thou
               Want
               ,
               Thy
               King
               could
               Give
               ,
            
             
               Who
               only
               in
               Thy
               Destiny
               did
               Grieve
               ;
            
             
               He
               Could
               not
               also
               give
               Thee
               long
               to
               Live.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             ,
             since
             Heavens
             Doom
             ,
             no
             Flesh
             from
             Death
             reprives
             ;
          
           
             Thou'
             rt
             Mourn'd
             by
             Scotlands
             Representatives
             ;
          
           
             Thy
             Death
             makes
             York
             ,
             our
             High
             Commissioner
             Sad
             :
          
           
             He
             ,
             even
             more
             High
             ,
             then
             ere
             our
             Nation
             had
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             Pen
             Thy
             Praise
             ,
             exceeds
             all
             Poets
             Skill
             ;
          
           
             And
             does
             require
             Apollo's
             Choisest
             Quill
             ;
          
           
             Sure
             then
             Thy
             Name
             great
             Honour
             does
             obtain
             ,
          
           
             To
             whom
             the
             Highest
             Praises
             are
             but
             Mean.
          
           
             Then
             Blest
             are
             You
             Coelestial
             Minds
             that
             move
             ,
          
           
             Uncessantly
             the
             Spacious
             Orbs
             Above
             ;
          
           
             For
             if
             Your
             Toyl
             prove
             Irksome
             ,
             You
             may
             Rest
             ,
          
           
             And
             Trust
             Your
             work
             to
             this
             New
             Heavenly
             Guest
             .
          
        
         
           
             M.
             M.
             
          
        
      
    
     
  

