Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE BRAVE MARECHAL DE MONTLUC, AND COMMENTARIES WRIT BY OWN HAND, by CHARLES COTTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE BRAVE MARECHAL DE MONTLUC, AND COMMENTARIES WRIT BY OWN HAND, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Montluc how far I am unfit
Last Line: Who fought and writ the best but thee.
Subject(s): Monteluc, Marshal Blaize De (1501-1577); War


MONTLUC how far I am unfit
To praise thy valour, or thy wit,
Or give my suffrage to thy fame,
Who have myself so little name,
And can so ill thy worth express
I blushing modestly confess;
Yet when I read their better lines,
Who to commend thy brave designs,
Their panegyrics have set forth,
And do consider thy great worth;
Though what they write may be more high,
They yet fall short as well as I.
Whose is that pen so well can write
As thou couldst both command, and fight?
Or whilst thou foughtst who durst look on,
To make a true description?
None but thyself had heart to view
Those acts thou hadst the heart to do,
Thyself must thy own deeds commend,
By thy own hand they must be penn'd,
Which skill'd alike in pen and sword,
At once must act, and must record.
Thus Caesar in his tent at night,
The actions of the day did write,
And viewing what h'ad done before,
Emulous of himself, yet more,
And greater things perform'd, until
His arm had overdone his will,
So as to make him almost fit
To doubt the truth of what he writ.
Yet what he did, and writ, though more,
Than ere was done, or writ before;
Montluc by thee, and thee alone,
Are parallel'd, if not outdone,
And France in ages yet to come,
Shall show as great a man as Rome.
Hadst thou been living, and a man,
When that great Caesar overran
The ancient Gauls, though in a time,
When soldiery was in its prime;
When the whole world in plumes were curl'd,
And he the soldier of the world,
His conqu'ring Legions doubtless had
By thy as conqu'ring arms been stayed:
And his proud Eagle that did soar
To dare the trembling world before,
Whose quarry Crown and Kingdom were,
Had met another Eagle here,
As much as she disdain'd the lure,
Could fly as high, and stoop as sure.
Then to dispute the world's command,
You two had fought it hand to hand,
And there the Aquitanic Gaul
Maintained one glorious day for all.
But for one Age 't had been too much
T' have two leaders and two such,
Two for one world are sure enow
And those at distant ages too.
If to a Macedonian boy
One world too little seemed t' enjoy;
One world for certain could not brook
At once a Caesar, and Montluc,
But must give time for either's birth;
Nature had suffer'd else, and th' earth
That truckled under each alone,
Under them both had sunk and gone.
Yet though their noble names alike
With wonder and with terror strike;
Caesar's, though greater in command,
Must give Montluc's the better hand;
Who though a younger son of fame,
A greater has, and better name.
With equal courage and worse cause
That trampled on his Country's laws,
And like a bold but treacherous friend,
Enslaved those he should defend:
Whilst this by no ambition swayed
But what the love of glory made,
With equal bravery, and more true
Maintain'd the right that overthrew;
His Vict'ries as th' encreased his power
Laid those for whom he fought still lower;
Abroad with their victorious bands,
He conquer'd provinces and lands,
Whilst the world's conqu'ring Princess Rome
Was her own servant's slave at home.
Thy courage brave Montluc we find
To be of a more generous kind,
Thy spirit, loyal as 't was brave,
Was evermore employed to save,
Or to enlarge thy Country's bounds,
Thine were the sweat, the blood, the wounds,
The toil, the danger, and the pain;
But hers and only hers the gain.
His wars were to oppress and grieve,
Thine to defend, or to relieve!
Yet each to glory had pretence,
Though such as shew'd the difference,
By their advantages and harms
Twixt Infidel and Christian Arms.
France, Piedmont, Tuscany and Rome,
Have each a trophy for thy tomb;
Siena too, that Nature strain'd
Only to honour thy command,
Proud of thy name will be content,
Itself to be thy monument:
But thine own Guienne will deny
Those noble relics elsewhere lie:
But there enshrin'd now thou art dead,
Where (to its glory) thou wert bred.
Oh fruitful Gascony! whose fields
Produce whatever Nature yields.
Fertile in valour as in fruit,
And more than fruitful in repute,
How do I honour thy great name,
For all those glorious sons of fame,
Which from thy fair womb taking birth,
Have overspread the spacious earth.
Yet stands the world oblig'd for none,
Nor all thy heroes more than one;
One brave Montluc had crown'd thee Queen,
Though all the rest had never been.
Past times admir'd this General,
The present do, and future shall;
Nay whilst there shall be men to read
The glorious actions of the dead,
Thy book in ages yet unborn
The noblest Archives shall adorn,
And with his Annals equal be,
Who fought and writ the best but thee.





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