Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE THOMAS EARL OF OSSORY, by CHARLES COTTON


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ON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE THOMAS EARL OF OSSORY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Enough! Enough! I'll hear no more
Last Line: A glorious pyramid to boteler's name.
Subject(s): Butler, Thomas. Earl Of Ossory (1634-80)


I

ENOUGH! Enough! I'll hear no more,
And would to Heav'n I had been deaf before
That fatal sound had struck my ear:
Harsh rumour has not left so sad a note
In her hoarse trumpet's brazen throat
To move compassion, and enforce a tear.
Methinks all Nature should relent, and droop,
The centre shrink, and Heaven stoop,
The day be turn'd to mourning night,
The twinkling stars weep out their light,
And all things out of their distinction run
Into their primitive confusion.
A Chaos, with cold darkness overspread,
Since the illustrious Ossory is dead.

II

When Death that fatal arrow drew,
Ten thousand hearts he pierced through,
Though one alone he out-right slew;
Never since sin gave him his killing trade,
He, at one shot, so great a slaughter made;
He needs no more at those let fly,
They of that wound alone will die,
And who can now expect to live, when he,
Thus fell unprivileg'd we see!
He met Death in his greatest triumph, war,
And always thence came off a conqueror,
Through rattling shot, and pikes the Slave he sought,
Knock'd at each cuirass for him as he fought,
Beat him at sea, and baffled him on shore,
War's utmost fury he out-brav'd before,
But yet, it seems, a fever could do more.

III

The English Infantry are orphans now,
Pale sorrow hangs on every soldier's brow;
Who now in honour's oath shall lead you on,
Since your beloved General is gone?
Furl up your ensigns, case the warlike drum,
Pay your last honours to his tomb;
Hang down your manly heads in sign of woe;
That now is all that your poor loves can do;
Unless by Winter's fire, or Summer's shade
To tell what a brave leader once you had;
Hang your now useless arms up in the hall,
There let them rust upon the sweating wall;
Go, till the fields, and with inglorious sweat,
An honest, but a painful living get;
Your old neglected callings now renew,
And bid to glorious war a long adieu.

IV

The Dutch may now have fishing free,
And, whilst the consternation lasts,
Like the proud rulers of the sea,
Show the full stature of their masts;
Our English Neptune, deaf to all alarms,
Now soundly sleeps in Death's cold arms,
And on his ebon altar has laid down
His awful trident, and his naval crown.
No more shall the tall frigate dance
For joy she carries this victorious Lord,
Who to the capstan chain'd mischance,
Commanding on her lofty board.
The sea itself, that is all tears,
Would weep her soundless channel dry,
Had she unhappily but ears,
To hear that Ossory could die.
Ah, cruel Fate, thou never struck'st a blow,
By all mankind regretted so;
Nor can 't be said who should lament him most,
No country such a patriot e'er could boast,
And never Monarch such a subject lost.

V

And yet we knew that he must one day die,
That should our grief assuage;
By sword, or shot, or by infirmity;
Or, if these fail'd, by age.
But he, alas! too soon gave place
To the successors of his noble race:
We wished, and coveted to have him long,
He was not old enough to die so soon,
And they to finish what he had begun,
As much too young:
But time, that had no hand in his mischance,
Is fitter to mature, and to advance
Their early hopes to the inheritance
Of titles, honours, riches and command,
Their glorious grandsire's merits have obtain'd,
And which shines brighter than a ducal crown,
Of their illustrous family's renown;
Oh, may there never fail of that brave race,
A man as great, as the great Ossory was,
To serve his Prince, and as successful prove
In the same valour, loyalty and love;
Whilst his own virtues swell the cheeks of fame,
And from his consecrated urn doth flame
A glorious pyramid to Boteler's name.





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