%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> AN / ELEGY / ON THE / USURPER O.C. / BY THE / AUTHOR / OF / Absalom and Achitophel, / published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the POET. Dryden, John University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/23/2014 32729

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R13599 AND now 'tis time for their Officious hast, / Who would before have born him to the Sky Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 77 1: 77 AN / ELEGY / ON THE / USURPER O.C. / BY THE / AUTHOR / OF / Absalom and Achitophel, / published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the POET. AN ELEGY ON THE USURPER O.C. BY THE AUTHOR OF Absalom and Achitophel, published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the POET. AN ELEGY ON THE USURPER O.C. BY THE AUTHOR OF Absalom and Achitophel, published to show the Loyalty and Integrity of the POET. Dryden, John ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/23/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation military/ war Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/23/2014 3:24:29 PM XBallad Jaworski, Cheryl Created XML Version of Ballad 6/23/2014 3:24:29 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/23/2014 3:24:29 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/23/2014 3:24:29 PM Transcriptionist Two Oberlander, Lindsay Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/23/2014 3:24:29 PM Transcriptionist One Rendt, Ariel Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/21/2013 Checker William Hildalgo Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/27/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/24/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/5/2012 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/15/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">AN</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ELEGY</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ON THE</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">USURPER O.C.</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">BY THE</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">AUTHOR</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OF</hi></seg> <seg n="8" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Absalom and Achitophel,</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="9" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">published to shew the Loyalty and Integrity of the</hi> POET.</hi></seg>
AND now 'tis time for their Officious hast, Who would before have born him to the Sky Like eager Romans e're all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred Eagle fly. Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame, Joyn'd with the lowd Applause of publick Voice, Since Heaven the praise we offer to his Name, Hath rendred too Authentick by its Choice. Though in his Praise no Arts can lib'ral be, Since they whose Muses have the highest flown, Add not to his Immortal Memory, But do an Act of Friendship to their own. Yet 'tis our Duty and our Interest too, Such Monuments as we can build to raise, Least all the World prevent what we should do, And claim a title in him by their praise. How shall I then begin or where conclude, To draw a Frame so truly circular? For in a Round what Order can be shew'd, Where all the parts so equal perfect are? His Grandeur he deriv'd from Heaven alone; For he was great e're Fortune made him so, And Wars like Mists that rise against the Sun; Made him but Greater seem, not Greater grow. 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. Fortune (that easie Mistress of the young, But to her Antient Servants coy and hard;) Him at that Age her Favorites ranck't among,
He private, mark't 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 would wish undone. And yet Dominion was not his design, We owe that Blessing not to him but Heaven, Which to fair Acts rewards unsought did joyn; Rewards which less to him than us were given. Our former Cheifs like Sticklers in the War, First sought t'enflame the Parties, then to poize, The Quarrel lov'd, but did the Cause abhor, And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise. War, our Consumption, was their gainful Trade, We inward bled whilst they prolong'd our pain, He fought to end our Fightings, and Essaid To stanch the Blood by breathing of a Vein. Swift and resistless through the Land he past, Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue, And made to Battle such Heroick haste, As if on Wings of Victory he flew. 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're he came Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown. His Palmes though under weights, they did not stan[d] Still thriv'd, no Winter could his Lawrels fade, Heaven in his portraict shew'd a Workmans hand, And drew it perfect yet without a shade. Peace was the Price of all his Toyls and Care, Which War had banisht and did now restore, Bolognia's Wall thus mounted in the Air
[?] safety rescued, Ireland to him owes, [?] treacherous Scotland to no In'trest true; Yet blest that Fate which did his Arms dispose, Her Land to civilize as to subdue. Nor was he like those Stars which only shine, When to pail Mariners they Storms portend, He had his calmer Influence, and his Mein Did Love and Majesty together blend. 'Tis true, his Count'nance did Imprint an Awe, And Nat'rally all Souls to his did bow, As wands of Divination downward draw, And point to Beds where Sovereign Gold does grow. When past all Offerings to Pheretrian Jove, He Mars depos'd, and Arms to gowns made yeild; Successful Councels did him soon Approve, As fit for close Intreagues, as open field. [?] suppliant Holland he vouchsaft a Peace, [?] once bold Rival in the Brittish Main, [?]w tamely glad her unjust claim to cease, [?] buy our Friendship with her Idol gain. [?]e of th' asserted Sea through Europe blown, [?]de France and Spain ambitious of his Love, [?]a knew that side must Conquer he would own, [?] for him fiercely as for Empire strove. [?] sooner was the Frenchman's Cause embrac't, [?]n the light Monsieur the grave Don outweigh'd, [?] Fortune turn'd the Scale where it was cast, [?]ugh Indian Mines were in the other laid. [?]en absent, yet we conquer'd in his right [?] though some meaner Artists Skill were shown, [?]ningling Colours or in placing light, [?] all the fair designment was his own. [?] from all Tempers he could Service draw, [?]e worth of each with its allay he knew, [?]d as the Confident of Nature saw, [?]ow the Complexions did divide and brew. [?]he their single Vertues did survey, [?]ntuition in his own large Breast; [?]re all the rich Ideas of them lay, [?]t were the Rule and Measure to the rest. [?]en such Heroick Vertue Heaven sets out, [?]e Stars like Commons sullenly obey;
Because it dreyns them when it comes about, And therefore is a Tax they seldome pay. From this high Spring our Forreign 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. He made us Freemen of the Continent, Whom Nature did like Captives treat before, To nobler Preys the English Lyon sent, And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar. That old unquestion'd Pirate of the Land, Proud Rome with dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard, And trembling, wisht behind more Alps to stand, Although an Alexander were her Guard. By his Command we boldly crost the Line, And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise, We trac'd the far fetcht Gold unto the Mine, And that which brib'd our Fathers made our Prize. Such was our, Prince yet own'd a soul above, The highest Acts it could produce to shew; Thus poor Mechanick Arts in publick move, Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go. 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 Tryumphs Earth could give. His latest Victories still thickest came, As, near the Center, motion doth encrease, 'Till he, prest down with his own weighty Name, Did like the Vestal under Spoils decrease. But first the Ocean as a Tribute sent, The Gyant Prince of all her watry herd, And th' Isle when her protecting Genius went, Upon his obsequies lowd sighs confer'd. 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. His Ashes in a peaceful Urn shall rest, His Name and great example stand to show How strangely high endeavours may be blest, Where Piety and Valour Joyntly go.
POSTSCRIPT. THe Printing of these Rhimes Afflicts me more Than all the Drubs I in Rose-Alley bore. [?] shows my nauseous Mercenary Pen [?]ld praise the vilest and the worst of men. [?]ogue like Hodge am I, the World will know it, [?]ge was his Fidler, and I John his Poet. [?] may prevent the pay for which I write; [?] for pay against my Conscience fight. [?]st confess so infamous a Knave [?]do no Service, though the humblest Slave.
Villains I praise, and Patriots accuse, My railing and my fawning Talents use; Just as they pay I flatter or abuse. But I to men in Power a Turd am still, To rub on any honest Face they will. Then on I'le go, for Libels I declare, Best Friends no more than worst of Foes I'le spare, And all this I can do, because I dare. He who writes on, and Cudgels can defie, And knowing hee'l be beaten still writes on, am I.
J.D. [London: Printed for J. Smith. MDCLXXXI.]