%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A Second / ELEGY / On that Incomparable HEROE, / THOMAS Earl of OSSORY: / Who died on Fryday the 30th of July 1680. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1680-1680 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 02/26/2016 34509

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R32135 HE's dead 'tis true---I question it no more; / Nay rather fear'd than doubted it before: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1 A Second / ELEGY / On that Incomparable HEROE, / THOMAS Earl of OSSORY: / Who died on Fryday the 30th of July 1680. A Second ELEGY On that Incomparable HEROE, THOMAS Earl of OSSORY: Who died on Fryday the 30th of July 1680. A Second ELEGY On that Incomparable HERO, THOMAS Earl of OSSORY: Who died on Friday the 30th of July 1680. Printer D. Mallet 1680-1680

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<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A Second</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ELEGY</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">On that Incomparable <hi rend="bold">HEROE,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left">THOMAS Earl of OSSORY:</seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Who died on <hi rend="bold">Fryday</hi> the 30th of <hi rend="bold">July</hi> 1680.</hi></seg>
HE's dead 'tis true---I question it no more; Nay rather fear'd than doubted it before: But Grief for OSSORY is ne'r too late, Since future Ages will bewail his Fate. Even this late Sorrow, which my Muse puts on, Had been less true, had it appear'd more soon; For nimble sorrow quickly change their show, The long-liv'd Grief is in its Birth most slow. When first I heard Great OSSORY'S dismal Knel, A stupid horror straight upon me fell, Wrapt all my Senses in Astonishment, Nor did so much as leave for Tears a Vent. Like Niobe, I seem'd to be in one, Both Mourner then and Monumental Stone. Nor certainly, had I that Swoon surviv'd; But must have dy'd, had not my sorrows liv'd. Yet 'twas no weakness: Charles himself, we hear, Withdrew, and shed for Ossory a tear. What Heart more great? Yet ev'n that could not hold, When to his Eares so sad a Theam was told. Were any Heart in all his Kingdoms found, Which the sad News with sorrow did not wound? A Traitors Death he justly might receive, That with his King and Country would not grieve. When on the Sickly Bed Great OSSORY lay, And Fear had not quite took all hope away; How eagerly the pious people strove, To shew a fear, which shew'd so much of Love, Liv's he said they --- when, yes, the Doctor se'd, How many Blessings showr'd they on his Head. He lives --- the Eccho o'r all England flew; Ev'n fierce Moroccos King did fear 'twas true. As on cold Oetas Top, the Son of Jove! With double Heat of Fire and Poyson strove; And all the World stood trembling for his sake: Only Eurystheus hop'd the rest would take: Such pains our Hero did that time endure, Tormented with a direful Calenture. While three great Nations trembled for his Head; Only the barbarous Moor could wish him dead.
Thy loss brave OSSORY, Tangiere deplores, Worse at thy Death dismaid, than at the Moors. The English Gallants there dejected stand. Wanting to their stout Hearts, thy Valliant Hand. Trelawnys Ghost walk'd sadly by the Mole, And Shriek'd instead of Thee, to meet thy Soul: He hop'd t'have been Reveng'd by thy sharp Blade And thou, as Pale as He, dost walk --- a Shade. The English-Church, that had no better Friend, (Next Heav'n & Charles, who doth her Faith defend) Grieves at thy Death and fears her own sad Lot, Since Fates, thus accessary to the Plot. He whose Ambition all o'r world Alarms, Looks now for more success unto his Arms, Since Thou, who didst at Mons such acts of Praise, Hast yielded now to Death the Victor's Bays. Thy Sire, great Ormond, in thy Life more great, (Because by thee preserv'd, from Envy's hate) Like some vast Oak now rob'd of's leaves doth stand By's Trophies scarce secur'd from Woodman's hand Yet He (though Envy burst) is still secure, Not in's own Worth so much, nor Vertues pure, (Tho they the strictest Test may well endure;) No nor in Charles his great Affection; But only, 'cause he had so great a Son. Why were the Heavens to England so severe, As not to let thee Flourish longer here? As thus to cut Thee off in thy full prime, And give Thee so much Good for so short time? Only to show thy Worth in Field and Court, and then to snatch Thee hence, as if in sport? Had we not known Thee, we had been content; But who could know --- and not thy loss lament! Yet since thy Death was fix'd by rigid Fate, And to desire thy Self is now too late; Thanks mighty Hector of our second Troy, Thanks for Astyanax, thy hopeful Boy, Young James, who influenc'd with Charles his Care, May shortly prove in Valour too thine Heir,
FINIS. LONDON, Printed by D. Mallet. 1680.