Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ELEGY ON SIR CHARLES LUCAS AND SIR GEORGE LISLE, by HENRY KING (1592-1669)


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AN ELEGY ON SIR CHARLES LUCAS AND SIR GEORGE LISLE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: In measures solemn as the groans that fall
Last Line: The monuments of their base cruelty.
Subject(s): Capital Punishment; Great Britain - Civil War; Injustice; Lisle, Sir George (d. 1648); Lucas, Sir Charles; Hanging; Executions; Death Penalty; English Civil War


IN measures solemn as the groans that fall
From the hoarse trumpet at some funeral;
With trailing Elegy and mournful verse,
I wait upon two peerless soldiers' hearse:
Though I acknowledge must my sorrow's dress
Ill matched to the cause it should express;
Nor can I, at my best invention's cost,
Sum up the treasure which in them we lost.

Had they, with other worthies of the age,
Who late upon the kingdom's bloody stage,
For God, the King, and Laws, their valour tried,
Through War's stern chance in heat of battle died,
We then might save much of our grief's expense,
Reputing it, not duty, but offence.
They need no tears, nor howling exequy,
Who in a glorious undertaking die;
Since all that in the bed of honour fell,
Live their own Monument and Chronicle.

But these, whom horrid danger did not reach,
The wide-mouth'd cannon, nor the wider breach,
These, whom, till cruel want and coward fate
Penn'd up like famish'd lions in a grate,
Were for their daring sallies so much fear'd,
Th' assailants fled them like a frighted herd;
Resolving now no more to fight, but lurk
Trench'd in their line, or earth'd within a work.
Where, not like soldiers they, but watchmen, creep,
Arm'd for no other office, but to sleep;
They, whose bold charge whole armies did amaze,
Rend'ring them faint and heartless at the gaze,
To see Resolve and Naked Valour charms
Of higher proof than all their massy arms;
They, whose bright swords ruffled the proudest troop
(As fowl unto the tow'ring falcon stoop),
Yet no advantage made of their success,
Which to the conquer'd spake them merciless
(For they, whene'er 'twas begg'd, did safety give,
And oft unasked bid the vanquish'd live);
Ev'n these, not more undaunted in the field,
Than mild and gentle unto such as yield,
Were, after all the shocks of battles stood,
(Let me not name it) murder'd in cold blood.

Such poor revenge did the enraged Greek
Against (till then) victorious Hector seek,
Triumphing o'er that body, bound and dead,
From whom, in life, the pow'rs of Argos fled.
Yet might Achilles borrow some excuse
To colour, though not warrant, the abuse:
His dearest friend, in the fierce combat foil'd,
Was by the Trojan's hand of life despoil'd;
From whence unruly grief, grown wild with rage,
Beyond the bounds of Honour did engage.
But these, confirm'd in their unmanly hate,
By counsels cruel, yet deliberate,
Did from the stock of bleeding honour hew
Two of the noblest branches ever grew;
And (which our grief and pity must improve)
When brought within their reach with shows of love:
For by a treaty they entangled are,
And rend'ring up to Mercy is the snare;
Whence we have learn'd, whene'er their Saintships treat,
The ends are mortal, and the means a cheat;
In which the world may read their black intent,
Drawn out at large in this sad precedent.
Who (though fair promis'd) might no mercy have,
But such as once the faithless Bashaw gave,
When to his trust deluded Bragadine
Himself and Famagosta did resign.
Whose envied valour thus to bonds betray'd,
Was soon the mark of barb'rous slaughter made:
So gallant ships, which rocks and storms had past,
Though with torn sails, and spending of their mast,
When newly brought within the sight of land,
Have been suck'd up by some devouring sand.

You wretched agents for a kingdom's fall,
Who yet yourselves the Modell'd Army call;
Who carry on and fashion your design
By Sylla's, Sylla's red proscription's line,
(Rome's Comet once, as you are ours) for shame
Henceforth no more usurp the soldier's name:
Let not that title in fair battles gain'd
Be by such abject things as you profan'd;
For what have you achiev'd, the world may guess
You are those Men of Might which you profess?
Where ever durst you strike, if you met foes
Whose valour did your odds in men oppose?
Turn o'er the annals of your vaunted fights,
Which made you late the People's favourites;
Begin your course at Naseby, and from thence
Draw out your marches' full circumference,
Bridgwater, Bristol, Dartmouth, with the rest
Of your well-plotted renders in the West;
Then to the angry North your compass bend,
Until your spent career in Scotland end,
(This is the perfect scale of our mishap
Which measures out your conquest by the map),
And tell me he that can, What have you won,
Which long before your progress was not done?
What castle was besieg'd, what Port, what Town,
You were not sure to carry ere sat down?
There needed no granadoes, no petard,
To force the passage, or disperse the guard.
No, your good masters sent a Golden Ram
To batter down the gates against you came.
Those blest Reformers, who procur'd the Swede
His armed forces into Denmark lead,
'Mongst them to kindle a sharp war for hire,
Who in mere pity meant to quench our fire,
Could where they pleased, with the King's own coin,
Divert his aids, and strengths at home purloin.

Upon sea voyages I sometimes find
Men trade with Lapland witches for a wind,
And by those purchas'd gales, quick as their thought,
To the desired port are safely brought.
We need not here on skilful Hopkins call,
The State's allow'd Witch-finder General.
For (though Rebellion wants no cad nor elf,
But is a perfect witchcraft of itself)
We could with little help of art reveal
Those learn'd magicians with whom you deal:
We all your juggles, both for time and place,
From Derby-house to Westminster can trace,
The circle where the factious jangle meet
To trample Law and Gospel under feet;
In which, like bells rung backward, they proclaim
The Kingdom by their wild-fire set on flame,
And, quite perverting their first rules, invent
What mischief may be done by Parliament:
We know your holy flamens, and can tell
What spirits vote within the Oracle;
Have found the spells and incantations too,
By whose assistance you such wonders do.
For divers years the credit of your wars
Hath been kept up by these Familiars,
Who, that they may their providence express,
Both find you pay, and purchase your success:
No wonder then you must the garland wear,
Who never fought but with a silver spear.

We grant the war's unhappy consequence,
With all the num'rous plagues which grow from thence,
Murders and rapes, threats of disease and dearth,
From you as for the proper Spring take birth;
You may for laws enact the public wrongs,
With all foul violence to them belongs;
May bawl aloud the people's right and pow'r,
Till by your sword you both of them devour
(For this brave liberty by you upcried
Is to all others but yourselves denied),
May with seditious fires the land embroil,
And, in pretence to quench them, take the spoil;
You may Religion to your lust subdue,
For these are actions only worthy you:
Yet when your projects, crown'd with wish'd event,
Have made you masters of the ill you meant,
You never must the soldiers' glory share,
Since all your trophies executions are:
Not thinking your successes understood,
Unless recorded and scor'd up in blood.

In which, to gull the people, you pretend,
That Military Justice was your end;
As if we still were blind, not knowing this
To all your other virtues suited is;
Who only act by your great grandsires' law,
The butcher Cade, Wat Tyler, and Jack Straw,
Whose principle was murder, and their sport
To cut off those they fear'd might do them hurt:
Nay, in your actions we completed find
What by those Levellers was but design'd,
For now Committees, and your arm'd supplies,
Canton the land in petty tyrannies,
And for one King of commons in each shire,
Four hundred Commons rule as tyrants here.
Had you not meant the copies of each deed
Should their originals in ill exceed,
You would not practice sure the Turkish art,
To ship your taken pris'ners for a mart,
Lest if with freedom they at home remain,
They should (which is your terror) fight again.
A thing long since by zealous Rigby moved,
And by the faction like himself approv'd;
Though you uncounsell'd can such outrage try,
Scarce sampled from the basest enemy.
Naseby of old, and late St. Fagan's fare,
Of these inhuman truckings witness are;
At which the captiv'd Welsh, in couples led,
Were marketed, like cattle, by the head.
Let it no more in History be told
That Turks their Christian slaves for aspers sold;
When we the Saints selling their brethren see,
Who had a Call (they say) to set them free;
And are at last by right of conquest grown
To claim our land of Canaan for their own.
Though luckless Colchester in this outvies
Argiers' or Tunis' shameful merchandise;
Where the starv'd soldier (as th' agreement was)
Might not be suffer'd to their dwelling pass,
Till, led about by some insulting band,
They first were show'd in triumph through the land:
In which, for lack of diet, or of strength,
If any fainted through the march's length,
Void of the breasts of men, this murd'rous crew
All those they could drive on no further, slew;
What bloody riddle's this? They mercy give,
Yet those who should enjoy it, must not live.

Indeed we cannot less from such expect,
Who for this work of ruin are elect:
This scum drawn from the worst, who never knew
The fruits which from ingenuous breeding grew;
But take such low commanders on their lists,
As did revolted Jeroboam priests:
That 'tis our fate, I fear, to be undone,
Like Egypt once with vermin overrun.
If in the rabble some be more refin'd,
By fair extractions of their birth or mind,
Ev'n these corrupted are by such allays,
That no impression of their virtue stays.
As gold, embased by some mingled dross,
Both in its worth and nature suffers loss.

Else, had that sense of honour still surviv'd
Which Fairfax from his ancestors deriv'd,
He ne'er had show'd himself, for hate or fear,
So much degen'rous from renowned Vere
(The title and alliance of whose son
His acts of valour had in Holland won),
As to give up, by his rash dooming breath,
This precious pair of lives to timeless death;
Whom no brave enemy but would esteem,
And, though with hazard of his own, redeem.
For 'tis not vainly by the world surmis'd,
This blood to private spleens was sacrific'd.
Half of the guilt stands charg'd on Whalley's score
By Lisle affronted on his guards before;
For which his spite by other hands was shown,
Who never durst dispute it with his own.
Twice guilty coward! first by vote, then eye,
Spectator of the shameful tragedy.
But Lucas elder cause of quarrel knew,
From whence his critical misfortune grew;
Since he from Berkeley Castle with such scorn
Bold Ransborough's first summons did return,
Telling him loudly at the parley's beat,
With rogues and rebels he disdain'd to treat.

Some from this hot contest the world persuade
His sleeping vengeance on that ground was laid:
If so, for ever blurr'd with Envy's brand,
His honour gain'd by sea, was lost at land:
Nor could he an impending judgement shun,
Who did to this with so much fervour run,
When late himself, to quit that bloody stain,
Was, 'midst his armed guards, from Pomfret slain.
But all in vain we here expostulate
What took them hence, private or public hate:
Knowledge of acted woes small comforts add,
When no repair proportion'd can be had:
And such are ours, which to the kingdom's eyes
Sadly present ensuing miseries,
Foretelling in These Two some greater ill
From those who now a patent have to kill.
Two, whose dear loss leaves us no recompense,
Nor them atonement, which in weight or sense
With These shall never into balance come,
Though all the army fell their hecatomb.
Here leave them then; and be 't our last relief
To give their merit value in our grief.
Whose blood however yet neglected must
Without revenge or rites mingle with dust;
Not any falling drop shall ever dry,
Till to a weeping spring it multiply,
Bath'd in whose tears their blasted laurel shall
Grow green, and with fresh garlands crown their fall.

From this black region then of Death and Night,
Great Spirits, take your everlasting flight:
And as your valour's mounting fires combine,
May they a brighter constellation shine
Than Gemini, or than the brother-stars,
Castor and Pollux, fortunate to wars;
That all fair soldiers, by your sparkling light,
May find the way to conquer, when they fight,
And by those patterns which from you they take,
Direct their course through Honour's Zodiac:
But upon traitors frown with dire aspect,
Which may their perjuries and guilt reflect;
Unto the curse of whose nativity,
Prodigious as the Caput Algol be,
Whose pale and ghastly tresses still portend
Their own despair or hangman for their end.
And that succeeding ages may keep safe
Your lov'd remembrance in some Epitaph,
Upon the ruins of your glorious youth,
Inscribed be this monumental truth:
Here lie the valiant Lucas and brave Lisle,
With Amasa betray'd in Joab's smile:
In whom, revenge of Honour taking place,
His great corival's stabb'd in the embrace.
And as it was the Hebrew Captain's stain,
That he two greater than himself had slain,
Shedding the blood of War in time of Peace,
When love pretended was, and arms did cease,
May the foul murderers expect a fate
Like Joab's, blood with blood to expiate;
Which, quick as lightning, and as thunder sure,
Preventions wisest arts nor shun, nor cure.
O may it fall on their perfidious head!
That when, with Joab to the Altar fled,
Themselves the sword and reach of vengeance flee,
No Temple may their sanctuary be.

Last, that nor frailty nor devouring time
May ever lose impressions of the crime,
Let loyal Colchester (who too late tried
To check, when highest wrought, the Rebels' pride,
Holding them long and doubtful at the bay,
Whilst we, by looking on, gave all away),
Be only nam'd: which, like a Column built,
Shall both enhearse this blood unnobly spilt,
And live, till all her towers in rubbish lie,
The monuments of their base cruelty.





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