  KILLED BY A BULLET AT REEZ [From a MS. in the Bodleian.]—(Rawl. Poet. 142.) Why did we thus expose thee? what's now all That island to requite thy funeral? Though thousand French in murder'd heaps do lie, It may revenge, it cannot satisfy: We must bewail our conquest when we see Our price too dear to buy a victory. He whose brave fire gave heat to all the rest, That dealt his spirit in t' each English breast, From whose divided virtues you may take So many captains out, and fully make Them each accomplish'd with those parts, the which, Jointly, did his well-furnish'd soul enrich. Not rashly valiant, nor yet fearful wise, His flame had counsel, and his fury, eyes. Not struck in courage at the drum's proud beat, When e'en pale hearts above their pitch do fly, And, for a while do mad it valiantly. His rage was tempered well, no fear could daunt His reason, his cold blood was valiant. Alas! these vulgar praises injure thee; Which now a poet would as plenteously Give some brag-soldier, one that knew no more Than the fine scabbard and the scarf he wore. Fathers shall tell their children [this] was he, (And they hereafter to posterity,) Rank'd with those forces scourged France of old, Burrough's and Talbot's J. Earles. FOOTNOTES: |
|
