ness of this world, I trust at this time, thou wilt waft me over this sea of blood to thy heavenly Canaan.' To which heavenly ejaculation, a minister, standing by, replied, "Take tent, take tent, sir, that you drown not by the gate;' an expression sufficient to have distracted an ordinary soul, but our christian martyr answered, 'He hoped he was no Egyptian;' which he delivered with such christian modesty, that the lout stole away in the crowd, being confounded. His uncle, Sir Robert, was no otherwise dealt with by another of the brethren, being on the scaffold at St. Andrews, for the same just cause: In his speech to the people, while he was recom. mending to them their duty and obedience to the king, especially so good a king, one interrupted him, and forbade the people to believe him, being the son of a false prophet, meaning that great light in the church, his father, the archbishop of the place. Hence may the people learn, if they ought to trust the doctrine of their allegiance to such ones, who drench themselves in the blood of the best subjects, whose fame and acts shall serve as examples of future loyalty, gallantry, and piety. And it is hoped that none will be so mad again, as to worship meteors, when God Almighty hath provided a shining sun, our lawful and dread sovereign, whom God long preserve. Amen, Amen.

Immortali veræ Nobilitatis, inæquandæ Magnanimitatis, incon taminati Honoris, and intemerate Fidelitatis, Magni

Grami memoriæ Sacrum.

SI quis hic jacet quæris, Viator, Magnus hic est ille Montis-rosarum Marchio, generosi Genii suæ familiæ generosus hæres; qui virescentibus adhuc (licet annosis) Majorum suorum palmis, tot victrices contexuit lauros, ut si omnes Illi huic Uni an Unus hic Illis omnibus plus gloriæ contulerit scire sit nefas, Ilic est Nobilis Ille Montis-rosarum Marchio; qui si prosapià an virtute illustrior, consilio an dexterâ promptior, aulæ an castris charior, principibus suis an exteris gratior, perduellionis malleus durior, an monarchiæ assertor acrior, fama an fortunâ clarior, in vitâ denique insignior, an in morte constantior exstiterit dictu difficile: Hic est, Viator, Magnus Ille Dux, ducum sui sæculi facilè princeps: Dux, qui cum peditum manipula (ne dicam excercitulo) penè inermi, victus et amictus inopè, causæ æquitati, ducis magnanimitati, et gladiis confiso suis, ingentes hostium acies armatas duodecim mensium (plus minus) spatio septies Vidit, Vicit, Delevit. Majora hæc Cæsaris Oculatâ victoriâ. Sed proh instabilem lubrici fati rotam! Qui arma, castra, oppida, turres, propugnacula, qui frigus, famem, sitim, inaccessa montium juga, immo omnia superare consueverat, tandem maligno fortunæ errore victus, nequissimè hostibus traditus, quid non passus! Protomartyris regis sui martyr pedissequus, plus quam barbaro inímicorum furori (nisi tam generoso sanguine implacabili) et effrænæ præstigiatorum Druidum insolentiæ victima oblatus, invictam malis exspiravit animam. Sie concidit Nobile illud diadematis fulcrum, sic occidit resplendens ille Caledonia

Phosphorus, sic occubuit Magnus ille Martis Alúmnus, et cum
illo mascula quæque superfœtantis Virtutis soboles, per obstetrices
indigenas, ipsis Ægyptiis crudeliores, trucidata. Post undecen-
nium ossa effodi, membra recolligi, et per Proceres et regni
Comitia à Cœnobio regio S. Crucis per Metropolim summo cum
splendore ad Ædes D. Ægidio sacris comitata, impensis suis regiis
sub hoc Monumento magnifico cum Avo suo Nobili quondam
Scotiæ pro rege sepeliri mandavit Augustissimus Regum CAROLUS
II. imperio suo divinitus restitutus. Vale, Viator, et quisquis es,
immensam serenissimi Principis erga suos pietatem, et Posthu
mum hunc Magni Grami pristinæ suæ gloriæ redivivi cole Tri-
umphum.
J. E. Miles Philo-Gramus Po.

At the Funerals of the Lord Marquis of Montrose, 1661.
HERE reinterr'd Montrose lies, though not all,

-As if too narrow were one funeral.

So Orpheus' corpse, discerp'd by wicked fury,
His friends Apollo and the muses bury.

That head, his enemies trophy, and their shame,
Which oft had been a Gorgon unto them;

The badge of their foul perfidy and pride,

When to their sovereign's view they own'd the dead;
Had scarce been three months mounted, whenas all
Like Cæsar under Pompey's statue fall:
Brought down by their own Alcis, and that sin,
Which like the sin of Nebat's son had been.
Ten years the land's debauch, religion's mock,
Drew on for ten years more a foreign yoke;
Till, by the revolution of heaven's face,
Montrose gets glory, and the land gets grace.
When after ages shall recount his worth,
And read his victories on Dee, Tay, Forth;
Atchievements noble of a loyal band
Upon a brainsick faction of the land:
His conduct, his submission to the crown,

T'advance arm'd or unarm'd, and lay arms down:
Ilis scorn of lucre, care of keeping faith,
Ilis matchless constancy in meeting death.
They'll doubt what epithets, great, generous
Suit best, or loyal, or magnanimous.

Whether more splendor to his name do bring,
His actings, or his suff'rings for his king.

NOME here and read varieties,

COME

A man of contrarieties

Most loyal to his king, although
A traitor to the kingdom: So

His country-men he still oppress'd:

W. D.

Yet still his Prince's wrongs redress'd.
He did invade his native land,

Yet wanted ne'er his king's command:
His country-men he fought, he kill'd,
Yet ne'er but traitors blood he spill'd,
He scourg'd the land, did tyrannise,
Yet only rebels did chastise.
He caus'd the subjects liberties,
Advanc'd the king's prerogatives;
Our edicts he did still neglect,
Th' ancient laws he did respect;
An apostate he branded was,

Yet still maintain'd the good old cause:

He lik'd not well our church's form,
Yet to the scriptures did conform.
He's excommunicate, and why?
He sinn'd too much in loyalty.
He dies a rebel to the crown,

Yet for the king his life lays down:
He's punish'd as a murtherer,
Yet's hang'd a valiant martyr:
His courage here was sole Roman,
His imitation's Christian.
Our wits consult him how to shame
And yet our wits procure his fame:
Alive and dead thus he doth prove
The equal but of hate and love.

Expect not here, in things complext,
That mid-mouth'd distinction 'twixt
True and false: And such like moe,
'Twixt really and deemed so:

To reconcile thy doubts. Attend
Till our posterity shall lend
Their sense upon the matter; so

The mother then shall let thee know
The daughter, polish'd fair and clear
From errors. Then perhaps you'll hear
Them say, His life's his country's fame,
His usage and his death their shame.

{fur}

Sfur

am

or immanis reg

or immanis reg

Consult with after-times, they'll tell
What we delight not to reveal.

Our off-spring will the truth discover,
Where we took pains the truth to smother:
Advise with times-recorder: Come,
He'll give you reasons why we're dumb;'
My prince bids me but only say,
Montrose's bones we here did lay;
The pious dust forbids me breath
Aught of his usage or his death,
Lest sober infidels should spy
Our church's weakness, and deny
The gospel for our sakes, and cry,
Ilis death's his country's obloquy.'

On the great Montrose..

CERAPHIC Soul, what heavenly powers combine

SE

To re-inter these sacred bones of thine?

Thy glorious relicts, by malice bonds detain'd

In silent grave, will no more be restrain'd,
But must appear in triumph, glad to see
The blessed year of Britons jubilee:
Should there a Phoenix from thy ashes rise,
Would not all nations it idolatrise?
Thy noble stem and high extraction
Was beautified with such perfection,
As makes thee still to be thy nation's glory,
Europe's great wonder, stately theme of story:
Thy valorous actings far transcend the praise
Of tongues or pens, or these my rural lays;
Therefore I must so high a subject leave,
And what I cannot speak, or write, conceive.

A Reflection on the first and second Funerals of the great Montrose.

AMAZED with these glorious shews, I. find

A crowd of fancies struggling in my mind;
Staggering me in a doubt, which will be chief,
A grievous joy or a rejoicing grief.
While I behold the trophies of thy worth,
With all this joy and splendor now set forth;
And hear thy name, perfumed by the state,
With titles of so loyal and so great;
And see pure honour in so lofty strains,
Hov'ring above thy late disdain'd remains..
Thy parboil'd parched head, and thy dry bones,
Courted by Mars and Pallas both at once.

Thy conquering palm with loading higher rise,
And, in the treasury of thy growing praise,
Each cast his mite: And here thy en'mies cry
Hosanna now for their late Crucify.

To see thy friends their honour yet retain,
Rearing thy trophies with triumphant train:
This over treason adds a victory more,
A seventh conquest to the six before.

To see thy torments travelling with thy praise,
And thy herse crowned with thy conquering bays:
To see thy pains, thy infamy, thy death,
Give life to loyalty, to honour breath ;
That after thee these virtues may revive,
And in thy glorious issue ever live,

These do commence our joys, these expiate

Our former crimes, although they came too late.
And yet our griefs from that same fountain spring,
He's dead, for whom our jovial ecchoes ring.
He's dead, the shame of all our British story.
He's dead, the grace of all our Scottish glory.
Valour's great Mimon, the true antidote
Of all disgrace that e'er defam'd a Scot.
The flower and Phenix of a loyal stem,
Lu Charles's crown the most illustrious gem.
And yet this gem is broke, this Phoenix dead,
This glory buried, Mimon murdered.

A sight would made, had he been there to see't,
Argus with all his eyes turn Heraclit:
Would metamorphos'd Mars to Niobe,

And turn'd the world all but to one great eye,
To have delug'd that ghastly rueful place

Where Albion's faith, and honour, buried was:

A place which ever wise posterity

Shall stile, hereafter, second Calvary.

It was no dint of steel, nor force of arms,

Nor traitors plots that did procure his harms,
To encounter and to conquer, afl did see,

Was one to him; at his nativity,

He had Mars in the ascendant, whose bright flame
Made mighty nations tremble at his name.
Valour with valour, force with force controul
He then, he only could: But's loyal soul
To be a willing victim thought it meet,
While monarchy lay bleeding at his feet;
For, seeing Charles first run that sad disaster,
In that same cup he pledg'd his royal master.
And now, and not till now, that loyal spirit
Hath got the honour due unto his merit.
But since a schedule will not quit the score,
Fit for great volumes; here I'll give it o'er.