A second elegy to the memory of that worthy gentleman Collonel Thomas Blood vvho departed this life on the 26th of August 1680. With a detection of several aspersions thrown upon him by popish malice to blast his memory.

woodcut of skull, bones, shovel, and sickle

MEMENTO MORI

A SECOND ELEGY To the Memory of That Worthy Gentleman Collonel Thomas Blood Who departed this life on the 26th of August 1680. With a detection of several Aspersions thrown upon him by Popish Malice to blast his Memory . STand back Rome's envious Scriblers , here 's no place , No wounding malice can this Tomb deface ; This everlasting Monument's too great For all the Roman Priests or Imps of Fate , To level with the dust : These Lawrels bloome Beyond what Time can wither or consume ; Set by the hands of Fame they smile at Death , Nor fear the blast of any humane breath : Brave Bedlo's Second , one whose courage durst Dare haughty Rome , in spight of her be just . Though black mouth'd Envy sullies now those bayes , Which once from her had power to gain the praise Of valiant , wise , and good ; things though most true In him , yet more than ever Roman knew In he who calls himself the Churches head . Whose pride aspires on Princes necks to tread . But is he gone , and has the Fates been kind , Say , Sir , for by these words we know your mind . Puny Adorer of the Scarlet Beast , Fates Darling , who on Blood canst only feast , Thou art mistook , here thou hast mist thy prey , This Blood shall not thy burning thirst allay ; He 's made immortal from thy reach convey'd , More Happy now than if he 'd longer staid Turmoil'd in cares on Earth ; but stay , let s see If Rome owns Merits , death must Sainted be ; Have Incense blaze before his dreadful shrine , Because he was so lucky for to joyn With Traytors in their wish , and us bereave Of those who did the Nations undeceive . Heroick Bedloe first who ' f living yet , The Priests ne'r durst have peep'd abroad t' ave writ ; But like the Frogs before Jove's Stork have fled , Whilst his terrifick name had struck such dread As would have made them left both Beeds and Cools , And yet for fear lain croaking in their holes . The next our Warriour , the renowned Blood , Who only liv'd to do his Country good : In arms grown famous , and in strength compleat , Yet meek and humble , which pronounc'd him great . The true Idea of a Heroe just , In whom the god of War might safely trust , And leave to him the business of the field , So often tryed yet never known to yeild ; But on the Edge of Battle often seen To drive the Squadrons back , and force between The Ridges of grim War , whilst with his blade Amongst a thousand deaths he passage made , So fierce in arms , that nought his Courage staid : Then 't is no wonder , that the testy Rout Of Treason Brooders , joy his Lamp is out ; For though their game is death they play not fair , 't is Massacres they love , but hate a War Unless with great advantage they can rise , And the unthinking Innocents surprise , So glut themselves with humane Sacrifice , Which shews them base born , Cowards only fit : With Martyrs blood to fill Romes cup , and yet These are the men that would suppress the Name Of him recorded in the Book of Fame : He whom to after Ages we translate The Man that lives in spight of Tyrant Fate . In Counsels deep , indued with parts divine , That from his sober mene did brighter shine Then all the feigned rayes of gold made Saints , Or Traytors dying Martyrs Crowns they paint : His words were serious mixt with wit sublime , True to his Friend in this perfidious time , Yet envied 'cause his narrow searching eye Did into Romes obscurest secrets pry , As loath to see his Country quite undone By those he knew would no dire mischeif shun . His end was pious , for with his last breath , He pray'd for 's Foes , and fearless met grim Death With open arms not dreading his pale power , Who one stroke gi'n had force to give no more . Then from his breast th' immortal Soul strait flew To Heavens bright Regions , bidding Earth adew .

The EPITAPH . UNder this marble Pile , alas , here lies Great Blood whom Death did unawares surprise , Mistake not , Reader , though 't is but his dust , For his heroick Soul 's among the Just , That could not be contain'd , no Earthly Tomb Could bound that boundless , or afford it room , But in immortal dwelling that remains , Pure intellectual , free from Earthly stains .

FINIS .