"I saw him dead: a leaden slumber lies,
And mortal sleep over those wakeful eyes;
Those gentle rays under the lids were fled,
Which through his looks that piercing sweetness shed;
That port, which so majestic was and strong,
Loose, and deprived of vigour, stretched along;
All withered, all discoloured, pale and wan,
How much another thing, no more that man!
O, human glory vain! O, Death! O, wings!
O, worthless world! O, transitory things!
Yet dwelt that greatness in his shape decayed,
That still though dead, greater than Death he laid,
And in his altered face you something feign
That threatens Death, he yet will live again."


FOOTNOTES:

[49:1] In 1659 Clarendon, then Sir Edward Hyde, and in Brussels, writing
to Sir Richard Fanshaw, says, "You are the secretary of the Latin tongue
and I will mend the warrant you sent, and have it despatched as soon as
I hear again from you, but I must tell you the place in itself, if it be
not dignified by the person who hath some other qualification, is not to
be valued. There is no signet belongs to it, which can be only kept by a
Secretary of State, from whom the Latin Secretary always receives orders
and prepares no despatches without his direction, and hath only a fee of
a hundred pound a year. And therefore, except it hath been in the hands
of a person who hath had some other employment, it hath fallen to the
fortune of inconsiderable men as Weckerlin was the last" (_Hist. MSS.
Com._, _Heathcote Papers_, 1899, p. 9).