English Puritan & Reformed

Letter to Benjamin Bridgewater on the Death of Queen Mary

John Tutchin (1661-1707) · 861 words · 4 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A63961.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

AN EPISTLE TO Mr. Benjamin Bridgewater, Occasion'd by the DEATH Of the late Queen Mary.

By Mr. TUTCHIN.

LONDON : Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms-Inn, in Warwick-Lane. 1694.

AN EPISTLE, &c.

        OFT have I vowed, and to the
        
         Muses
        
        swore,
       
        In these dull Times, I'd trouble Rhyme no more:
       
        But since, dear
        
         Ben!
        
        I have waited long in vain,
       
        To see the Happy Offspring of your Brain
       
        Bless our dull World in unaccustom'd Lays,
       
        Singing your own, and great
        
         Maria
        
        's Praise;
       
        In spite of Nature and my Vows I will Write,
       
        And once again the glowing Embers light.

        Not that the
        
         Muses
        
        can have Honors done,
       
        By their Unskilful and their Youngest Son;
       
        Or that
        
         Maria
        
        's Praise by him set forth,
       
        Can form a Statue equal to Her Worth:
       
        Provokeit by this, if you the Theam embrace,
       
        I have my Aim, and dead
        
         Maria
        
        Praise:
       
        Then sit no longer, groaning like the Stream,
       
        Sad as the Times, and gloomy as our Theam.
       
        Your Quiver broke, your fatal Bow unstrung,
       
        And your loved Harp upon the Willows hung,
       
        With one, in Artful Notes Her Praise disclose;
       
        And with the other, kill
        
         Maria
        
        's Foes;
       
        Those worst of Monsters, would asperse Her Name,
       
        Tread on Her Ashes, and destroy Her Fame,
       
        Justly deserve, when they good Gifts refuse,
       
        Should feel the Fury of an incensed
        
         Muse:
        
        Pour then your charming Thunder on their Head,
       
        With pointed Satyr strike the Monsters dead.

        These base Ingrates, no Act of Grace can bind,
       
        Perverse in Judgment, and disturbed in Mind;
       
        Impatient to recover what they've lost,
       
        Tho' at their Country's Ruin and their Cost;
       
        Do Tyrant Laws before our Rights prefer,
       
        And would call home their perjured Wanderer.
       
        Strange, that this foolish unperforming Herd
       
        Of Trait'rous Villains, for ill Deeds prefer'd,
       
        Should talk of Bondage, of hard Fate complain,
       
        Beneath the Blessings of a gentle Reign;
       
        Think ill of Ease; in being Free, oppressed:
       
        A true-bred
        
         Tory
        
        will be still a Beast.

        Censure me not, I common paths refuse,
       
        For indignation will transform a
        
         Muse;
        
        I know our Loss commands another Style,
       
        And not to Mourn's the same as to Revile;
       
        Cou'd Tears have Brib'd th'impartial hand of Death,
       
        Detain'd our Joy, prolong'd
        
         Maria
        
        's Breath,
       
        I'd wished for Her and my dear Country's good,
       
        Each Eye a fountain, and each Tear a flood:
       
        But since She's gone, let us our dues prepare
       
        For Him, was once the Partner of Her care,
       
        Now left forlorn, His other Self being gone,
       
        Like
        
         Hercules
        
        must bear the World alone.

        Methinks I hear the Genius of our Isle
       
        Prompt him to Foreign Wars and Glorious Toil,
       
        Soft as the Murmurs of the Winds express
       
        Her solid Councils in such words as these:
       
        Weep, weep no more!
        
         Maria
        
        's softer Charms!
       
        When War and Honor call you to your Arms;
       
        Let dastard
        
         Lewis
        
        for a loss retreat,
       
        All sense of Sorrow is beneath the Great,
       
        Your num'rous Army marshall'd on the Strand
       
        In expectation cry, will
        
         Caesar
        
        Land?
       
        A long, long Winter, we his absence mourn,
       
        But sure, ye God's! He must, He must return!
       
        Their glitt'ring Swords and trembling Spears they wield,
       
        And Fate stands wishing 'till you take the Field:
       
        Tho' Trophies may reward your Soldiers pains,
       
        Your single presence half a Conquest gains;
       
        Then to your Armies and your Honors go,
       
        And be our just
        
         Palladium
        
        from the Foe,
       
        Defeat their Squadrons, from destruction save
       
        Those Crowns, those Kingdoms, which your People gave;
       
        As at
        
         Seneffe
        
        such always be your fate,
       
        Let
        
         French
        
        as
        
         Irish
        
        on your Triumphs wait,
       
        From Conquer'd Fields the Golden Prize you bore,
       
        Without the Charms a cursed
        
         Medea
        
        wore,
       
        Still for your Brows shall fresher Lawrels grow,
       
        While
        
         Thames
        
        shall flourish, and the
        
         Boyne
        
        shall flow:
       
        Your early Valour in your tender Years
       
        Matur'd by Age more Beautiful appears;
       
        And Heroes Fame at Death much brighter shines,
       
        Thus Shadows lengthen as the Sun declines.
       
        You to the God's have ever been most dear,
       
        Destin'd for Business, and designed for War,
       
        By
        
         Belgium
        
        loved, and
        
         Albion
        
        much adored,
       
        One sings her King, the other sings her Lord;
       
        Thus Rival Kingdoms for your Aid contend,
       
        And every Senate wishes you its Friend,
       
        What e're the Cowards say, you always have
       
        The Prayers, the Vows, the Wishes of the Brave;
       
        True to our Laws Tyrannick sway you damn,
       
        In War a Lyon, and in Peace a Lamb:
       
        Such were our Ancient
        
         Britons
        
        famed of old,
       
        Prudently Good, and desperately Bold.

        Thus far the Heroe; for his Fame will grow,
       
        As to the Seas the Rivers onwards flow;
       
        But great
        
         MARIA
        
        we can Sing no more,
       
        Blest with a Gale, sh'as reached the other Shoar,
       
        Happy those Mortals who are sailed before;
       
        So much for Virtue and for Sense renowned,
       
        By willing Peoples just Applauses Crown'd,
       
        What Artless Bard would tread her Sacred Ground?

        To you, Dear
        
         Ben,
        
        the glorious Theam I leave,
       
        You can her Fame Eternal Honors give;
       
        Thus some good Patriot conscious of his Worth,
       
        Provokes some bold, some abler Champion forth;
       
        Who with his Sword so often dipt in Blood,
       
        Slaughters vast Numbers for his Country's Good.

FINIS.