Sea-Commander Poem by Richard Ames

Amidst the Publick Joy, which every where,
With Acclamations, fills the yeilding Air,
Permit a Muse (all drench't in Tears) a while
To interrupt the Universal Smile,
Since the most pleasing Passions in Excess,
Will with their Weight the Noblest Minds oppress,
Joy should with Grief, and Grief with Joy be mixt,
Or either Passion fatally is fixt.
Carter the brave—through floods of fire and smoke
Rusht on when he th'French Line of Battle broke;
With pompous Titles, tho their Sails they swell,
Of Thunder, Lightning, and th'Invincible,
No terror in their empty Names appears,
Nor their Broad-sides th'undaunted Carter fears:
He saw the Goddess Victory descend,
And Winds and Seas the Noble Cause befriend.
The fierce Dispute he did not long maintain,
But Cries were heard—Our Admiral is slain;
Thus in the Justest, and the Noblest Cause,
Great Carter yeilded to Fates Rigid Laws.
He was—but, ah! the bold Attempt, forbear,
Too weak's thy Skill to write his Character,
That Task is for a Nobler Pen design'd,
Great as his Thoughts, and Daring as his Mind,
Yet we in small his Portraiture may view,
And by a little, shew, we more would do.
He was—by Nature made for that Command,
To which, tho most pretend, few understand;
His Vertue was not rugged, like the Waves,
Nor did he treat his Sailers as his Slaves:
But courteous, easie of Access, and free,
His Looks not temper'd with Severity:
And those who did his Friendship share confess,
He was more cordial than they could express.
These were the private Vertues of his Breast;
But that which was the Crown of all the rest,
Was his True Valour for his Countrey's Good,
Which courage made him lavish of his Blood,
Unlike to that, when Wine, Surprize, and Rage,
Our hot-brain'd Sparks so oft in Blood engage:
No, he its true intrinsick Value knew,
And seem'd to catch the Bullets as they flew.
Unlucky Bullet, must thy Random. shot,
Only select Great Carter for thy Lot?
A thousand common Tars we could have spar'd,
Had not the Admiral in thy Fury shar'd.
But tho he's Gone, he cannot want a Tomb,
Whose Praises do in every Breast find room.
With Manly Sighs the Fleet his Loss lament,
And the Brave Duke will be his Monument.

EPITAPH.
If from Fates Jaws could Vertue save,
Or Courage rescue from the Grave,
Carter would ne're have quit the Scene,
But always have Immortal been;
But the Grim Tyrant all things sweeps,
To Dark Oblivions silent Deeps.
All Mortals must obey the call,
When Death himself rides ADMIRAL.