Richard Duke

Richard Duke Poems

Richard Duke Biography

Richard Duke (1658–1711) was an English poet, associated with the Tory writers of the Restoration era. He was son of Richard Duke of London and educated at Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1685 he took holy orders.)

The Best Poem Of Richard Duke

Funeral Tears Upon The Death Of Captain William Bedloe

Sad Fate! our valiant Captain Bedloe,
In Earths cold Bed lyes with his head low:
Who to his last made out the PLOT,
And Swearing dy'd upon the Spot.
Sure Death was Popishly affected,
She had our Witness else protected:
Or downright Papist, or the Jade
A Papist is in Mascarade.

The Valiant Bedloe, Learned Oates,
From Popish Knives sav'd all our Throats:
By such a Sword, and such a Gown
Soon would the Beast have tumbled down.
They Conquer like the Hebrew King,
And Oaths at Rome's Goliah sling:
And never take God's Name in vain;
As many Oaths, so many slain.
The stoutest of the Roman Band
Could not their thundering Volleys stand;
But all those Missioners of Hell
By dint of Affidavit fell.

Great things our Heroe brought to light;
Yet greater still kept out of sight:
And for his King, and Countries sake
Still new Discoveries could make:
In proper season to relieve,
He still kept something in his sleeve;
He was become for England's good,
An endless Mine, a wastless flood;
Still prodigal, yet never poor,
No spending could exhaust his Store.
But Death, alas! that Popish Fiend,
To all our hopes has put an end;
Has stop'd the Course, and dry'd the Spring
Which new Plot-tidings still would bring.

This Witness (did the Fates so please)
Had sworn us into Happiness;
Made the Court chast, Religion pure;
And wrought an Universal Cure;
Sworn Westminster into good Order,
Reform'd Chief-Justice, and Recorder:
The Land from Romish Locusts purg'd,
And from Whitehal the Chits had scourg'd
Had judg'd the great Succession-Case,
And sworn the Crown to the right place.

England! The mighty loss bemoan!
Thy watchful Sentinel is gone.
Now may the Pilgrims land from Spain,
And undiscover'd cross the Main.
Now may the Forty Thousand Men
In Popish Arms be rais'd agen;
Black Bills may fly about our ears;
Who shall secure us from our Fears?
Jesuits may fall to their old sport
Of Burning, Slaying Town and Court,
And we never the wiser for't.
Then pitty us; Exert thy Power
To save us in this dangerous Hour.
Thou hast to Death Sworn many men,
Ah! Swear thy self to Life agen.

Richard Duke Comments