AN ELEGY
On the much Lamented
Sir WILLIAM WALLER,
Who Valiantly Hangd Himself at Rotterdam.
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RIse, Grim Alecto, rise (tis fit to chuse
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For Hellish matter an Infernal Muse:)
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Thou who at Fox Hall didst Inspire those Sots,
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Tongue, Oates and Kirby to Contrive their Plots;
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Who didst through wondrous Labarinths of Ill,
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Conduct Sir Godfrey safe to Primrose-Hill;
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And by Mysterious Ways, and Oaths most quaint,
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Of an Old Faggot made us a Young Saint:
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Plots thou canst make and marr: Thou Stygian Whore
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Assist me once! Ill ner invoke thee more.
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The Hell-born Dame Assents; Her Head she shakes,
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Pregnant of Plots, and Perywickd with Snakes;
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At her Right-Ear an Oates and Bedlow hung,
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And at her Left Prance Everard and Tongue:
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Thus Gravely she Recounts what the Cursd Elfe
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Sir Waller Confessd, ere he Hangd himself.
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Good Father Ferguson, quoth He, now I
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Do mean to make Confession Verily.
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When willing Senators wisely were afraid
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Of Horrid Scare-crows, they Temselves had made;
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When Chappel of St. Stephen, and Place of Peers,
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Were overflowd with sudden Floods of Fears:
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When Easie Mortals stopd their Ears and Eyes,
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With Uncouth Tales, and Incoherent Lyes;
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When Knaves, and Thieves, and Cheats grew Rich by Plots,
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I wisely Worshipd Bedlow and Great Oates;
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Because I scarcely then was worth Ten Groats.
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These my Right Worthy Patrons with great ease,
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Soon made my Worship Justice of the Peace.
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Armd with this Power (as if I had a Charter
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To Rob and Spoil) I gave no Mortal quarter.
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Even Aged Matrons, in my nightly Trade,
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I Gropd; Such might be Priests in Masquerade:
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My Skill herein was great; I got the Start
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Of Brother Chamberlain in his own Art.
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And with my Co-Adjutors at my Tail,
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Gill, Merry, Jones, Snow, Chetwyn, Prance, Mansel;
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In Obscure Holes, and Lanes I Briskly Blunderd,
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And every Papist, that I found, I Plundrd:
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Even Protestants themselves scapd not my Gynnes;
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Though they were Guelphs, their Goods were Gibellins.
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John Gadburys Maps and Globes were not Protected;
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Such as I likd, were Popishly Affected.
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Now see me on a Steed, more big by far,
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Then that my Rebel Sire Bestrid in War;
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Towards Tuthil-fields the way I do Traverse,
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With a Rude Rout of Miscreants at my Arse.
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To th Fields we come. Lo, Parson Farringdon,
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Like a Brave Knipperdolling, Marches on,
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With Hatt Erect on Cane (twas to seem Taller)
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He Cryes; I th Name of Gad, a Waller, a Waller.
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As, when to warn men to Bear-Garden Plays,
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Exalted Pugg froms Rosinant Surveys
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Attendant Crowds of Doggs, Thieves, Bums and Boyes,
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Expressing in his Pleasant Face his Joys:
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Like Pugg lookd I, when Billing and his Blades
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Denuded their Dull, Sullen, Loggerheads,
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Throwing their Everlasting Caps to th Sky,
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Bawling a Waller with a Full-mouthd Cry.
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Environd with my Rogues I bent my Course,
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To Lady Dormers, where without Remorse,
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Spoons, Tankards, Pictures, Plates I took away,
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(Alas such Popish Trinkets were just Prey!)
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And after narrow Search, like cunning Fox,
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I seizd a Priest, hid in a Pepper-Box;
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The Priest to Newgate had his Mittimus,
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The Box, being Silver, did belong to Us.
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Then in New-Pallace-yard of Westminster,
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I most Couragiously did make a Fire,
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And, True-Dissenter like, in zealous Scorn,
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At Noon-day did my Saviours Picture Burn:
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A worthy Prank of Reformation-work,
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That out-does Father Jew, and Brother Turk;
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And tells the Christian World I durst Act, what
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My Grand-sire Pilate would have Blushed at.
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With Gun, I and my Knaves to th Savoy came;
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Like Skilful Thieves in Pikerings House we Roam;
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Closets and Trunks we break; one did unfold
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Full Fourscore Pieces of Egyptian Gold:
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Good Quids, quoth I; my Brethren, not a word;
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All this is Ours; were People of the Lord:
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This Gun, we Bought i th Minories, tmust be laid,
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And we must findt out in Pikerings Bed.
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Then Early in the Morning, lets repair
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To tell our Patriots at Westminster:
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(Not of the Fourscore Pounds we Stole in Gold)
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That Pikerings Gun is Found, and in Safe hold;
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This Gun, closd up in Feather-Bed so dark,
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That Dextrous Gunner usd in Jamess-Park:
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And, if their Honours Vote to havet laid by,
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Twill serve a Surer Marks-man* with one Eye.
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My Sancha-Pancha Prance and I, in Lent
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A Journey took to Newark upon Trent;
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To seize Old Beddingfield, who like a Fop
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Forsooks quiet Grave to keep a Ribbon-Shop:
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He was grown Young again; say what ye will,
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These Cunning Jesuits will be Jesuits still:
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The Mayor and We Robd him of all his Things,
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Two Spoons, one Old Plate, Horse, Ribbons, Gloves, Rings.
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But why should I my Mighty Deeds declare?
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Ill Hang myself now in this wild Despair.
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Why do I Live? Brave Anthony is gone,
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And Essex with his Razor cryes, Ah Hone!
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Bold Walcots Hangd, and close behind his Breech,
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Stands Noble Russel making a True Speech:
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All-killing Armstrong and Bold Gray are Fled;
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Prince Monmouth Sneaks, and dares not show his Head.
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Alls Lost; Go Ferguson, get a Rope, go, go;
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Heres a Convenient Beam will serve Us Two:
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Then at one Swing himself Sir Waller Hurld,
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Tos Fellow-Traytors in the other World.
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