AN ELEGIE
On the never to be forgotten
Sir Thomas Armstrong Knight;
Executed for Conspiring the Death of His most Sacred Majesty,
and Royal Brother, June 20. 1684.
With some Satyrical Reflections on the whole Faction.
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STand forth ye damnd deluding Priests of Baal,
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And sound from out each Trumpet Mouth a Call:
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Let it be loud and shrill, that evry Man
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May hear the noise, from Beersheba to Dan;
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To summon all the Faction, that they may
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In doleful Hums and Haws, bewail this day,
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And to their Just Confusion howl and roar,
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For the great Bully of their Cause, is now no more.
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But now methinks I hear the Faction cry,
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O hone! Wheres all thy Pomp and Gallantry?
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Thy Great Commands, thy Interest and thy State?
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The many Crouds which did upon thee wait?
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When thou like Atlas on thy shoulders bore,
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That mighty World which we so much adore
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(That Pageant Heroe, Off-spring of a Whore.)
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Behold ye stubborn Crew, the certain Fate
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That waits upon the hardened Reprobate.
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See; the effects of Treasons Terrible,
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In this life Infamy, and i th next a Hell,
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While Heavn attends on Kings with special Care,
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The Traitor to himself becomes a snare:
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Drove out like Cain, to wander through the World,
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By his own thoughts into Distraction hurld,
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Despisd by all, perplext with hourly fear,
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And by his Friends pusht like the hunted Deer,
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Like a mad Dog, still houted as he ran,
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A just Reward for th base Rebellious man.
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How often has kind Heaven preservd the Crown,
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And tumbled the Audacious Rebel down?
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How many Warnings have they had of late?
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How often read their own impending Fate?
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That still they dare their wicked Acts pursue,
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And know what Heaven has ordaind their due?
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That man who coud not reasnably desire
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To raise his Fortunes, and his Glories higher,
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Who did enjoy, unto a wish, such store,
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That all his Ancestors scarce heard of more,
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Shoud by his own procuring fall so low,
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As if hed studyd his own overthrow,
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Looks like a story yet without a Name,
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And may be stild the first Novel in Fame?
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So the famd Angels, Turbulent as Great,
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Who always waited bout the Mercy-Seat,
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Desiring to be something yet unknown,
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Blunderd at all, and would have graspt the Crown,
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Till Heavens Great Monarch, saw they woud Rebel,
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Then dasht their Hopes, and damnd them down to Hell.
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And now methinks I see to th fatal place
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A Troop of Whiggs with Faction in each Face,
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And Red-swoln Eyes, moving with mournful pace,
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Pitying the Mighty Sampson of their Cause,
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Cursing their Fates, and Railing at the Laws.
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The Sisters too appear, with sniveling Cryes,
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To celebrate their Stallions Obsequies;
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From th Play-house and from Change, how they resort,
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From Country, City, nay, theres some from Court,
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From the Old C---ss witherd and decayd,
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To a Whigg Brewers Youthful Lovely Maid.
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Gods! What a Troop is here? sure Hercules
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Had found enough so many Whores to please.
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Repent, ye Factious Rout, Repent and be
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Forewarnd by this bold Traytors Destiny.
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Go home ye Factious Dogs, and mend your Lives;
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Be Loyal, and make honest all your Wives.
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You keep from Conventicles first, and then
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Keep all your Wives from Conventicling Men.
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Leave off your Railing gainst the King and State,
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Your foolish Prating, and more foolish Hate.
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Obey the Laws, and bravely act your parts,
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And to the Church unite in Tongues and Hearts;
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Be sudden too, before it proves too late,
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Lest you partake of this bold Traytors Fate.
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And if the Faction thinks it worth the Cost,
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(To keep this Bullys Name from being lost)
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To raise a Pillar, to perpetuate
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His Wondrous Actions, and Ignoble Fate,
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Let em about it streight, and when tis done,
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Ile Crown the Work with this Inscription.
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Bold Fame thou Lyst! Read here all you
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That woud this Mighty Mortal know;
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First, he was one of low degree,
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But rose to an Hyperbole.
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Famous t excess in evry thing,
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But duty to his God, and King;
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In Oaths as Great as any He,
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That ever Gracd the Tripple Tree;
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So Absolute, when Drencht in Wine,
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He might have been the God o th Vine.
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His Brutal Lust was still so strong,
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He never spard, or old, or young;
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In Cards and Dice he was well known,
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T out-cheat the Cheaters of the Town.
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These were his Virtues, if youd know
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His Vices too pray read below.
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Not wholly Whig, nor Atheist neither,
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But something formd of both together,
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Famous in horrid Blasphemies,
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Practicd in base Adulteries.
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In Murders versd as black, and foul
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As his Degenerated Soul.
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Ins Maxims too, as great a Beast,
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As * those his honest Father drest.
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The Factions Bully, Sisters Stallion:
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Now Hangd, and Damnd, for his Rebellion.
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