AN
ELEGY
On the Death of
Sir EDMUND SAUNDERS,
Late Lord Chief Justice of ENGLAND;
Who Dyed on the 19th. of this Instant June, 1683.
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HOw vain are all the hopes on which we build?
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Whatere we sow, tis Death still reaps the field:
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Tis by this Tenure Mortals hold their Breath,
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To give it up when ere tis calld by Death:
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Our Life is only lent us upon trust,
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Whether we will or not, we must be just:
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Heaven has to all appointed soon or late,
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To undergo the power of cruel Fate:
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But hark! what sound ist strikes my trembling ear?
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Saunders is Dead! good Heaven! what ist I hear?
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Is Saunders Dead that Noble Worthy Man?
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His Life is done before it scarce began:
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He was but shown unto the wondring world,
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When lo into the silent grave hes hurld.
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Lament, lament, a Learned Judge is gone,
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The Laws bright Star, that so Divinely shone,
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To steer the wandring Course of those fond Men,
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Who thought all Law and Reason dwelt with them.
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But soon as our Chief Justice was espyd,
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Their Shifts and Fallacies all sunk and dyd,
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Like Mists that rise before the Morning Sun,
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But vanish all ere half his Race is run:
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Saunders in time, though short, has livd, yet more
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Then thousands Older, that have been before.
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Some Men need try but part of their true strength,
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To lay their Foes before them at their length;
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Whilst others strive with heavy weight in vain,
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And came Ignobly off with blushing shame:
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But Saunders was by Destiny designd,
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To be the Joy and Honour of Mankind:
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A General Good was his Unerring aim,
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Tis that alone which gives Immortal Fame.
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He did with Prudence first himself advise,
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And then he taught the Nation to be wise:
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When he had gaind the Mastery of the Law,
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For Publique Good he did his Forces draw:
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To serve his Country was his highest care,
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For which great end he did so Nobly dare,
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His Soul not capable of unjust fear.
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When in a lower Sphear, how did he move,
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And gave clear signs what he woud higher prove;
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Great force of Nature in his parts was seen,
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Which yet, Refind by Art, more glorious shine.
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Hard Labour, Industry, and sweating Toyl,
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Went to compleat this wonder of our Isle;
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He knew, since the first Man was Cursd, that pain
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And trouble was the only way to gain
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True Honour, therefore did his strength imploy,
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In that which always gives the truest Joy.
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Kind Providence Rewards industrous Care,
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But Lazy wishes Heaven will never hear;
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Let thy Example lead our Young Men on,
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None knows to what with Study he may come;
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What soul so stupid, but takes generous Fire,
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When he but thinks on thee, whom all admire,
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He feels warm Glory through his Breast inspire
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His drousie Faculties, and straight does find,
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Ambition to be like thee, seize his mind.
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We never can the vastness of our Loss express,
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Nor in fit Language our sad sorrows dress.
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All we can say on this great Theam, appears,
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To be but overflowing of our Tears.
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Oh that kind Heaven woud shew some better way,
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How to his Ashes we might Tribute pay.
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Were all obligd to weep and mourn for him,
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Who for us all laid out his care and time;
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May he that shall succeed make up our grief,
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By his great worth we may receive Relief,
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And Comfort to our woes, which swell so high,
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They seem almost from Earth to reach the Sky.
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HEre lieth Saunders sacred Dust,
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While living, was the Nations Trust;
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Reflect O Reader! on thy state,
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Consider thou must stoop to Fate;
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However Brave Thou art, and Great,
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The silent Grave does for thee wait,
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And nothing can stern Death Intreat.
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