AN
ELEGY
UPON THE
Lamented Death
OF
Edward Millington,
The Famous Auctioner.
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MOurn! --- Mourn! you Booksellers, --- for cruel Death
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Has rob'd the Famous Auctioner of Breath:
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He's gone, --- he's gone, --- ah! the great Loss deplore;
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Great Millington, --- alas! --- he is no more:
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No more will he now at your Service stand
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Behind the Desk, with Mallet in his Hand:
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No more the Value of your Books set forth,
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And sell 'em by his Art for twice the Worth.
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Methinks I see him still, with smiling Look,
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Amidst the Crowd, and in his Hand a Book:
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Then in a fine factious pleasing way,
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The Author's Genius, and his Wit display.
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O all you scribling Tribe, come mourn his Death,
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Whose Wit hath giv'n your dying Fame new Birth:
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When your neglected Works did mouldring lie
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Upon the Shelves, and none your Books would buy;
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How oft' has he, with strained Eloquence,
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Affirm'd the Leaves contain'd a World of Sense,
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When all's insipid, dull Impertinence?
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Come, Gentlemen, --- come bid me what you please;
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Upon my Word, it is a curious Piece,
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Done by a Learned Hand, --- and neatly bound:
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What say you? --- come, --- I'le put it up, --- One Pound;
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One Pound, --- once, twice; fifteen: Who bids; --- a Crown:
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Then shakes his Head, with an affected Frown,
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And says, for Shame, consider, Gentlemen,
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The Book is sold in Shops for more than ten.
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Good lack a day! --- 'tis strange, then strikes the Blow,
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And in a feigned Passion bids it go.
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Then in his Hand another Piece he takes,
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And in its Praise a long Harrangue he makes;
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And tells 'em that tis writ in lofty Verse,
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One that is out of Print, and very scarse:
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Then with high Language, and a stately Look,
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He sets a lofty Price upon the Book;
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Five Pound, Four Pound, Three Pound, he cries aloud,
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And holds it up t'expose it to the Crowd,
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With Arm erect, --- the Bidders to provoke
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To raise the Price before th' impending Stroke:
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This in the Throng does Emulation breed,
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And makes 'em strive each other to out-bid;
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While he discants upon their Learned Heats,
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And his Factious Dialect repeats:
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For none like him, for certain, knew so well,
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(By way of Auction) any Goods to sell.
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'Tis endless to express the wayes he had
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To sell their good, and to put off their bad.
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But, ah! in vain I strive his Fame to spread;
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The Great, the Wise, the Knowing Man is dead.
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Mourn! --- Mourn! --- ye Booksellers, for Cruel Death
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Has rob'd the Famous Auctioner of Breath.
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And you in Painting skill'd his Loss bewail;
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He's dead! --- that did expose your Works to Sale:
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See how he lies, all dismal, wan, and pale.
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No more by him your Praise will be exprest,
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For, ah! he's gone to his Eternal Rest.
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Can you forget how he for you did baw'l,
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Come put it in? ------ A Fine Original,
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Done by a Curious Hand: ------ What strokes are here,
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Drawn to the Life? --- How fine it does appear:
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O Lovely Peice! --- Ten Pound, --- Five Pound; --- for shame,
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You do not bid the Value of the Frame.
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How many prety Stories would he tell,
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To inhance the Price, and make the Picture sell:
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But now he's gone! --- ah! --- the sad Loss deplore;
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Great Millington! --- alass! he is no more.
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And you, the Muses Darlings too, reherse
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Your Sorrows for the Loss of him in Verse:
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Mourn! --- Mourn! together, for that Tyrant Death
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Has rob'd the Famous Auctioner of Breath.
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UNderneath this Marble Stone
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Lies the Famous Millington;
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A Man who through the World did steer
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I' th' Station of an Auctioner:
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A Man with Wondrous Sense and Wisdom blest,
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Whose Qualities are not to be exprest.
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