I Ouercom & Conquer
AN ELEGY, Upon the DEATH of George Lord Jefferies, THE LATE LORD CHANCELLOR; Who Departed this Life on the 18th. of April, 1689. in the Tower.
IN rugged Lines my Muse attempts to try
A Strain or two, and Form an Elegy;
In an unusual Path makes bold to tread,
To bring the News, the Plague o'th' Nation's Dead.
Come ye Ignatians with your Holy Cross,
In Dust and Ashes now Lament your Loss;
Lament and Mourn, let brinish Tears bedew
His Tomb, who living was so just to you,
Let Sighs and Groans your inward Sorrows shew.
Drain all your Eyes, appear with Sack-cloth on,
Lament that your great Benefactor's gone,
You've lost a Champion, and your Church a Son:
Express your Sorrow for his Cruel Fate,
Let not Bald Time e'er wear him out of Date;
Ingrave his Name on Monuments of Brass,
Saint him, and then adore him in your Mass:
Send his Good Actions on the Wings of Fame,
And in fit Accents celebrate his Name;
Dub him a Petty God, and then adore him,
Say Ave Georgii, then fall down before him.
Adore his Reliques, to his Image Pray,
Put him in your Calendar such a day;
With Invocations seem the Clouds to pierce,
With Miracles adorn his Tomb and Hearse;
He many Deeds for Mother Church has done,
And prov'd himself a true Legitimate Son.
Behold! a blooming Sinner disappears,
Worthy St. Coleman and such Persons Tears;
A Judge without Pity, and a Heart of Steel,
A Valiant Sinner, and a Friend to tell
Whose Bold Acts none e'er can parallel.
Still with the Times, he'd never cease to turn,
Nor at Rome's Black Intreagues would shew concern
He'd rather live a Reprobate than burn.
As Rome more Rampant grew, and more increas'd
In Converts, he striv'd to exalt the Beast;
He'd venture all to please a Popish Crew,
Subvert the Government to erect a New;
Could stretch his Conscience to increase his Purse,
Then whipe his Mouth, and cry, I'm ne'er the worse.
A Bold, Ambitious, Willful, Daring Man,
As Boisterous as any dangerous Hurrican;
At Court he was content with all that fell,
Though ne'er so Evil, yet he lik'd it well.
He counted Justice as a trivial thing,
If too pervertent, would but please a K—
To humour whom, he'd venture Soul or any thing.
Just when Fee'd; Meek when oversway'd,
Pleas'd, when fear'd, and Courteous when obey'd;
Obedient for Fear, Pious for a Name,
Seeking in all his Actions, Honour, Wealth or Fame.
When in the Church, he'd seem devout in Pray'r,
Although it was but seldom he came there;
It was not oft he visited that place,
Except 'twas now and then to air his Mace:
To shew his Person, seem to be devout,
And be admired by a senseless Rout.
When in the Court he could with all comply,
Say and Unsay, Flatter, Cog and Try,
And suit his Nature to his Company.
He being vex'd, and over-charg'd with Care,
Died with Grief, and's gone the Lord knows where.
His Crimes were many, and his Sins not small,
He'll Sin no more, he's gone to answer all.
EPITAPH.
COme Gentle Reader, whosoe'er thou art,
Against this Tomb vouchsafe to take a part:
Beneath this Stone lies Jefferies the Great,
Who was a Sinner both to Church and State,
The Cities Cross, and all the Nations Fate.
A Man who could with ease Dispence with Laws,
Or cut and fit them for the Popish Cause;
If Money, Law, Honour, Persecution, Strife,
Or any Illegal Means could save his Life,
He never had been here, then pray forbear,
Depart from hence, and do not shed a Tear;
He living Triumph'd over ev'ry one,
Then let us Triumph that he now is gone.
Licenc'd according to Order.
LONDON, Printed by G. Croom at the Blue Ball in Thames-street, 1689. ⟨181.⟩