I Ouercom & Conquer
AN ELEGY, Upon the DEATH of Major JOHN ASHTON, Who was Executed for High-Treason, on Wednesday the 28th of January, 1691. at Tyburn.
Ʋt in utero Praeparamur vitae
Sic in hac vita Praeparamur utero.
A Wake my Muse, hold up thy Drowsie Head,
Throw off thy Sleepy Blankets from thy Bed;
Let some sad Fancy touch thy Teeming Brain,
And raise thy Raptures to a Tragick Strain.
Rouse, Rouse, my Muse, and let the Fatal Sound,
Be Eccho'd through the Neighbouring Plains around;
And let this Tale, this Tragick Tale, be told
By every Swain, when Night commands to Fold;
And as they lye to take their Ease at Noon,
To shun the Ardour of the Parching Sun,
Beneath a Shade, where Swaines are wont to Sleep
At high Noon-tide, do use to Lare their Sheep:
There, as they sit, there let the Sheepherds tell
The Younger Swaines, how basely Philomel
Impiously acted, and how Basely Fell.
In Rural Notes let them relate the way.
Stop here my Muse—Go not too far Astray,
For whilst the Fact I labour to Rehearse,
It Clogs my Paper, and Defiles my Verse;
And as I tell the World the Reason why,
This Ignominious Death this Man did dye,
I Blush to quote his Name in Elegy.
Oh Death! will thy Insatiate Trunk ne'er Fill,
Thy Viands are Frequent, yet thou'rt Craving still:
Thou and thy Melancholly House the Grave,
Like unworm'd Dogs, the more you're ply'd you crave,
Yet are not fill'd, tho ne'er so much you have.
I Tax thee not of being Partial here,
Tho' too too oft thy Edicts are Severe:
The Wise, the Ignorant, the Great, the Slave,
Have no Distinction in the silent Grave.
For Primitive, nothing shall at length become,
That ill-shap'd Chaos which it issu'd from.
Depraved Man, when once he hugs a Sin,
Sets ope' the Flood-gates, lets a Thousand in,
Till he on ev'ry side is compass'd Round,
And in the Deluge, which he made, is Drown'd.
Thus Ashton Sung a Secure Lullaby,
Till once Convicted for his Treachery,
Did Unlamented and Unpittied Dye.
Puff'd up with Honour, and Ambitious things,
He soar'd too High, malax'd his ill-made Wings,
In carrying Tales to Two Dejected Kings:
The Wax it melted when too nigh the Sun,
And (like Icarius) he as soon fell down:
To gain a Catholick Popular Applause,
Espous'd at once an Abdicated Cause,
Laid by Allegiance to Infringe the Laws;
To satisfie a most Insatiate Will,
Rebell'd in Private for a Publick Ill;
Till Just Heaven (who th'Black Intreague had seen)
Expos'd the Actors, and Transpos'd the Scene,
Bawk'd all their Plotting and step'd in between.
For Providence a Lasting Watch does keep,
Tho' for a time 'tis Silent, does not Sleep.
How Common are the Changes of a State,
When every Man indeavours to be Great!
And by Illegal Means Presume t' Invade
The Pious Edicts which their Fathers made,
And so of Treason make a Common Trade.
Thus he Indulg'd a Treason in his Breast,
But 'tis discover'd, and the Land has Rest.
Unfortunate in deep Intreagues of State,
That still as he indeavour'd to be Great,
Each Step he made push'd on's Depending Fate.
I will not Triumph in his Retched Fall,
Since with his Blood he has Atton'd for all,
Tho for such Treason 'twas a Price too Small.
EPITAPH.
The Reader, I know, will be ready to Laugh,
('Cause I upon Ashton have made Epitaph)
But why should not be be Remember'd, when Dead,
As well as a Person that looses his Head;
Tho he was but Hang'd, and his Body not Quarter'd,
Yet I know some in Town will Swear he was Martyr'd,
And since he is Dead, Epitaph he shall have,
And this Inscription set up on his Grave;
Here lyeththe Corpse of a Treacherous K—
Where we'll let it rest, till the Trumpet shall sound,
Crying Ashton Arise, and come out of your Pound,
You may go to France without fear to be found.
LONDON, Printed by G. C. at the Blue Ball in Thames-street, for W. Rayner, 1691. ⟨189.⟩