MEMENTO MORI
AN ELEGY Upon the Death of the Right Honourable Sir JOHN SHORTER, Knight, LORD MAYOR of the City of LONDON, who departed this Life September the 4th. 1688.
LAment! Lament! and drein your watry Eyes!
Let not whole Oceans of false Tears suffice!
Shut up your Doors; hang Mourning on your Walls:
When Death does strike, the greatest Heroe falls;
All must obey, when the Commander calls.
The Just and Good Death's Warrant must obey;
He'll not be brib'd one Minutes time to stay;
None can withstand, when summon'd hence away.
Go mourn! go mourn! and, as your strength grows stronger,
Th' more mournful be, 'cause SHORTER liv'd no LONGER.
Let his Praetorian Dust not ever lie
I'th' Grave forgot without an Elegy;
For HE, who was so Just, and so well given,
Without all doubt He's soared up to Heaven:
His Deeds will make him ever be Renown'd,
Whenas His Body's laid within the Ground,
And lift His Soul above the reach of Hate,
And place 't in such an ever-happy State,
That never will be subject unto Fate.
Tho' Death has struck Him, and has made him yield,
Yet He has conquer'd, and has won the Field.
Death could not hurt His Soul, That's too sublime:
His Heart did always with his Tongue keep time.
If ought could h' sav'd Him, sure He had not dy'd,
For all good means to save His Life was try'd.
And, Oh! He's gone! He is no more! the Skill
Of all Physicians could not help His Ill,
Because it was the Great Jehovah's Will.
His Life was Shorter than we did desire:
Yet let's be patient, for He's mounted higher,
To sing Praises in the Blessed Quire
Of holy Angels; and we may see plain,
What was Our Loss, prov'd His Eternal Gain:
His Earthly Pains they now do end therefore,
And He will live in Bliss for evermore.
His Charity was great, the Poor He loved;
Whenas They cry'd, He was with Pity moved.
He was a Friend to all, He hated none:
(Ah! now, alas! I weep to think He's gone)
His Enemies he lov'd, and those that sought
To ruin him, and bring him unto nought,
He never for them had an evil thought.
He always took the Scripture for his Guide;
He serv'd his GOD, his Countrey too befide:
Loyal to's Prince, and true unto his Trust,
In nothing ever was he found unjust:
He lov'd his Neighbor as Himself, and none
Of such as needed but he look'd upon.
The Fatherless he gave to, and their Cause
He did maintain by the Almighty's Laws:
The Widow he Defended, and Reliev'd,
And in his sight the Orphan never griev'd.
The Cause he knew not he pitied, and
Unto the Poor he never shut his hand.
And, to give brave SHORTER but his due,
He served GOD, and was to all Men true:
He's now in Heaven, gone for to receive
The Just Reward for them which do believe.
EPITAPH.
REader, Behold! here Noble SHORTER lies,
Whose Soul is mounted now above the Skies:
Death did with Speed and Rage destroy him,
Because we were not worthy to enjoy him:
Then drop a Tear upon his silent Tomb,
That he so quickly did receive his Doom.
Here lies his Dust (therefore be rul'd by me,
And stir him not, lest thy Life Shorter be:)
And here he'll rise out of his Tomb undressed,
For to receive the Sentence, Come, ye Blessed.
WITH ALLOWANCE.
LONDON, Printed by D. Mallet, next Door to the Sign of the Star between Fleet-bridge and Bridewell-bridge. 1688. ⟨179⟩