MEMENTO MORI:
AN ELEGY Upon the Death of that Worthy Gentleman, Mr. PETER PRETTY The Son of a DIVINE.
From his SISTER.
SWeet Brother! sweet! tho dead, as dear to me
As my own Life, which would have ransom'd thee.
Pretty by Nature, Pretty by thy Name;
More Pretty in the Picture of thy Fame.
Now Pretty to thy fellow-Saints above;
Pretty to Angels, and the God of Love.
But fall not into transports, my good Muse;
Nor let loose strains a sober Saint abuse;
The Standard of whose Virtue was too great
To take full measures from our short conceit.
A Rare piece drawn by Heaven's own pencil, free
From all false Colours of Hypocrisie.
If ever he dissembled, 'twas not meant
To cheat the Guilty or the Innocent.
His white Hypocrisie so far might go,
To vail his Virtues from a publick show.
Was not ambitious of an high esteem,
But lov'd to be what others love to seem.
Severely just in his Commerce and Trade,
Heaven was that Bank where he his Treasure laid;
Nor Rich nor Poor, liv'd on the influence
And Manna of Indulging Providence:
Had his own thoughts carv'd out his Fortune, he
Had liv'd and dy'd as poor as Misery.
When London's fatal fire left so much dross
And rubbish, with an universal loss,
And did on his Concerns not lightly fall,
Yet was he unconcern'd, not sindg'd at all;
Had evermore a condescending sence
Of Divine Wisdom, and just Providence.
He no false Measures, nor false Figures cast;
His Book was like the Bible, pure and chast.
Some left the Shop where he rich Silks did sell,
[...] his Death had left the place an Hell:
[...] [...]'d, Is Pretty gone? No Pretty here?
[...]us Wares will seem both bad and deer.
His Eye when warmest, never did pursue
Adultrous thoughts; he never Mistress knew.
But why, dear Brother, was't thou so unkind
To leave no Picture of thy self behind?
Why might not Virtue with chast Virtue wed,
And reap the just fruits of the Nuptial bed?
No Brother, no, we will not envy thee
That glorious Crown of thy Virginity.
All I now fear, thou might'st some Virgin move.
When most austere, as affable as Love.
Then let half-witted men no more disgrace
The Sons and Daughters of the Priestly Race.
Upbraid us not with Eli and his sons,
Nor with the Chastity of Monks and Nuns:
There's now an
A Yearly Meeting of the Sons of Minister [...]
Annual Constellation shines,Legitimates the Off-spring of Divines.
At a Love-Feast a grave Assembly meets,
And Damns all Scandal in the open streets.
Whither the Soul descend (I will not say)
From Inspiration, or extraduce.
The Sacred of all Stems are more ally'd
To Heav'n, have more Divinity on their side.
O! may hereafter our loose Age transcribe
Copies of Virtue from that holy Tribe.
Here's one, whose Vulgar Errors did confute
By all that's good, and not by vain Dispute.
And now, dear Brother, if in Heaven you hear,
And Souls as well as Bodies have an ear;
Pardon the prophanation of my Verse,
For dropping liquid Beads upon thy Herse.
I have too little, yet too much exprest:
'Tis time to send thee and my self to rest;
Lest in my transports I should guilty be.
Of false Saint-worship and Idolatry.
If our Relation hold when next we meet,
Heav'n will be Heav'n and Happiness compleat.
LONDON: Printed in the year MDCLXXIX. 118.