AN ELEGY In Commemoration of the Right Worshipful Sir WILLIAM SCROGGS, Late Lord Chief Justice of His MAJESTIES Court of KINGS-BENCH, who departed this Life, the 25th of this Instant October. 1683.
⟨29. Octob. 1663⟩
Thou pleasing Muse, who late did'st gay appear
Gaudy as Spring, and with thy Songs did'st chear
My well pleas'd thoughts, now like to Sable night
Aray thy self, disrob'd of all thy light;
With Cyprus bind thy Brows; this mournful Theam
Admits no Day, Grief here is too extream
To be observ'd by vulgar prying Eyes,
Who know not in true Greif to Sympathize.
This noble Sorrow is unfeign'd. True Love
In Mercinary numbers scorns to move,
But still keeps Harmony with that above.
He's gone. The Brave amongst the Great lies low;
True Tyrant Death, who will no pity show,
Snatch'd him from hence: at least his better part
Which shines above, bright as his great desert.
In Heaven he Triumphs, whilst on Earth his Name
Is Breath'd aloud by the strong blast of fame;
The Man who truly Loyal durst to be,
When Torrent Faction rag'd to that degree,
That once again it push'd at Monarchy:
Who Atlas like, did help sustain the weight
Of Leaning Empire, when the wheel of fate
Almost flew from it's Axle, and a fear
Possess'd some Men, Heav'n did neglect it's care;
Even then his great unbias'd Soul stood firm;
No fear of Danger, nor no threats could charm
His moving Orb e're to run Retrogade,
His Princes Int'rest, his cheif care was made;
He fear'd no frowns, in vain Temptations were,
Uprightness still did all his Actions square;
In publick and in private, Justice shin'd
In more uprightness n'er before inshrin'd:
In vain aspersions were, like Christal He
Cast of the stains of unjust obliquy.
The banded party, which in Treason set,
Was by his Prudence countermin'd; the fret
Of Monarchy, the rude Anarchial rout,
Who sought to bring their black designs about,
Quel'd by that awful power deriv'd from him
Who wears the British Empires Diadem.
In haughty pride they durst no more appear,
But in close Corners, hissing loud, they rear
Their Heads, impolitick, until at last,
That Venom that would fain three Kindgoms blast
Was on the ground in vain at Random cast.
The Laws great Oracle in him is set,
Center'd in him both Law and Reason met.
Precedents justly pois'd had still due place,
And due Proportion rul'd in every Case.
Orphans and Widdows tears who were opprest,
Never departed from him unredrest.
The Proud and Rich, who thought 'twas in their Power
The Scales of Justice, with a Golden showr,
To turn with ease, found her pois'd Ballance right,
Not to be alter'd, nor by Gold or Might.
Retir'd from business, still his mind was bent
T'improve that Talant his Creator lent,
And make it plain appear, in each degree,
He was the Pattern of Humility.
Then let his Memory for ever live;
Times self to that can n'er a period give;
The Gowns chief boast to after times he'l be,
Ages to come shall read his History;
And strive to Copy his deserved praise,
Thinking him worthy of Immortal Bays,
EPITAPH.
Beneath this Marble, how can it be said
Immortal Scroggs, a Man so just is laid?
'Tis but his dust, Reader, suppose no more,
The rest's in Heaven, 'tis there lay'd up in store,
Till with loud sounds the Trumpet wakes the dead,
And rising dust is with fresh Beauty clad,
Then shall he live above the Worlds renown,
And wear for ever Virtues shining Crown.
FINIS.
LONDON: Printed by J. Grantham, in the Year, MDCLXXXIII.