An elegy, on Dr. Sancroft, Arch-bishop of Canterbury 1693 Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2009-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). B03163 Wing E365AA ESTC R174918 53299060 ocm 53299060 179830

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B03163) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 179830) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2805:13) An elegy, on Dr. Sancroft, Arch-bishop of Canterbury 1 sheet ([1] p.) s.n., [S.l. : 1693] Mourning border. Reproduction of original in: National Library of Scotland.

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 eng Sancroft, William, 1617-1693 -- Death and burial -- Poetry. Elegiac poetry, English -- Early works to 1800. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. 2008-05 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-08 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-10 Sampled and proofread 2008-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
border, surmounted by a bishop's miter, surrounding text with depictions of emblems of Death
AN ELEGY, ON Doctor Sancroft, Arch Biſhop of Canterbury. ROuſe up my Sluggiſh Muſe, awake from Sleep, And Summons all true Hearts to mourn and weep, For now the Churchs Wound is very deep. Sancroft's no more, that is a diſmall Sound, His Pear I fear is now not to be found, Were we to Search the Univerſe quit Round. This is the worſt of news that's come to Town, Since Aboſolom did Seize his Fathers Crown, And all the Rules of Juſtice did put Down. Let Church, and Altars, all be hung with Black, Let her true Sons Lament and cry a lack, Our Sins have cauſed God to turn his back. He hid his Face, and ſays he will not hear. The Wicked when they Cry and make their Prayer, Englands deſtruction then draws near I fear. A King Depos'd, our Holy High-Prieſt Dead, A Famin Raigns far worſe then that of Bread, Such Judgments muſt ſtrike all with fear and dread. Oh! Barbarous and Cruel, • idged, Fate, Three Kingdoms Mourn for what ye've done of late, In plucking down the Prop, of Church and State. Sancroft, the Pious, Learned, Wiſe, and Good, When Hell broke looſe, and Treaſon like a Flood, Did Loyalty o'r whelm, he bravely Stood. When for the Storm no Ship cou'd Safely Ride, When the Winds and Waves did Rore on every ſide, He like a Skilfull Pylot Stem'd the Tide. And like a Houſe that's built upon a Rock, Unſhaken and unmov'd, he bore the Shock; And like a Faithfull Shepherd, fed his Flock. When to be Loyal, Honeſt, Juſt, and True, Was ſuch a Crime, that Thouſands from it flew; He gave to God, and Caeſar, both their dew. He no man wrong'd, nor to his Diſſolution, Nothing cou'd ſhake his Heavenly Reſolution, Or make him own this Curſed Revolution. But for the reſt, I mean, the Purjur'd train, They God, the King, and Trueth forſake for gain, But to all Three, he firmly did Remain. Tho he knew well, in a ſhort time he muſt, From his High Holy Office down be thruſt, In Spite of danger ſtill, he wou'd be Juſt. Juſt to himſelf to God and to his King, Nor cou'd the World him temp to do a thing, That would a Scandal on Religon bring. All that I've ſaid is not the Thouſand part, Of what is true and dwe to his Deſart, Who had a God-like Soul, and Dove-like Heart. No Gall or Guile within him cou'd be found, An Iſraelite indeed whoſe Faith was ſound; His Hope and Charity did much a bound. Like to his Lord he did forgive his Foes, And whilſt he liv'd he pray'd, even for thoſe, That did his Maſter and himſelf Depoſe. And for thoſe Shepherds who had led a ſtray, The harmeleſs Sheep, he conſtantly did Pray, That Heaven wou'd turn 'em back to the right way. His Piety was Great, his Courage, Brave, Skilful in all things, but how to Deceive, Theſe Vertues all he Carried to his Grave. Oh! there he's gon! he's gon! and with all, That's truly good or we cou'd Vertues call; Here I muſt Stop, to let a Tear down fall, A Tear, were there a Fountain in each Eye, Of Springing waters I wou'd weep 'em dry, As juſtly dwe to Sancroft's, Obſequie. He was the Chief and beſt of Prieſts indeed, What Eye won't ſhed a Tear, what Heart won't bleed When they his mornful Elegy ſhall Read.!
His Epitaph. ALl Loyal Souls, when you draw near This Holy place, pray drop a Tear, For Sacred Sancroft's Trunk lies hear. That is the ſame it was at Firſt, From Earth it came and ſo it muſt, Again Return, and be made Duſt. But for his Holy Pious Soul, 'Twas found Regeſter'd in Heavens Roul, And there 'tis gone without Controul. In ſpite of all Hells Crew, Accurſt, He now does Tryumph with the Juſt, For being Faithful to his Truſt.