Groans from New-Gate OR AN ELEGY On the suspention of the Famous Thief Thomas Sadler, Fifteen times Student in that Renowned Colledge, who to the great Regret of all his Assotiates, was Translated to Tyburn, March, 16th. 1677.
ILLustrious Muse! on thee we Call,
That dost inspire at Pulchers Wall;
The pious Tinkler with an Art,
To stop with Ghostly Rhymes the Cart.
And with his Saints Bell full of greif,
Ring-out the Knell of passing Theif.
Whilst bussling Crow'd for pitty sobbs,
And divers Geld unguarded Fobbs.
Assist us now with doleful Glee,
T' Antipadize an Elegy.
And let each drop that dares to run
From wetshod Eyes, fill thrice three Tun;
That so we may with Mickle Tears,
(As he in Brandy) drown our Fears;
Who does not here how every stone
In New-Gate cries, oh Hone, oh Hone.
And every tender hearted Louse
Belonging to that Mansion-House,
Does strive in sable Robes to Crawl,
Close Mourners to his Funeral.
When Princess German made her Hubbubs,
And drew the whole Town to the Suburbs;
When brisk Duval, that French Latroon
Receiv'd reward of Pickaroon,
And put poor Ladies in a swoon;
Rhymesters their Goose-quills did Imploy
As fast, as Clerks in Chancery;
And shall Sadler, Mercuries Crony,
Be hang'd like Curr, Sans Ceremony,
'Tis base,—and if wit's to be had for mony
If Ballad men will venture on't,
Or people Buy, when we have don't;
VVee'l Sing his Name in Loftier droll
Than Latine Pagan did Old Noll;
He was Protector too o'th Crew,
Domestick Castles to Subdue;
And by the aid of Trusty Betty,
Could force each Door, VVindow, and Jetty;
VVith dexetrous Crown could spring a mine,
And Pick-lock Engines so designe;
Like second Hannibal they say,
He alwaies found or made a way.
His Conduct of so brave a flight,
Taught the Wild Arabs of the night;
Intrigues they never would believe,
Or wanted wit how to Atcheive.
Bilking more Plate, If fame truth saith,
Than the old Gilt call'd publick faith.
And then for to compleat his Race,
VVel-hop'd, as Badges of's high place
To bear away both Purse and Mace.
EPITAPH.
From making Bricks and moulding Clay,
To Break up VValls I found a way;
Long-tyme I thriv'd, till by mishap,
Atropos caught me in a Trap.
But that's no strange or wonderous thing,
I always lov'd to have my Swing.
Let this sad Tomb advise my friends,
Ill Lives must still expect Ill ends.
FINIS.
London, Printed for T. M. in the Year, 1677.