An Elegy upon Edward Dun Esquire, the Cities Common Hangman.
COme
New-gate Muse and let's agree
To
antipothize an
Elegie,
And let each drop that dares to run
From barren
eyes fill twice three
Tun,
That so we may soon drown our fears,
And deluge
grief in her own tears:
Let's think but how he did the feat,
And then conclude the loss is great.
But oh! it adds unto our dread,
He di'd
untimely in his
bed.
The valiant
Souldier's loth to yeild
To
Death, except it be in
Field;
And who is he that would not die
According to his
quality?
It was (oh
Death!) an unjust thing.
Thou should'st deny him his own
swing;
Sure, sure, thou hadst some great designe
Or else thou'adst took him
under-line;
How can our griefs be unreveal'd,
When so much vertue di'd conceal'd?
[Page 3] Who does not hear how every
stone
In
New-Gate cries.
O hone, O hone,
Whilst all the
Pris'ners sadly run
And cry,
The Devil rides on Dun?
Nay more, each tender-hearted
Louse,
Belonging to that
Mansion-house,
Doe strive in
Sable robes to crawl,
Like
Mourners to his
Funeral.
The noble
Hemp its grief doth shew,
And scorch'd with
sorrow cannot grow;
The Ax, the Block, the Knife, in brief,
Each
Tool is rusty now with
grief.
One thing I had almost forgot,
Tyburn with grief is grown a
Sot;
And that which breeds her greatest
harms,
Is that he di'd not in her
arms:
He's gone, she cries, that often stood
More then
knuckle deep in
blood.
Oh with what a dextrous
art
He would pull out a
Traytor's heart!
Never did Musick please him well,
Except it were
St. Pulchers Bell.
I was his
Altar and his
Spouse
To whom he often paid his
vowes.
The
Altars of the
Heathen Gods
Were not so good as mine by ods;
[Page 4] Because their
Priests were not so wise
To offer
Men for
Sacrifice:
But my brave
Priest did plenty bring,
Of such as murther'd their own
King,
He'd offer them at my
high Altar,
And thought no
incense like the
Halter:
But he is now quite void of breath,
And had no incense at his
Death.
His EPITAPH.
VNderneath this place doth lie
The Miracle of Crueltie;
Ile tell thee now I have begun,
Then know, kinde Reader,
all's but Dun:
FUNIS.