AN ELEGY On the Famous THOMAS THIN Esq Who was Barbarously Murthered.
WHat Arrogance dost Thou, Malicious Fate,
On Us in this Brave 'Squire impetrate?
Or does the Upper Orb his Patience hold,
To suffer Dross to intermingle Gold
No longer? Snatching up the Soul of
THIN's,
From our Light Dross, and from all Weighty Sins,
Sublimity extols Him with her Wing,
Contemning Knighthood here, there to be King:
Then what can we condole us of a Fate,
That gives Him Joy in her extream of hate?
His Six-days Labour, in the last of Seven,
GOD's Providence call'd Him to rest in Heaven.
Can all the Muses of the three times three,
Give a due Merit in His Elegie?
Fame sorely weeps, to lose a Favourite;
And Honour mourns, to be eclips'd in Night:
Obscure must all things be, and Light has done
On Earth, when Earth cannot obtain its Sun.
Me thinks I see as have my thoughts espi'd,
The Grains of Mustard seed (sown in His Side)
Growing beyond th'extent of Envies Pride.
Me thoughts I heard the Pistols in their stunning,
Give a report in Heav'n,
Brave THIN'
s a coming.
Me thoughts I saw the Heav'ns make Preparation
To Welcom Him with Joy, post Castigation:
Me thoughts I saw Him Crown'd, and plac'd on high,
This World His Foot-stool, bidding Fate Good-by.
But why do I consist in thoughts, (remaining
In such dim sights?) He's really obtaining
All Meritorious Glory can be found
Above this World in the Coelestial Round.
Death bitter in His Mouth, b'ing swallow'd up,
His Belly found the sweetness of the Cup:
Death coming in such Gall, and bitter'd Ore,
He swallow'd it, to taste it never more.
Who has the Loss? Not Him by this Confuser?
'Tis we in Him, and all the World's a Loser.
Brave
THIN h's lost nothing save a heap of Nought;
We have lost all, in losing Him we sought.
What can
THIN lose in this Terrestrial Life?
He loses Sorrow, we Joy, and he all Strife.
Did we not see at that Outragious Blow,
The Powdry-Smoke into thick Vapours grow,
Mixt with the Clouds, their obscure Shadows hurl'd
Their Mourning-Mantle, muffled up the World;
Ev'ry Ear fill'd with Clamours, and the Sky
Seem'd to lament this Bloody Tragedy?
The middle Element was fill'd with Groans,
And Mother-Earth quak'd at her Peoples Moans:
All Women wept, all Mankind grieved sore,
Salt Tears ran trickling like the Common-Shore,
And Children with their Infant-Voices rore.
The Heavens rejoyced at this Murders Birth;
Joy was in Heaven, Sorrow here on Earth:
The dull thick Clouds (as Mourning Scenes of
Troy)
Did part this sorrowful World, and Heavens new Joy;
Joy in the Heavens receiving such a Soul,
Losing his Person here we all condole.
Heaven that has Prescience over all,
And knowing how
THIN's accident would fall,
Call'd Him in haste to take His Heavenly Lot;
But in this Life what was this famous 'Squire,
Servant to GOD in low things, now of higher:
He had a courteous Mansuet Behaviour,
And never out of Fickle Fortunes Favour;
Lovely in Looks, Gracious in all his Ways,
Whilst he was living we had happy Days:
Riches dwelt with him, and in such a store,
That Liberality smil'd on the Poor:
So Wise, so Literate, so Valiant He,
That now the World has nothing of those three:
Belov'd of KING and Court for Worthy Fame,
And all the Vulgars did adore his Name:
He was a Faithful Subject to the KING,
Till Death came in this Woful Suffering.
So are we lost of all;
MONMOĈ²TH and
GRAY,
Held up the Shadows of a Dying Day.
Thus is the World extinguish'd of a Light;
They that see Day must also look for Night.
An Epitaph Acrostick.
Tread gently (
Reader) on this Ground, for hark!
Here's Immortality's Divine Land-Mark.
Open the Scripture, and you'll find it read,
Man's subject unto Death till all are dead:
And here is One has past that Thorny-Gate,
So blesses You, and blest his Timely Fate.
'Tis here his Ashes lie, his part Divine,
Heaven receives above in pure refine.
Immortal Life he ever shall inherit,
Nothing unquiet to his Holy Spirit.
By Geo. Gittos. London, Printed in the Year 1681/2.