AN Elegaick Essay UPON THE DECEASE OF THE Groom-Porter, AND THE LOTTERIES.  
LONDON, Printed for John Nutt, near Stationers-Hall, MDCC.  
Price Three Pence.   

AN Elegaick Essay Upon the Decease of the GROOM-PORTER, AND THE LOTTERIES.  

WHILST Sickly Lotteries lay Drawing on.  
And gasped for Breath, as tho' their Glass was run,  
Great NEAL, the Lord of Lotteries, is gone.  
Nor could the Hero keep his Vital Fire,  
Seeing his Offspring ready to Expire:  
His Lady GOLD, of the Consumption spent,  
Was gone long since: And when Fates called, HE went;  
Having done the Work for which He here was sent:  
That is, to teach the Great Ones and the Small,  
How to get Money, and to Spend it all.  
Two such Extremes ne'er met in Man, but He,  
As Avarice and Prodigality.  
None more Solicitous to hook it in,  
Or let it plentifully out again,  
Unless the Noble Pyrrhus, who, we're told,  
Still urged Fresh Victories, and Scorned the Old.  
More Covetous than City Bankers are,  
And yet more Lavish than their Wives, or Heir.  
Not Love and Honour e'er had harder Pull,  
To get th' Ascendant of Prince Volscous Soul,  
Then Av'rice and Profufeness had to show,  
Which was his greatest Favourite o'th' two.   

Tell us, Renowned Manes, which did move ye,  
To give a● Half Crown for ● Dish of Coffee?  
Was it because being Generous and Brave,  
You'd be obliging to each little Knave;  
Or cause the Love of larger Coin Presided?  
Nor could you bear to see the Thing divided.  
So Solomon once did dexterously display,  
Which was the greatest Favourite of the Boy.   

But stay; Bold Muse, pray whither do you run?  
Consider! This is He wh' Obliged the Crown;  
Opposed th' Audaciousness of Petty Duns,  
And answered Public Debts by Million Funds.  
His Loyalty deserves to be Rewarded,  
And in the Rolls of Endless Fame Recorded.   

Nor would I seem t'expose the Noble Soul  
Of the Deceased, but his Great Deeds extol.  
The Narrow Souls he's left behind, ne'er will  
To his Example be Conformable,  
But those whom Poor they find, they'll leave so still.  
Nor will be drawn to tapp their Sacred Store,  
Except to such as have enough before.  
Tho' 'tis confessed by all, that 'tis much better  
To give to each his Due, be't Paul, or Peter.   

Mourn all you Sufferers now he is gone,  
Mourn your hard Lott; but put no Mourning on:  
Nor need you trouble your Upholsterer to  
Accommodate you with the outward Show;  
Your inward Throbs are lively Arguments  
Of your Unfeigned and Real Discontents.   

Mourn all ye Sons and Daughters of the Lott,  
Who crowed up Mercers-Hall, now He is Not,  
Who influenced every Gaming-School about him,  
Nor could you get one Happy Chance without him.   

Mourn (if't be possible) ye Sprightly Beaux,  
Lest now he's gone yourselves may chance to lose,  
Your hopes of Powdered Perukes and Gay .   

'Tis pity, Pretty Ladies, you should Mourn;  
But 'tis apparent too 'twill be your Turn,  
Especially whose Gallants wait to know  
How the Good Fortunes of your Tickets go,  
And whether you shall be made Wives, or no.   

Mourn you Poor Venturers who would run on,  
And Tick for Tickets till you're quite Undone.   

But you whose Fortunes well can bear the Loss,  
And need not come away by Weeping-Cross;  
Keep your own Counsels, let it ne'er be known,  
How many Guinea's foolishly are flown,  
But still Comport yourselves, like those that won.   

You, Fortune's Darling, who the Prize have got,  
May Mourn to think how many go without,  
Who Curse Projecting Sydenham, and your Lot:  
So the Great Caesar is in Story said,  
To Mourn the Mighty Spoils himself had made.  
Reflect upon the Right by which you Claim,  
And that Estates are got and lost by th' same.  
I know the Lawyers used to have more Wit,  
Then e'er to be by Canting Gypsies bit,  
Or the same Praemunire incur with Cit  
And therefore check my too Luxuriant Pen,  
And own them something more than other Men:  
Nor can I think they should be e'er drawn in,  
No more than I would think the Grave Divine.   

These know that Fortune is an Empty Name,  
(Tho' Fools, to Heaven would Exalt the Dame)  
And Prudence only leads to endless Fame.  
But yet to see whole Coffeehouses filled  
With as fine Gentlemen as Earth can yield,  
Comparing Figures with such Care and Zeal,  
Would make one think they're in for Cakes and Ale.   

Hereafter, Gentlemen, when some lose Corn,  
Ferments within your Purse, and makes it burn;  
The Poor are Plentiful about the Street,  
Give it to them, they'll qualify its Heat;  
There you'll be surer far to get a Prize,  
Then by Vain Tickets at the Lotteries:  
False Unrewarded things, that seem to be,  
Much like the Pardons of the Jubilee.   

Those who Affirm our Age Degenerate  
From that of our Forefathers Ancient State,  
Must mean our Judgement, not our Strength's decreased;  
Sampson's Alive, tho' Solomon's Deceased.  
LOTTERIES we choose, altho' we know the Cheer,  
And like some Artless Gamester still will beat  
All the Fields round, except where Puss does sit.   

Some Sparks indeed pretend they would forbear  
To take (tho' readily they could) the Hare.  
But He, whose better Lot 'tis to be Winner,  
Thinks they'd be glad to have her for their Dinner.  
And so does every one besides, who k●ows  
The Benefit of Meat, and Drink and ;  
Which some of those which Vennered on the Knack,  
May for that Cause, now Christmas comes yet lack.   

In fine, May such Prodigious Follies cease,  
May Honest Industry our Fortunes raise,  
And Acts of Charity be our Exercise.    

Epitaph on the Groom-Porter.  
UNder this Stone does the Groom-Porter lie  
Who Lived by Chance, and Died by Destiny.  
Whenever Good Soul from Mortal Body flies,  
Earth takes the Blanks, and Heaven receives the Prize,   

Epitaph on the Lotteries.  

HERE lie the late Deceased Lotteries,  
Whilst we remain their Baffled Votaries,  
In hopes they never shall hereafter Rise.   

One Prudent ACT all Portunes has destroyed,  
Nor could she Pallas Glorious Face abide.  
So when the Sacred Ark with Dagon's found,  
The Helpless Idol Headlong falls to th' Ground.   
FINIS.