AN ELLEGY ON LODOWICK MUGGLETON: Who Lies Buried Alive in the College of Newgate, Expecting daily his Happy RESURRECTION.  
ALL those that use with Watery Eyes  
To Weep at Mournful Eligies;  
For loss of Neighbour, or of Friend,  
Or loss of Fop, that used to spend  
His Time, and Money, ev'ry day  
In Tavern, and there ever pay  
The Total Sum who e'er is by;  
For loss of such you ought to cry:  
My Muse does now invite your Ear,  
A Pleasant Elegy to hear:  
For so I'll term it, if that you  
In Elegies ere Pleasure knew:  
A Prophet False, and Monster great,  
Who often did Damnation threat,  
To those that never would him Treat;  
Lies Buried now Alive, not Dead,  
Mistake me not; what I have said  
Is very true: In Newgate now  
He is Entombed, and knows not how  
To get away, so strong's the Stone,  
Which makes him daily sigh and groan;  
But all in vain, such is his fate,  
He now may curse his Doom too late;  
But lest you should the Poet blame,  
Because he has not told his Name,  
He says 'tis Muggleton, the same  
Who whilst in living liberty  
Arrived to such Damned Blasphemy  
That all Mankind he did outvie;  
He had such Power he did Protest,  
And spoke in Earnest, not in Jest;  
He many Hundred men had blest;  
If all were true which he has said,  
He would have made us all afraid;  
If those he Cursed, and those he Damned,  
Could not through Faith his Doom withstand;  
'Twere a hard case I must confess,  
But yet again this Man could Bless  
The very same he Cursed before,  
If that they had but Guinnies store;  
Or Houses, or would give a Treat  
With Wine, and Capons, or such Meat  
For those he'd bless, and bless again;  
And to his Blessings say; Amen.  
But if they no such comforts had,  
He used to say their Case was bad;  
And Damn 'em strait such was his power,  
He'd Bless and Curse 'em in an Hour;  
He said that he a Prophet was,  
And did all other Power Surpass:  
And with a Countenance of Brass  
He said that those he Damned were Damned,  
And nothing could that Fate withstand;  
Nor yet Reverse his Cursed Doom,  
For Blessings he had left no room;  
This he did Witness to his Tomb.  
The Foolish Sisters all Complain;  
Crying, Lodowick, arise again;  
Arise, arise, out of thy Tomb  
Dear Muggleton we pray thee come:  
We want thy Blessings, come away,  
Our Prophet's gone, we go astray:  
We here have brought a Key of Gold,  
Which will release thee from thy hold,  
Come forth with Courage Stout and bold.  
'Twill open the Door without all doubt,  
Come Lodowick thou must come out:  
Methinks I hear the Boys Complain,  
And wish they had him once again;  
They'd fit him better than before,  
For now they have got Eggs good store;  
In Smithfield they did want supply,  
When he stood their I'th' Pillory;  
All things considered by the wise,  
Our Muggleton again must rise:  
We from our Prophet cannot part,  
To rise again he has an Art,  
Or else he is not worth a Fart;  
Now stead of Crying you may Laugh,  
And Read your Prophet's Epitaph.  

EPITAPH.  

Entombed I lie,  
I can't deny,  
Amongst Rogues, as 'tis said;  
Pray do not fear,  
My Voice to hear,  
For indeed I am not Dead.   

I shall come out,  
Without all doubt,  
And in my own Shape be,  
But I must stay,  
Until the Day,  
My Golden God I see.    
FINIS.   

Printed for E.O. With Allowance.