MEMENTO MORI  
REMEMBER TO DIE  AN ELEGY On the (very little) Lamented Death of Old Father Peter's, the Late Famous English Jesuit, who departed this Life at St. Omers in France, on May Day, 1699, in the 70 Year of his Age.  

WEEP all ye Romans who have Tears to spare,  
You that have none, continue as you are;  
and you that cant your usual Tempers keep  
Then if you please may laugh at those that weep  
But now (perhaps) you'll ●sk The Reason why,  
Or wherefore you should either laugh or cry?  
I'll tell you then, 'Tis for a sad Mischance,  
Old Father Peter's lately dead in France:  
He's dead, he's dead, who made all England shake,  
And caused Old I— these Reamls to forsake.  
Nay, greater things than this he here did do,  
A Young Prince run before that he could go  
Which by his Art he ordered should be so  
Oh Famed Confessor! Wonders thou hast done,  
All Miracles are ceased, since thou art gone:  
Oh let my Pen give thee thy praises due,  
You could give Pardons, yea, and Children too:  
Nay, some have been so bold as for to s●ear,  
You taught the Feeble how to get an Heir.  
But whether that be true is yet unknown,  
Being loath to give you more than is your own.  
Thy Christian Bowels cheerfully extended,  
To Female stuners tho' they'd much offended:  
Who by long Custom in their Sins were hardened,  
If they were handsome, yet their sins were pardoned.  
Tho' dead in Sin, if Carcase was but living,  
Thou raised them up by art of Sins forgiving;  
Whole shoals of Beauties purged of Sinful Leven,  
By thee are set in the High-Road to Heaven.  
Farewell, dear Saint, Religion's best Forecaster,  
The more our sins to Heaven we go the faster:  
Young Tender Females, who for frail Transgressions,  
Received Stripes from thee at their Confessions:  
If Sns were many (tho' thy Strokes were mild)  
Thou sometimes whipped them till they proved with Child.  
A Young and Holly Sister at the Bath,  
Conceived by thy Help, and her strong Faith;  
And tho' her Father (skilled in Physic Trade)  
Can't cure the Wound which on her thou hast made.  
These and many more great things, which I could tell  
Were done by thee, when with us thou didst dwell  
And more than this, Preached up a frightful story,  
Of Punishments in a Damned Purgatory.  
Who with such Doctrine made a dismal rout  
If thou art there, stay while we pray thee out  
Even thou, who led so many Saints astray,  
Art gone thyself, yet none can tell which way,  
It's true, some Guests (indeed) but who can tell,  
Whither in Purgatory, Heaven or Hell.  
Is thy abode; since thou hast left Earth's Ball  
Where by your Craft, you got the Devil and all.  
But now Alas, that head in Dust is laid,  
Which hath so sweetly Taught, and sweetly prayed.  
But though thy, outward part, is gone and Rotten,  
Thy better part, 'mong Saints won't be forgotten,  
Thou 'rt Cannonized at Rome, in White and Red,  
And there thou'lt Live, though here thou art quite Dead  
Sure Rome will Mourn for, loss of this Confessor  
And in his place Advance a true Successor  
Therefore Dear Father since you've Quit this Stage,  
Resign your Post, toth' Learned of this Age,  
And let them choose a Man like you in Evil;  
Tho' 'tis a task, perhaps, beyond the Devil,  
But now I think on't if it goes by Votes  
No Man more fitter for't, than Doctor O— t— es.    

EPITAPH.  

HERE lies a Confessor  
Who whipped the Transgressor  
And in time of great need  
In case he was Feed  
Upon true Confession  
Could Pardon Transgression  
And could Cancel a Sentence  
Without a Repentance  
The Female Young Sinners  
Tho' but new beginers  
By their Beads he could tell  
When backwards they'd fallen  
And when all was not well.    

LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1699.