AN ELEGY Upon the Death of the Much Lamented, Able and Learned Physician Doctor THOMSON. Who Died March the 11th. 1677.  Vivit Post funera Virtus. 

Must good men still die first, and is there gone  
That Able Learned Doctor, George Thomson?  
A Knowing Chemist, as this Age afforded  
And will in aftertimes stand so recorded:  
The gift of Healing, Heavens did him Bless,  
What others failed in, he did soon redress;  
Unwearied was the pains that he did take  
To make good Medicine for poor Mortals sake;  
Then let's Lament, of him we are bereft,  
There is but few now like him, that are left.  
His solid Judgement is Philosophy,  
His learned Books doth plainly testify;  
He knew most Plants, their Virtues, what they were,  
And Minerals extracted with great care.  
He was Experienced in Anatomy,  
As his Dissections well can verify;  
For he it was that first a Spleen did take,  
Out of a Dog a trial for to make;  
Which to the World did satisfaction give,  
How that a Creature, without a Spleen might live.  
Two monstrous stones residing nigh the part  
Of Colic Gut, he brought out by his Art;  
And is admired by those that do them see,  
How two such stones should in the Body be.  
The Plague in sixty five, he did Dissect,  
A Pestilentian Body with respect  
To save mankind out of the Jaws of Death  
That every hour was then bereaved of Breath.  
His own he hazarded, to save his Neighbour's Life  
For Wife her Husband, and for the Husband Wife.  
The Parent, and the Child praise to God gave,  
That by his means were saved from the Grave.  
And shall we let this worthy Doctor die,  
And not bestow on him an Elegy,  
His great Abilities was plainly shown,  
That he was only amongst the knowing, known.  
He was a Loyal sufferer for the King,  
Which at that time did persecution bring.  
A right good Christian lived, and so did die:  
For that's the true (Religio Medici,)  
His Charity unto the World was known,  
His Bread was cheerfully on the Waters thrown.  
Unhappy World, that never prise till when  
They are deprived of such Worthy Men.  
Now this good Man, must here no longer stay,  
For they are taken from the Evil day.  
For he is mounted up on heavenly wings  
To sing forth Praises with the King of Kings.  
Eased of his Labours, Sickness, and his Pain,  
He's now made Happy, for Death to him his gain.  
What needs more words, a future World he sought,  
And set the Pomp and Pride of this at naught.  
Heaven was his aim, let Heaven be still their Station,  
That leaves such works for others imitation.    

An EPITAPH.  

HEre lies wrapped up within this Bed of Clay,  
(Expecting for to rise at the last day:)  
The Pious, Able, Learned Physician,  
And great Philosopher Doctor Thomson.  
Reader bewail, this worthy Doctor's loss,  
For we shall find the want of him a Cross;  
When Sickness comes, enraged with fretting pain,  
In vain we shall, then wish him back again.  
Earth hath his Body, his Soul is gone to rest,  
With his Redeemer, for ever to be blest.    

With Allowance.   

London Printed, in the Year, 1677. 104.