MEMENTO MORI:   
AN ELEGY Upon the Death of that Worthy Gentleman, Mr. PETER PRETTY The Son of a DIVINE.  
From his SISTER.  

SWeet Brother! sweet! though dead, as dear to me  
As my own Life, which would have ransomed thee.  
Pretty by Nature, Pretty by thy Name;  
More Pretty in the Picture of thy Fame.  
Now Pretty to thy fellow-Saints above;  
Pretty to Angels, and the God of Love.  
But fall not into transports, my good Muse;  
Nor let loose strains a sober Saint abuse;  
The Standard of whose Virtue was too great  
To take full measures from our short conceit.   

A Rare piece drawn by Heaven's own pencil, free  
From all false Colours of Hypocrisy.  
If ever he dissembled, 'twas not meant  
To cheat the Guilty or the Innocent.  
His white Hypocrisy so far might go,  
To veil his Virtues from a public show.  
Was not ambitious of an high esteem,  
But loved to be what others love to seem.  
Severely just in his Commerce and Trade,  
Heaven was that Bank where he his Treasure laid;  
Nor Rich nor Poor, lived on the influence  
And Manna of Indulging Providence:  
Had his own thoughts carved out his Fortune, he  
Had lived and died as poor as Misery.  
When London's fatal fire left so much dross  
And rubbish, with an universal loss,  
And did on his Concerns not lightly fall,  
Yet was he unconcerned, not singed at all;  
Had evermore a condescending sense  
Of Divine Wisdom, and just Providence.  
He no false Measures, nor false Figures cast;  
His Book was like the Bible, pure and chaste.  
Some left the Shop where he rich Silks did sell,  
〈◊〉 his Death had left the place an Hell:  
〈…〉 〈…〉'd, Is Pretty gone? No Pretty here?  
〈…〉 us Wares will seem both bad and dear.  
His Eye when warmest, never did pursue  
Adulterous thoughts; he never Mistress knew.  
But why, dear Brother, was't thou so unkind  
To leave no Picture of thyself behind?  
Why might not Virtue with chaste Virtue wed,  
And reap the just fruits of the Nuptial bed?  
No Brother, no, we will not envy thee  
That glorious Crown of thy Virginity.  
All I now fear, thou mightst some Virgin move.  
When most austere, as affable as Love.   

Then let half-witted men no more disgrace  
The Sons and Daughters of the Priestly Race.  
Upbraid us not with Eli and his sons,  
Nor with the Chastity of Monks and Nuns:  
There's now an 
* A Yearly Meeting of the Sons of Minister●  Annual Constellation shines,  
Legitimates the Offspring of Divines.  
At a Love-Feast a grave Assembly meets,  
And Damns all Scandal in the open streets.  
Whither the Soul descend (I will not say)  
From Inspiration, or extraduce.  
The Sacred of all Stems are more allied  
To Heaven, have more Divinity on their side.  
O! may hereafter our loose Age transcribe  
Copies of Virtue from that holy Tribe.  
Here's one, whose Vulgar Errors did confute  
By all that's good, and not by vain Dispute.  
And now, dear Brother, if in Heaven you hear,  
And Souls as well as Bodies have an ear;  
Pardon the profanation of my Verse,  
For dropping liquid Beads upon thy Hearse.  
I have too little, yet too much expressed:  
'Tis time to send thee and myself to rest;  
Lest in my transports I should guilty be.  
Of false Saint-worship and Idolatry.  
If our Relation hold when next we meet,  
Heaven will be Heaven and Happiness complete.    

LONDON: Printed in the year MDCLXXIX. 118.