MEMENTO MORI   
AN ELEGY On the much Lamented Death of his Pious and Learned Parent the Reverend Doctor EZERELL TONGE An Eminent and Indefatigable Instrument, in promoting the Discovery of The Horrid Popish Plot.  
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〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  S. T. 
Tho' 'twere Presumption to imagine I,  
Can aught produce within this Elegy,  
Honour to add; my pensive Muse can raise,  
To's Parents Ashes, Monuments of Praise.  
None can do this, and yet my course spun Verse,  
Gladly would be a Mourner at his Hearse,  
Whilst Floods of Tears with Ink do trickling fall,  
As sable Attendants at his Funeral.  
Verse cannot speak his Praise, his Worth, his Name,  
Shall be recorded with the Sons of Fame,  
To after Ages chronicled shall be,  
For his great Pains, unheard of Industry,  
By his endeavouring for to Countermine,  
The Jesuits horrid Plot, and cursed Design.  
'Tis in his learned Works you best may fee,  
His excellent Parts; the best Effigy,  
He could bequeath unto Posterity.  
Learning and Piety, were in one mind,  
Harmoniously conspicuous; sweetly joined,  
To admiration; for his Country's good,  
Ready to Sacrifice his dearest Blood.  
Blessed Soul! Thou wast too good with us to stay,  
Within these brittle Cottages of Clay.  
Therefore whilst living, always did aspire,  
With wings of Faith to be ascending Higher,  
To those Celestial Orbs where Saints do move,  
And know no Lesson but Seraphic Love.  
There blessed Angels his Associates be,  
Where from all earthly Cares exempt and free  
All sees within that glorious Glass the Trinity  
In hallelujahs, now he'll aways raise,  
Immortal Carrots, to his Saviour's Praise.  
Let then no envious Hand, molest that Dust,  
Which waits the Resurrection of the Just.  
Whose Virtues and Perfections did present  
To all, its best and lasting Monument.  
When hard Corinthian Brass, and Marble may,  
Be both destroyed, his Name shall ne'er decay;  
Such noble Actions, have no date, they be,  
As long, and lasting as Eternity.   

EPITAPH.  
REader who ere thou art, draw near,  
On this cold Urn distil a Tear.  
Here cloist'red lies, under this Stone,  
No common Dust, 'tis such a one;  
Whose Virtue, Learning, Piety,  
And whose transcendent Sanctity,  
Rendered him amiable in his Station,  
And Famous in his Generation.  
Whom Fame's immortal Trumpet shall,  
Render celebrious unto all.  
By Providence seemed to Inherit,  
A strange admired Prophetic Spirit;  
An eminent Instrument to display,  
That Popish Plot was to betray,  
As Victims unto Cruelty,  
Our Lives to horrid Butchery.  
His Soul from Earth, is mounted higher,  
Unto the spangled Clorious Quire.  
Her dear Campanion here hath left,  
Of Sense and Motion, both bereft,  
Until the Resurrection Day,  
Shall animate the lumpish Clay,  
It's scattered Atoms reunite,  
By the Almighty Power, and Might  
Of its Redeemer, raise the Soul,  
And Body to the Starry Pole.   
FINIS.  

LONDON, Printed for C. W. 1681. 131