AN elegy, upon the much lamented Death of that Renowned and ever to be honoured Patriot of his country JOHN PYM Esquire, lieutenant of the Ordnance, and a Member of the Honourable House of Commons.  

IT will not be: our sins do yet outcry  
Our prayers: as if we aimed at Misery.  
Still we decline; and our calamities  
Insensibly steal on us by degrees:  
That, being more secure, our judgement may  
Appear more horrid at our payment day.  
How many glorious stars have shot of late  
From the inconstant sphere of our sad State,  
Spangled ere while with happy lights; from whence  
We hoped, and found auspicious influence?  
But now, deprived of their rich splendour, we  
Freeze in the shadow of despair, and die.  
Am I designed griefs servant, that my Pen  
Thrice vowed to silence should be raised again?  
I call no Muse my mother: yet am still  
Babbling out elegiac Notes: my Quill,  
Ne'er dipped in Agavippe, sorrow calls  
To pay its Tribute at sad funerals.  
But oh! what Muse can lend a strain t'express,  
The measure of this day's unhappiness?  
What wing may yield a quill, which can compose  
Fit Characters of sorrow? or who knows  
What kind of sorrow there is fit to be  
Exercised at such Scenes of misery?  
Tears are too common: every petty loss  
Exacts that duty; every trifling cross.  
Sighs are poor empty things; and airy Verse  
An ornament t'enrich a vulgar hearse.  
Unless we could shed tears of blood: and sigh  
Our lives breath out unto his memory:  
Or breathe our souls forth in sad numbers; these,  
Indeed, are griefs fit Ephemerides.  
What less can suit the obsequies of him  
Who spent himself for us? whose eyes grew dim  
In searching out our buried Liberties:  
Who in pursuance of the kingdom's peace  
Contracted many deaths; and by his care  
Purchased diseases: holding nothing dear.  
Advance the public: who (to speak in few)  
To save his country his own body slew?  
For which his soul, translated to the bliss  
Of heaven, with Angels there instated is.  
Where now a spotless Saint, he sweetly sings  
Lond hallelujahs to the King of Kings.  
Where he (above the reach of human spite)  
Enjoys the comforts of the Son of light.   

NOw you bold Imps of fury, who shall now  
Pluck that bright wreath of glory from his brow?  
Who shall receive the Guerdon of his fall?  
Or preach State-Treason at his funeral?  
Now you may rail, and curse, and threat, whilst he  
Derides your malice; scorns your tyranny.  
Now you may lie, and swear and for swear too  
To blast his Name (more than hell's self can do)  
He, from the glorious Throne of happiness,  
Laughs at your poor revenge, and gladly sees  
The book of Conscience spread before his eyes:  
Where all the actions, which your perjuries  
Call Treason and injustice, be beholds  
Flourished with glory in bright lines of Gold:  
Presented there, unto the God of Peace,  
Most perfect, through his saviour's worthiness.  
There rests his soul, his body let us lay  
With mournful triumphs in its bed of clay:  
About which, since pale death, by fate's decree,  
Hath drawn the curtains of Mortality.  
That after ages may this loss bemoan;  
Trouble the hearse with this Inscription.   

HEre lies the Pillar of the English State:  
The people's violent love; their greatest hate.  
His country's Patriot; Religions friend:  
Laws Champion: one that dared to defend  
Just Liberty against Prerogative:  
That scorned (his country perishing) to live.  
That durst impeach the bosom favourite  
Of's Prince; and against greatness maintain right  
That hated Honour bought with flattery:  
And did the favours of a King deny,  
To keep his faith with heaven; that dared profess  
Virtue, in th'age and Land of wickedness.  
That singly durst make power: do any thing  
Allowed by heaven; and this against a King.  
This did he: yet, with this, he did maintain  
A soul, so loyal to his sovereign:  
That had a traitorous thought but moved within;  
There it had judged and executed been.  
A Man so good, that 'twas imputed to him  
A sin, and that alone which did undoc him.  
Full fraught with wisdom, Virtue, Grace,  
Of parts admired; of gentle race.  
A Noble mind, a pious heart  
Humility, with great desert.  
Courtesy, bounty, innocence,  
A pleasant wit, void of offence.  
Here lies in short whatever can  
Be called perfection in a Man.  
All these lie here comprised in one;  
(Alas) where shall they harbour now he's gone?