A funeral elegy, upon the death of Mr. John Pim one of the worthy Members of the house of Commons Deceased the 8 of December.   depiction of tomb  

HAth Fate, and Time, conspired, to send thee Death,  
In spite of all the life guard of his breath:  
Health, Wit, and Courage, strength for to withstand▪  
Natures declining age, by temperance hand:  
Grew not his senses like the laurel green,  
By years' experience still more riper seen,  
Grew not his care still for his countries good;  
A bulwark that false Antichrist withstood:  
Was not his care his study, and his mind,  
To beat down Vice, and have the Church refined:  
Did not his judgement in the knowing laws,  
Both temporal and Divine deserve applause:  
Did not his care spread like a saving shroud,  
With wholesome counsel fit to be allowed,  
Like to a reverend rabbi of the Land.  
Judgement possessed his brain, justice his Hand;  
Patience and temperance both lived in his mind,  
Pity his heart, his eyes always inclined,  
To look upon distresses of the poor, and apply help,  
What can a man do more.   

His well penned Speeches, grave, discreet, and good,  
Hath been approved, by those that understood,  
To savour nothing, but of care, and weal,  
To public health, who their defects would heal.  
Harsh roughness mixture had not in his blood,  
Meekness, and patience in his actions stood,  
Petition● given him from humble hands,  
As humbly he takes, and for them stands;  
So far that if they righteous things require,  
'Tis hard if he cannot finish their desire:  
And what gained he for all his well inclined,  
But censure evil from the base of mind,  
Hate of Malignant Papists, Cavaliers,  
With their abusive libels, still appears,  
To fling at him reproach, and scandals base,  
Which backwards still returned unto each face:  
And still in spite of their weak Etnian ire,  
His perfect gold outlived their hateful fire,  
And I could wish that that from his ashy urn,  
That his new Fenix might to us return.    

AN acrostic on his name.  

I do not grieve but thousands more,  
Over thy marble drops a second shower.  
Hearts filled with sorrow, eyes still overflows  
Nothing but tears can ever drown sad woes.   

Peace quiet rest give thee, yet thy name shall be  
In every heart worn for thy memory:  
mean time we stand engaged thou hast discharged thine.    

EPITAPH.  

Here's Earth in Earth involved Oh such a mould!  
Whose ore is purer than refined gold.  
Worms touch it not 'tis such a sacred clay  
You cannot rape, remain then till the day  
Your separations meet, when both may be  
Happy revived in blessed eternity.    
Finis.  

Printed by John Hammond according to order.