AN ELEGY IN Commemoration of SIR Edmund Saunders, Late Lord Chief Justice of his Majesty's Court of Kings-Bench; who departed this Life the 19th of this Instant June, Anno Domini, 1683.  
21. June. 1683  

AND art thou gone, thou brave amongst the great,  
Laws Oracle; a Pillar of the State?  
The Fates were cruel thus to snatch thee hence,  
When England with thy loss could ill dispense.  
Wisdom with Mournful Cyprus shades her Brows;  
Before your Hearse Stupendious Learning bows;  
The Nation's Genius trembled at your fall  
Dreading the Fates designed to ruin all,  
That we can Wisdom or true Virtue call.  
That Wisdom which to frame each great design,  
Did often with well Gov●ern'd reason join,  
Does now in Heaven's transparent Empyrium shine.  
Thy Virtues Noble as thyself were seen,  
And thy due Laurels wear Eternal Geen;  
Which time can never blast, the Fates can't hide,  
Nor yet the power of Death's Dire force divide.  
Fame Echoes loud thy praises and thy worth,  
Which beaming brightness through Death's Veil sends forth.  
Thy Name in Fame's immortal book is placed,  
And in the World's last Ages shall be graced  
Nor shalt by eating Time, be e'er defaced.  
Humble and Courteous was thy mighty mind,  
Not to Ambition nor to Pride inclined,  
But still unto thy Countries use confined.  
Charity still waited thy uprise,  
And never turned from thee with Languid Eyes.  
All good men loved thee, bad men feared thy frown,  
Justice herself proclaimed thy high renown,  
In all Estates thy Virtues did thee Crown.  
Thy Prince's favour thou didst still possess,  
Beyond what here the Muses can express.  
The Nations good in health and sickness were  
Thy daily Study and Supremest Care;  
No Pains to serve the Public didst thou spare;  
Which makes thee live I'th' Deathless book of Fame.  
And to all Ages will thy worth proclaim.  
Recording thy immortal Matchless Name.  
Yet Mourn true Virtue; Learning shed a Tear,  
Let Britain's Empire all in Grief appear;  
Each mournful Isle her Robe of sorrow wear.  
●an, Fan, with gales of Sighs, the Gentle Air,  
That it to distant Lands the News may bear,  
And on its Wings the weeping Clouds convey,  
Whose falling drops from Gloomy Curtains may,  
In tacit Language plainly Emblemise,  
How all true Loyalists with flowing Eyes  
Pay tribute Tears to these dear Obsequies.  
To him; to learned Saunders whose great Soul,  
Is mounted now above the World's control;  
Whom Fate durst not attach till her command,  
Was signed by the Almighty's favouring hand,  
To free his darling from Earth's slavery.  
To man what greater favour could there be,  
Than from a suffering World thus Raped on high,  
In perfect Freedom to transcend the Sky;  
On Earth to leave true virtues wreaths of Bays.  
And Crowned in Heaven with bright encircling Rays.  
To leave a Wilderness for Paradise?  
How kind is Death when he does thus entice.  
Poor weary Mortals from a World of woe,  
To those blessed Fountains whence all joys do flow?  
When ease is lost below it's found above,  
Happy thou art in sacred choicest love.  
Then rest thy Ashes in their sacred Urn,  
Whilst Heaven and you rejoice the Earth does Mourn.  
The former for the Gemm so lately gained,  
The latter for the loss she has sustained,  
And thy free Soul for joys it has obtained.    

EPITAPH.  

READER, within this narrow Vrn's confined.  
Great Saunders, all but his immortal mind.  
For willing Earth could that no longer stay,  
Heaven called it hence; that Call it did obey,  
But still he lives, Fame gives him Life in Death,  
And sounds his Praises with her loudest breath.    

LONDON Printed for Langly Curtez. 1683