AN ELEGY  
On the Death of the Author of the Characters, &c. Of the Ladies Invention, who dyed on the 13th of this instant May at the Rose Spunging-house in Woodstreet, under an Arrest. Written by a Young Gentleman whom he had abused in his Characters.  

HE's Dead! Lament ye Mercuries and Hawkers▪  
And Mourn his timeless Fall ye Tavern-Chalkers.  
Death, cruel Death, who's merciful to no Man,  
Has done more harm than johnson and his Yeoman;  
The Seizure of his Body Their Offence is,  
But She( Curse on her) captivates his Senses▪  
And stops that Tongue, so hardened is her Conscience,  
Which dared, what e'er came of't, to prat●le Nonsense.   

Who now shall set whitefriars Crew a Roaring?  
And countenance the noble Art of S●oring?  
O P— s to thy great Example's owing,  
That many a Printing-Press is n●w a going;  
That Bars are whit'ned by poetic Debtors,  
And many a Name is Book'd in ample Letters;  
And should thy virtues want to be recorded,  
Or thy transcendent Worth be unrew●●ded,  
How would this thankless Age be called ungrateful!  
And Sots hereafter go without their Pateful!  
Since therefore B— t, nor his Father R— r  
Will hire a Muse to praise their Hackny-Toper▪  
even I unknown to Verse, a Young Beginner  
Will dare to sing our late departed Sinner.   

First for his Courage, hear of what I 'm treating,  
He dared deserve, and sometimes stood a Beating;  
Nor was our saddening hero e'er afraid,  
Of Wife, or Widow, Spinster, or of Maid;  
All were abused, as was his just intention,  
And underwent the Lash of his Invention:  
And though a Learned Legislator swore it,  
That Killing Horses had no Sin before it,  
And  told a vile Offender as his Sentence,  
Such Righteous Blood deserved a true Repentance;  
He would not own the Doctrine which was taught here,  
But Swore Horse Murder, could not be Man-slaughter.  
Bold Youth! t' oppose a Man whose Learning reaches  
As far as Post or Carrier bears his Speeches;  
And who durst call his Majesty most Christian,  
A Son of Mahomet, a more Philistian,  
And in a trice, a new Disguise to try on,  
Give him Huge W●●●kers, and pronounce him lion.   

Next, for his Iustice, it must be confessed,  
I want due weight of Words to have 't expressed.  
As He without exception ran in Debt  
With all who'd trust Twelve Penny-worth of Wet.  
So all alike impartially were paid,  
No difference used, and no distinction made.  
Witness both Ale, and Wine, how he could tick it,  
And be his Advocates both Tap, and Spicket;  
For ye best know the methods of his dealing,  
If Knowledge chiefly does consist in Feeling.   

But, Grief prevails, and gains upon my Spirits,  
And I must even pass by his other Merits,  
For who can sing, and not be broken-hearted  
So learned a Soul, from such a Corps departed:  
Methinks I see him sitting at the Goat,  
His Wig untwisted, and unlin'd his Coat,  
His Eyes just dropping out, his Cheeks a glowing,  
His Head a swimming and his Tongue a going;  
One Hand the Pot, is grasping by the Handle,  
And t' other deals about his Stock of Scandal;  
Whilst Porters laugh, and many a Trading Fool  
Wishes his Friends had sent him too to School;  
Whilst Lewis shakes his sides, and Men of Wales  
Leave Toasted Cheese to feed upon Tales.   

But, why alas! am I thus long deceived?  
And fancy Life in one of Life bereaved?  
Yonder He lies, and breathless is his carcase,  
Damn't, I could almost swear, 'tis such a hard case.  
O * Loury, what the Devil didst thou mean 
A sort of an ill-fav●●r'd linsey-woolsey to the Sp●●ginghouse.   
To let thy Face within his Room be seen?  
Medusa like thou hast the Bard enchanted,  
And struck Him quiter Stone-dead, it must be granted.  
Henceforth, thou squint-eyed Man of Sin, may never  
A Debtor come beneath thy Key, and care,  
But what is Penny-less, and being trusted  
Shall makes Escape, and leave it unadjusted,  
Whilst nought in's stead, but Lice and Itch is left,  
And that, for thy great care, shall be thy gift.  
May counter Locusts after these thy Losses  
Side with the Lice, and multiply thy Crosses,  
And both these Vermin lovingly agreed,  
On Thee, as thou on Men are wont to feed,  
Till thou into a Goal thyself art hurried.  
And diest, art damned, and afterwards unburied.   

But I too long my Tears, and Sighs have spent,  
And fruitless Vows for P.— upward sent,  
To Verse in vain my Sorrows I've digested,  
He'll never return again to be Arrested!  
Yet, heaven( though he by it's Decrees is dead)  
Has left a young Ascanous in his stead.  
Nonsense shall never fail, or Scandal falter,  
Since, Uno avulso non deficit aureus Alter.  
Oh! how the Bard in his Successor shines!  
And stinking Thoughts adorn his shitten Lines!  
Strong is his Sense, and loathsome e'vry word,  
As he describes a Temple, or a Turd:  
Nor shall our Author's just resemblance die,  
While How shall dare to print the London Spy.    

The EPITAPH.  

REader, beneath this Turf I lye,  
And I am even content;  
Piss if you please, pray what care I?  
Since now my life is spent.  
A Marble ston indeed might keep  
My Body from the Weather,  
And gather People as I sleep,  
And call more Fools together:  
But hadst thou been from whence I came,  
Thou'dst never mince the matter,  
But show thy Sentiments the same,  
And hate Stone-doublets after.  
I 'm dead, and that's enough t'acquaint  
A Man of any Sense,  
That if he's looking for a Saint,  
He must go farther hence.  
Between two Roses down I fell.  
As 'twixt two Stools a Platter.  
O●●●●ld me up exceeding well,  
T'other did no such matter.  
The Rose by Temple-bar gave Wine  
exchanged for Chalk, and filled me,  
But being for the ready coin,  
The Rose in Wood 〈…〉 et killed me.   
FINIS.