AN ELEGY On the much Lamented Sir WILLIAM WALLER, Who Valiantly Hanged Himself at Rotterdam.  

RIse, Grim Allecto, rise ('tis fit to choose  
For Hellish matter an Infernal Muse:)  
Thou who at Fox Hall didst Inspire those Sots,  
Tongue, Oates and Kirby to Contrive their Plots;  
Who didst through wondrous Labarinths of Ill,  
Conduct Sir Godfrey safe to Primrose-Hill;  
And by Mysterious Ways, and Oaths most acquaint,  
Of an Old Faggot made us a Young Saint:  
Plots thou canst make and mar: Thou Stygian Whore  
Assist me once! I'll ne'er invoke thee more.   

The Hellborn Dame Assents; Her Head she shakes,  
Pregnant of Plots, and Pery wicked with Snakes;  
At her Right-Ear an Oats and Bedlow hung,  
And at her Lest Prance Everard and Tongue:  
Thus Gravely she Recounts what the Cursed Else  
Sir Waller Confessed, ere he Hanged himself.   

Good Father Ferguson, quoth He, now I  
Do mean to make Confession Verily.   

When willing Senators wisely were afraid  
Of Horrid Scare-crows, they Temselves had made;  
When Chapel of St. Stephen, and Place of Peers,  
Were overflowed with sudden Floods of Fears:  
When Easy Mortals stopped their Ears and Eyes,  
With Uncouth Tales, and Incoherent Lies;  

When Knaves, and Thiefs, and Cheats grew Rich by Plots,  
I wisely Worshipped Bedlow and Great Oats;  
Because I scarcely then was worth Ten Groats.   
These my Right Worthy Patrons with great ease,  
Soon made my Worship Justice of the Peace.   

Armed with this Power (as if I had a Charter  
To Rob and Spoil) I gave no Mortal quarter.  
Even Aged Matrons, in my nightly Trade,  
I Groped; Such might be Priests in Masquerade:  
My Skill herein was great; I got the Start  
Of Brother Chamberlain in his own Art.  
And with my Co-Adjutors at my Tail,  
Gill, Merry, Jones, Snow, Chetwyn, Prance, Mansel;  
In Obscure Holes, and Lanes I Briskly Blundered,  
And every Papist, that I found, I Plundered:  
Even Protestants themselves scaped not my Gynnes;  
Though they were Guelphs, their Goods were Gibell●ns.  
John Gadbury's Maps and Globes were not Protected;  
Such as I liked, were Popishly Affected.   

Now see me on a Steed, more big by far,  
Then that my Rebel Sire Bestrid in War;  
Towards Tuthil-fields the way I do Traverse,  
With a Rude Rout of Miscreants at my Arse.  
To th' Fields we come. Lo, Parson Farringdon,  
Like a Brave Knipperdolling, Marches on,  
With Hat Erect on Cane ('twas to seem Taller)  
He Cries; I'th' Name of Gad, a Waller, a Waller.  
As, when to warn men to Bear-Garden Plays,  
Exalted Pugg from's Rosinant Surveys  
Attendant Crowds of Dogs, Thiefs, Bums and Boys,  
Expressing in his Pleasant Face his Joys:  
Like Pugg looked I, when Billing and his Blades  
Denuded their Dull, Sullen, Loggerheads,  
Throwing their Everlasting Caps to th' Sky,  
Bawling a Waller with a Full-mouthed Cry.   

Environed with my Rogues I bent my Course,  
To Lady Dormer's, where without Remorse,  
Spoons, Tankards, Pictures, Plates I took away,  
(Alas such Popish Trinkets were just Prey!)  
And after narrow Search, like cunning Fox,  
I seized a Priest, hid in a Pepper-Box;  
The Priest to Newgate had his Mittimus,  
The Box, being Silver, did belong to Us.  
Then in New-Pallace-yard of Westminster,  
I most Courageously did make a Fire,  
And, True-Dissenter like, in zealous Scorn,  
At Noonday did my Saviour's Picture Burn:  
A worthy Prank of Reformation-work,  
That outdoes Father Jew, and Brother Turk;  
And tells the Christian World I durst Act, what  
My Grand sire Pilate would have Blushed at.   

With Gun, I and my Knaves to th' Savoy came;  
Like Skilful Thiefs in Pikering House we Roam;  
Closets and Trunks we break; one did unfold  
Full Fourscore Pieces of Egyptian Gold:  
Good Quids, quoth I; my Brethren, not a word;  
All this is Ours; we're People of the Lord:  
This Gun, we Bought i'th' Minories, ' 'tmust be laid,  
And we must find't out in Pikering Bed.  
Then Early in the Morning, let's repair  
To tell our Patriots at Westminster:  
(Not of the Fourscore Pounds we Stole in Gold)  
That Pikering Gun is Found, and in Safe hold;  
This Gun, closed up in Featherbed so dark,  
That Dextrous Gunner used in James'- Park:  
And, if their Honour's Vote to have't laid by,  
'Twill serve a Surer Marksman 
* Rumbold.  with one Eye.   

My Sancha-Pancha Prance and I, in Lent  
A Journey took to Newark upon Trent;  
To seize Old Beddingfield, who like a Fop  
Forsook's quiet Grave to keep a Ribbon-Shop:  
He was grown Young again; say what ye will,  
These Cunning Jesuits will be Jesuits still:  
The Mayor and We Robbed him of all his Things,  
Two Spoons, one Old Plate, Horse, Ribbons, Gloves, Rings.   

But why should I my Mighty Deeds declare?  
I'll Hang myself now in this wild Despair.  
Why do I Live? Brave Anthony is gone,  
And Essex with his Razor cries, Ah Hone!  
Bold Walcot's Hanged, and close behind his Breech,  
Stands Noble Russel making a True Speech:  
All-killing Armstrong and Bold Grace are Fled;  
Prince Monmouth Sneaks, and dares not show his Head.  
All's Lost; Go Ferguson, get a Rope, go, go;  
Here's a Convenient Beam will serve Us Two:  
Then at one Swing himself Sir Waller Hurled,  
To's Fellow-Traytors in the other World.    

Printed by N. Y. at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden, 1683.