AN ELEGY On the truly Hon●●●●● and greatly Beloved Sir WILLIAM JONES, Who 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the 2d. 1682.  

When the great, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Wise and Just.  
Laid down his Earthly Body 〈◊〉 the Dust,  
And that his Soul fled from th●● Mortal Stage.  
The Downs great Glory, Honour of our Age;  
Our Country, though of such a Man bereavest,  
Mourned not, whilst that the Learned Jones was left  
But now alas! what Tears will England shed,  
Now Jones a Patriot of his Country's dead!  
Bewailed thou art by all that understood  
Thy Worth, by all the Loyal and the Good;  
By all who in the Loyal Sphere do move,  
By all who truly King and Country Love,  
By all who stand up for the Protestant Cause,  
By all who love Religion and our Laws:  
By all who hate an Arbitrary Sway,  
And scorn like Slaves hard, Papal Laws t' obey.  
Some men there are, but wicked men they be,  
Who weep not, but 〈◊〉 this loss to see;  
These for shell 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 strive,  
Hopeless to effect it whilst you were alive:  
They knew your worth, and did your Learning dread,  
Triumphing Tories now that you are dead.  
Papists will now their wicked Hopes renew,  
And their designs of Ruin fresh pursue;  
Now Jones is gone, who like a solid Rock,  
Their furious Tides and raging Billows broke;  
For with his Learned Knowledge in the Law,  
He th' undermining Tories kept in awe.  
These men who never from reproach refrain,  
Will try in vain this great Man's Fame to slain;  
And now he's gone against him dirt will fling,  
And with devouring Mouths Te Denm sing.  
In spite of these our Muse her voice shall raise,  
In midst of Tears shall sing his juster Praise;  
And whilst they envy his immortal Fame,  
She shall repeat his never dying Name;  
A name in which an hidden charm doth lie,  
And which, though he is gone, shall never die.  
Here needs no daubing Flattery to paint  
A Vicious Mortal for a very Saint;  
No Poet's Art to praise him now he's gon●  
Who had so many virtues of his own.  
And to the Laws, which he well understood,  
He used his Knowledge still in doing good.  
Conscience he joined with Law, that made him Just,  
And all, his Honesty and Skill might Trust.  
True to his Client, spared no Pains nor Care,  
A modest and good Pleader at the Bar:  
He ne'er with wicked Arts wire-drawed the Laws,  
With quirks gained Credit by an unjust Cause.  
He could from Fees in an ill Cause abstain,  
Conscience he had, nor greedy was of gain:  
When from the Bar he to the Bench was brought,  
Still the same man, he acted as he ought;  
An eye to Honesty and Justice bore,  
The same in Scarlet, what he was before,  
Unshaken, uncorrupted there be sat,  
Honour alone and a good Name he got.  
Zealous for Justice he was always seen,  
His hands from tempting Bribery were clean;  
Nor for ten Thousand Guinies given would he  
Condemn the Guiltless, or the Guilty free,  
Such was his Justice and Integrity:  
But quietly he left that higher Stage,  
Not fit for it in this corrupted Age,  
He saw th' Intrigues, was honest, had no itch  
By unjust means to become Great or Rich.  
He Honour, Law, and Justice made his Rule,  
And knew not how to be a Knave or Fool:  
Rather with Honour chose obscure to dwell,  
Than Great, and send his Conscience down to Hell.  
When in the Noble Senate of the Land  
He did a Pillar of his Country stand;  
He boldly always spoke, and with applause,  
In favour of Religion and the Laws.  
To had designing men a chrome he gave,  
Spared no man who his Country would enslave.  
To th' English Liberties was still a Friend,  
Peace, Unity, and Justice, was his End:  
None could his Zeal or Courage there abate,  
He Papists and Idolatry did Hate,  
Saw the designs of the whole wicked brood,  
And stoutly all their wicked Arts withstood.  
To a vast bulk would swell my slender verse,  
Should I this great man's Virtues all rehearse:  
But he is gone, and Death has cut his Thread,  
And to our Grief the Learned Jones is Dead.  
But though we are of this great man bereft,  
Behind him Fame and Honour he has left,  
Which to his Name Eternal Life shall give,  
And's Memory shall in spite of Tories Live.    

An EPITAPH.  

THE Good, the Just, the Learned Jones lies here,  
Whom all good men did Love, all bad men Fear.  
In quiet may his Sacred Ashes lie,  
Since 'tis ordained the best of men must die:  
But his immortal Mind did here o'ercome  
All mortal things, and lies not in this Tomb.  
That now's enlarged, boundless, unconfined,  
And left the jarring factious World behind.  
Approach his Grave, the Loyal, Good, and Just,  
And let no Popish Tory touch his dust.  
Rich, Good, Beloved he died; and what is more,  
A Lawyer, and left largely to the Poor.  
Here full of Fame and Worth his Ashes rest,  
Whilst his great Soul's in Triumph with the Blessed.    

London Printed for Langley Curtis. 1682.