AN ELEGY UPON Edward Fitz-Harris, Executed at Tyburn for High-Treason upon Friday, July 1. 1681.  

UNhappy Man! the Nation's scorn and hate,  
How shall I do thy Death to deplorate?  
〈◊〉 Tears are due to such a Tragedy,  
Who lived unloved, must needs unpitied die;  
Upon that Soil where nought but Thorns will grow,  
In vain the Heavens their balmy Dews bestow,  
Had thy Crimes been of a less bloody hue,  
Humanity would have made something due,  
A thing that's soft in all but such as you;  
But where the Widows and the Orphan's Tears,  
Three Kingdoms Misery for many years  
Entailed upon them and the Sacred Blood  
Of a Great Prince, so merciful and good,  
Could no Relent find, Humanity  
Itself is forfeit, You deserved to die:  
Such Blood we can compassionate no more  
The loss of, than our own diseased Store,  
When in the Crisis of a Pleurisy  
Blood must be spilt, or we ourselves must die;  
How many Mischiefs ran in every Vein,  
That did that hateful Blood of thine contain:  
Whose Circulations still did ebb and flow  
With Plots and Stratagems, to overthrow  
Thy Country's Peace; whose Pulse did nothing beat  
But Plots and Treasons, and whose Native heat  
Inflamed by a Popish Devilish Zeal,  
Raged with a Calenture as hot as Hell.  
Thou that hast been the Tennis-Ball of State,  
Bandied betwixt the Powers and thy Fate,  
So for a time suspended, Vengeance now  
(Impatient grown) has given the fatal Blow,  
That to the cursed Designs thou didst intend  
Against these Kingdoms puts a final End:  
Now 'tis too late to blind us any more  
With feigned discoveries, as thou didst before;  
To flatter Mercy with a Tale, and then  
True Papist-like, unsay the same again.  
What e'er it was, thou ought'st to let us know  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 by an Eternal Silence now;  
Yet Heaven knows all, and will in time reveal  
These Depths of Treachery, which to conceal,  
Rome by her Damned Oaths, and Idle Frights,  
Obliges her Deluded Proselytes.  
But stay, Is there no Room for Charity  
In such a Case as this? Papists deny  
It us, and by uncharitable Votes  
Next damn our Souls, when they have cut our throats.  
The Laws of our Religion us inclines  
T' assume more soft and charitable minds;  
And when that Justice once has had its due,  
We can both hope their good, and pity too.  
Poor Dying Ma●factors; we can pray  
For them while there is life; and hope all may  
Be well after their Death, especially  
Where any Sorrow for their Gild w'espy;  
Where any shows of true Repentance are,  
Our Church has charitably taken care  
To purge each Souls by Absolution,  
Before their Merited Execution:  
Our Justice (not invenomed with Spite  
Or Malice) grants a charitable-right  
To such Offenders, that their Souls may have  
A place in Heaven, whose Bodies want a Grave,  
Although we make no Traitors Martyrs, we  
Allow them Happiness in Charity,  
Where they are truly Penitent, Confession  
Serves sometimes here to blot out a Transgression,  
And to obtain a Pardon, but when here  
It is denied, it may be gotten there  
Where Pity springs, where boundless Mercies flow,  
We wish, and hope it may be his Case now.    

London, Printed for Thomas Snowden, An. 1681.