MEMENTO MORI  To the Memory, of the Incomparable SIR ANDREW RAMSAY OF ABBOTSHALL. Provost of Edinburgh, Counsellor to His Majesty, Lord of the Session, etc. Who departed this Life, January 17. 1688.  
A FUNERAL ELEGY.  
AS to divide the Winds that disagree,  
When in Tempestuous Storms they mingled be,  
And lay their Stern Encounters so asleep,  
That they may whisper Music to the Deep,  
Impossible to us it is; no less,  
Thy Praises, or our Griefs, are to express,  
Great Abbotshall! Thy worth they only know,  
Who are above, when we do mourn below,  
By Intellect and Love, Ye converse there,  
Things banished our muddy Hemisphere.  
Soul-wounding-grief, and wonder, are the two,  
Sole Legacies, Thou leaves us here below.  
And could not Thou have stayed with us a while,  
Till Thou had seen a fully purged I'll.  
Thou edinburgh's Glory, Pleasure of our eyes!  
Yet blest be God, it is with no surprise.  
Although our woeful Comfort who can smother,  
Is only this, we'll ne'er loss such another.  
And this completes our Tragedy, beyond  
This, Fate can hardly give a greater wound.  
Our Nation's Bankrupt grown, all men may see,  
Beyond the hopes of a Recovery.  
When Gallantry and Justice have their Fall,  
In Collington and Generous Abbotshall,  
For we could say, while they were both alive,  
The Kingdom's Honour could all Storms survive.  
Never did active Soul of Sacred Birth,  
Inform a more Celestial piece of Earth,  
Than Abbotshall, who scarce has left behind,  
A Subject, of a more Majestic Mind.  
How did He all our angry Broils appease,  
And with His own Unrest, procure our Ease.  
He cared not what Turmoils possessed His Breast,  
So that the Town from Tumults, was at rest.  
For always like a Monarch, He did Reign,  
Above dull-pitied Envy, or Disdain.  
Yet never did He to Preferment rise  
By Scrapes, or Bribes, or such base Simonies.  
He Calmed all Quarrels, Vanquished every Spite,  
And made each Enemy His proselyte.  
More than ten years, which spoke His high Renown,  
He was the Angel-Guardian of the Town.  
Where he made void the Poets sad Regrate.  
Of just Astrea's long bewailed Retreat,  
His every Act that Opprobrie cancelled.  
In Him she spoke, in Him she Breathed, and Dwelled.  
We may affirm it since our Saviour's Birth,  
He was Her truest Deputy on Earth.  
What ever Sentence from his Lips did fall,  
His Prudence made it still Rhetorical.  
When this whole Island Floated in a Sea.  
Of Disobedience, and Disloyalty,  
He by his Wisdom all these Sirens passed,  
Being pinioned unto the Loyal Mast.  
His Goodness, and his Wisdom, was so Great,  
He Equally both Knaves, and Fools, did Hate.  
If what we Great or Generous Esteem,  
Exemption from the Grave could justly claim,  
He had (could now Fates Rigour be abated)  
With Enoch and Elias been translated.  
And yet though Death dissolved hath His; Frame,  
He'll be immortal in a lasting Fame;  
If Generosity from Death could save,  
Great Abbotshall He had escaped the Grave.  
But now being Heavens Inhabitant, and Guest,  
He unmixed Sweets enjoys amongst the Blessed.  
Yet may His Fame on Earth, till time shall die,  
Yield unto nothing, but Eternity.  
N. Paterson.  
O anima emigra, Christo moriente quid horres?  
Vivam seu Moriar, Sanguine vivo Dei.  
Transitus è vivis, Vitae melioris Origo est,  
Aut potins Vitae mors ea Principium.