MEMENTO MORI   
Tristitiae Christianae: Or an Ocean of Pious Tears.  
AN ELEGY Upon the Death of the Reverend, Pious, and Learned Minister of the Gospel, Mr. Matthew Mead, Who Departed this Life at his Dwellinghouse in Stepney, on Monday, the 16th Day of this Instant October, 1699. In the Sixty Ninth Year of his Age.  Written by a Constant Auditor, and Sorrowful Mourner, for the Loss of this Reverend Deceased Pastor. 
 decorative border 
Blessed are the dead which Dye in the Lord.   

A Woeful Story here I'm come to tell,  
Of a Lost Shepherd, whom ye all knew well,  
Who left us all alone, and's gone away,  
Being Wounded with Death's Dart the other Day.  
D●ctor, pray stay your Sheep i'th' Fold they be,  
Waiting for th' Shepherd, whom they long to see,  
There for to take some of thy Holy Meat;  
But they're prevented, Death he did them cheat.  
Judge now, ye Saints, if we han't cause to Weep!  
For that the Pastor he hath left his Sheep!  
Whom he, with Spiritual Food, did use to feed;  
A Saint we've lost, a Saint he was indeed.  
But tho' he's Dead, his Works they will survive  
His Glorious Soul as if he were alive;  
They'll serve in place of him, though he is gone,  
And left his Sheep here for to walk alone.  
Ah! Could not you afford to stay a Space  
Of Time with us, before you Run the Race.  
And let us see Thee in the Pulpit stand,  
Declaring Truth, with Bible in thy Hand:  
Methinks I see Him, with a jesture, Look  
Upon his Bible, that most Holy Book,  
The Word of God, the which he did their Preach,  
'Twas his Delight it always for to Teach;  
Therefore, I say, have not we got great Cause  
To 'dore his Name, and his good Works Applause.  
Rouse up, Rouse up, and lends some of your Tears,  
For that we've lost him, it too plain appears;  
How can ye thus so easy part with one,  
Who Studied always Satan to Unthrone;  
And pull him out of all our wicked Hearts,  
This was the Labour and chiefest parts  
Of this Divine, who always strove for all,  
Thousands of times, he did upon them Call  
Unto Repentance, ere his Glass was Run,  
But now it's out, and his whole Thread is spun:  
The string of Life and he is forced to fall,  
By th' H●nd of Death that fatal General;  
Who spareth none, the Good, the Bad he'll have,  
And send them quickly to the silent Grave:  
And leave us hear, to Weep with Floods of Tears,  
For Famous MEAD, who (Christ) taught many Years:  
But now let's Mourn and say, Time's Glass is out,  
And with his scythe with him hath had about,  
And just like Grass, with it did Mow him down,  
Whilst we, who do Survive him, needs must own,  
We lost a Pastor, whom I can't set forth,  
A Precious Member of a greater worth;  
Than Ophir's Gold, or any Riches here:  
Few, few there are that with him can compare,  
But bid Farewell to a Cheerful Harmony,  
And with me Tune his Doleful Elegy.  
In a good Age from us he hence departed,  
And left his wand'ring Sheep quite brokenhearted,  
For loss of Him, whose Years were Sixty Nine,  
He left the Earth, and up to Heaven did Clime.  
And here his Aged Wife, she does bemoan  
The Death of her Good Husband, Holy One,  
A Man of God, whom God did call and choose  
On Earth, his Holy Books her's for to use.  
Methinks I see his People for him weep,  
And Floods of Tears run trickling down the Cheek,  
Of his most virtuous Wife, who God possessed,  
And with good Children Eight he hath her blest;  
Five Sons she bore him, likewise Daughters Three,  
All which he left Weeping this Day to see.  
His Wife, she was of a most Noble Race,  
Virtue abounds with, and with Heavenly Grace,  
So Generous, so Noble, and so Free,  
So Courteous is likewise to all she see.  
And here his Children, they poor Babes, behold  
His worthy Carcase, and their Hands unfold,  
With weeping Tears, and nashing Teeth, they cry  
'Gainst Death, their Father's furious Enemy.  
And here his Congregation came at last,  
Wishing they could have had the other Blast,  
From this their Pastor, who is gone to be  
With his Great Master in Felicity.  
Oh Cruel Death, what makes you take so fast  
Away our Doctors, who the Word should cast  
Of God unto them, who is heard to say  
We do Lament that Death he took away  
From us some Preachers, but the other Day,  
As Famous Bats, and Gammon, he did strike,  
Now Holy Mead, he hath served him the like,  
But this you took and he must ever be  
Sitting with Angels to Eternity.  
Therefore, stay Death, I pray now come not here,  
So boldly thus, our Preachers for to clear;  
Who would dispense the Holy Word of God,  
And to Declare the Truth of Mose's Rod,  
But since their gone, we will not Weep no more,  
In hopes we've left their Fellows still good store,  
Which Christ I hope, he will preserve and keep  
From Death's bold Hands, who doth them Daily seek.  
So let them go, their Works will serve to be,  
Our Devotion and Good Company,  
And serve the Name of God his Master great,  
And to the World his Word he did relate,  
But now in Heaven he doth Praises Sing,  
With a loud Voice to his Celestial King,  
And since Death seized him, let him ever lie,  
In Heaven above, whilst some do for him Cry:  
He from the Earth is gone, ever to be,  
Upon the Throne with his great Majesty.    

Epitaph.  

M Most Worthy Soul interred here doth Rest,  
A And now will set above with Angels Blest,  
T To Sing great Praises to his Heavenly King,  
T To all the Nations now his Name doth Ring.   

M May not his Sheep have cause to Mourn▪ and say,  
E Even they'll think upon this fatal Day:  
A A Saint they lost, a Saint he was indeed,  
D Disturb his Rest his little Flock to Feed.    

LONDON, Printed and Sold by J. Bradford, in Little Britain, over against the Pump. 1699. Price Two Pence.