AN ELEGY, Upon that Incomparable Comedian, Mr. EDWARD ANGEL.  Written by C. B. 

Hung the Stage all in black; this sable night  
Hath brought a deluge, caused an Angel's flight.  
Before Creation, Heaven lost an Angel thence;  
Our Stage's Angel hath made his Exit hence.  
His pregnant Actions of Transcendent Wit,  
Rung Peals of Mirth, in Gallery, Box, and Pit.  
He was the best of Mimiques, and took's Degree  
Master of Art, in every Comedy.  
To hear his Mimic voice, which did dispense  
Divertisement to all Spectators sense.  
It filled 'em with amazement to behold,  
What actions sprung from his corporeal mould.  
His loss is felt at Court, where it does move  
The Great Ones there, like the true Soul of Love.  
The City too bewails: And now in lieu  
Of former Mirth, from them drop showers of Dew.  
He was the Poet's Darling, not one but wears  
Clouds on his brow, his eyes flow seas of tears.  
The Actors all, at Fate's so swift command,  
Are turned some Ghosts; others like Statues stand.  
Who shall play Stephano now? your Tempest's gone,  
To raise new Storms i'th' hearts of every one.  
Farewell Dufoy; That Comical revenge,  
That always pleasing Play, is now unhinged.  
Adieu, dear Friskin: Unfort'nate Lovers weep,  
Your mirth is fled, and now i'th' Grave must sleep.  
No more to Epsom; Physicians try your skills,  
Since Fribble now has ta'en his leave o'th' Wells.  
His parts too numerous were for Elegy,  
And Scenes too Comical to be expressed by me:  
Let best of Poets do't, it shall suffice  
I on thy Grave this Epitaph Incize:   

EPITAPH.  
Here lies Ned Angel, who ruled, as he thought fit,  
The English Stage of Comic, Mimic Wit. 211.