Envy and Fraud, Hypocrify and Pride, At worst, his Name fhall wear The Boundless Pitch of vaft Eternity. He fpoke; his Soldiers much approve Despair and Fear quit ev'ry Breast, Rage and Revenge their Place poffefs'd: And then with wond'rous Order t'wards the Foe they move. But who th' Amazement and th' Affright can tell, That on the other Army fell? Or who, without Aftonishment, can fay, The wond'rous Things this great Man did that Day? In vain, aloud, for Help they cry, The Battel's loft, and they must yield, or die. That should have breath'd beyond the common Span, Too good to live, and yet too brave to die; I hear him blefs his Caufe, and more he had to fay, Now thou art gone to dwell w No No anxious Thoughts fhall wreck thy Breaft, Thy Knowledge in the nobleft, ufeful Arts, Thy Converfation and thy Wit, Spoke thee for Earth unmeet, for Heav'n only fit. Live, and accept this pious Pow, Our Captain once, our Guardian Angel now. } To those who to their Prince are Faithful, Juft, and True. When he had finifh'd his Poem, he inclos'd it in the following Letter to Dr. Griffith, and fent it the next Night to the Club, which was then at the Castle Tavern in Fleet-Street. Dear Doctor, T your Request, I have writ fomething, which, if A you think fit, you may call an Elegy upon the Viscount Dundee. But,in Truth, Sir, I am fo ill acquainted with that Kind of Writing, that I could have wish'd you would have pitch'd upon fome Body elfe for your Operator. As for Crambo, Acroftick, Anagram, and fuch Sort of Performances, I think my felf not much below my Name fake Durfey, or any other of the Gentlemen of that Order; but for this Elegiack Way, I know no more of it, with Refpect to his Holiness be it fpoken, than the Pope of Rome. I was two Days at least hunting for a Precedent, at laft I fell in with Mr. Cowley's Imitation of Pindar, whom I have been fo impudent to attempt to mimick; fo that if this mighty Production should ever pafs into any other Hands, it must be dignify'd with the Title of a Pindarick Elegy, in Imitation of Mr. Cowley. But, Sir, to be a little ferious, I am afraid I have not treated this great Man's Character as he deferves; and withal, I am told, Mr. Dryden has fomething of this Nature new upon the Stocks, fo I must beg of you, up on on these and other weighty Confiderations, that after you have read over the Paper, you'll immediately apply it to the proper Ufe. Sir, you fee by this, how ready I am, and always fhall be, to obey your Commands, and to take all Opportunies to approve my felf T The PREFACE." Wont fay any Thing in Behalf of the following Poem. 4 Prifon is none of the most delightful Places for a Mufe to exert ber Talent in; and tho' Verfe, in Refpect of Profe, is a confin'd Sort of Writing, yet no People hate Confinement more than Poets. 'Tis true, I as little thought, a few Years ago, of turning Poet, as, with all due Reverence be it said, any of the most topping Citizens about the Exchange do now; but the Cafe is alter'd, and for want of employing my Time better, (which was none of my own Fault) I was forc'd, and I hope that will) justify me, to employ it in innocent Rhiming. But let the Verfification be what it will, my Subject and Defign, I am fure, is virtuous and honeft. I plead for Compaffion and Pity to our Fellow-Creatures; and furely we should be afham'd of boafting our felves made after the Divine Like Vol. IV. D ness, nefs, if we don't copy our Maker in what, with Relation to our felves, is the best of his Attributes. I will not rail at thofe Perfons, by whofe Importunity and Management the late Act against poor Prifoners was carry'd, that were but too miferable before; only it may be worth their while to ruminate a little upon the Apostles Words, Let him that ftands, take Care of Falling. The World's a Lottery, and he that preaches again giving Relief to Day, may want it for himself and Family to Morrow. That ill condition'd Engineer, who prefented Phalaris with the Brazen Bull, was the first that handfell'd it. And after all, Why should numberlefs Wretches farve for a few Delinquents? If Numbers fignify any Thing to gain a Caufe, we have above Sixty Thousand Hands to fign this Paper. We don't pretend to Copy the Impudence of the Legion Letter; no, 'tis our Bufinefs to fupplicate, not huff Parliaments; nay, even to But tho' we are Speak fair to the meanest of our Creditors. far from imitating the Infolence of the late Legion, yet 'tis plain the Name but too justly belongs to us, for, Heaven. knows, we are a Parcel of poor unpity'd Devils. The Mourning Poet: Or, The unknown Comforts of Imprisonment, written in the Tear 1703, and calculated for the Meridian of the three populous Univerfities of the Queen's-Bench, the Marfhalfea, and the Fleet; but may indifferently ferve any Prifon in the Kingdom of England, Dominion of Wales, or Town of Berwick upon Tweed. Ince my hard Fate has doom'd me to a Jayl, The Scene of Life with Black and White spread o'er, The The Rich Man and the Poor be then my Theme; A Rich Man, what is he? Has he a Frame Has he more Legs, more Arms, more Eyes, more Brains? To number out the feveral Sorts of Poor, D-2 } War |