Skip to main content

Elegies & laments

Elegy on A-r-n W-e

An Elegy on A—r—n W—e,

    Who Flew from hence the other Night.

LET Quakers Weep and Builders now Rejoice,
Since Death at laſt has made the wiſh'd-for Choice ;
At length he did by one unerring Stroke,
Thruſt C—r W—e into a Cheſt of Oak ;
Its all the meagre Tyrant now affords,
Altho' his Captive lov'd to deal in Boards ;
Unkind he was his Wooden Trade to hinder,
And fink his Credit in a Cafe of Timber :
Blame not me, nor think that I'm Scoffing,
For on my Faith I only mean his Coffin ;
Of all the Plank he e'er fold or bought,
He has no more than makes him now a Coat :
The Workman came with Wings of joyful haſt,
To make that Suit that was to be his laſt ;
For rather than ſo good a Jobb ſhould ſtand,
Every Chip I'm ſure would lend a Hand ;
Not one of all the chearful Tribe would fail,
But each would ſtrive to clinch the foremoſt Nail :
And I'll be bound that e'ery Man whatever,
Would take due Care to faſten down the Cover ;
Within his gloomy Manſion to inmure him,
From the World and Builders to ſecure him :
O ! he's fled, but where by Fate is driven,
To Charon's Coaft or up the Road to Heaven ;
Is now indeed a Dark myſterious Doubt,
There's only W—l can find the ſecret out ;
But of the two I'd boldly lay a Groat,
His welcome Shade was waſted in the Boat ;
What Point that lands at few or none can tell,
But fome ſuſpect it boarders near on H— ;
If on that Coaſt his Fortune was to fix,
He's ſtill a Dealer on the Banks of Styx ;
And perhaps for his Judgement, Skill and Care,
May be employ'd by Pluto for Surveyor.
Ye Quakers all lament Friend W—e with Tears,
Whoſe Character as black as You appears :
Who murder'd Trade and lop't off ev'ry Joint,
That us'd the Rule and Compafs faithful Point ;
But now he's gone let injur'd Workmen have,
One joyful Day to dance upon his Grave ;
Whilſt I pay Tribute to his hateful Herſe,
And ſing his Actions in vindictive Verſe.

                The   E P I T A P H.

W I T H I N this Hole his Body lies,
His Soul is fled, the Lord knows where ;
See the glad Crowd with joyful Eyes,
Whilſt each let's fall a chearful Tear ;
Let ev'ry Foot tread down this Clod,
And willing Hands heap on the Clay ;
Oh ! bury deep the ſordid Sod,
And it lock till the Judgment Day.
        D u B L I N : Printed in the Year, 1735.

Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence