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A39159 An Elegy on the Right Honourable Sir John Chapman, Knt., lord mayor of the city of London who departed this life on Sunday the seventeenth of March, 1688/9, at his mansion-house at Grocers-Hall. 1689 (1689) Wing E436A; ESTC R36185 973 1

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MEMENTO MORI AN ELEGY On the Right Honourable Sir JOHN CHAPMAN K nt Lord Mayor of the City of London Who departed this Life on Sunday the Seventeenth of March 1688 9 at his Mansion-House at Grocers-Hall ROom for our Tears for here are Thousands come To Vent our Grief at his Commanding Tomb. See how each Honest Blubber'd Cheek doth wear The Sad Enamel of a Briny Tear Each Soul turns a close Mourner in its Cell And ev'ry Tongue becomes a Passing Bell Ev'n Heaven to lend more moisture to our Eyes At his Remove in Tears did Sympathise But Oh! What Mortals Genius can Devise A Decent Floud for such a Sacrifice His Mighty worth must in our hearts be writ For 't is above the reach of Head or Wit. Such was his Just and Generous Behaviour Got him the Peoples Love and Princes favour Worth not Advancement doth beget Esteem The Highest Weathercock the Least doth seem To the Kings hand he Ow'd his Great Renown But still the Merit of it to his Own. Though like the Orbs commanding from afar He that Our Pilot was is now our Star Yet though by many Spheres Divided hence Governs this City still by Influence To Charity the way he Nobly led And Dy'd to let us see She was not dead But what his Bounty with the Highest Ranks It was not Known till it could know no Thanks That Empty Puff of Praise he car'd not for The Benefactor is Gods Creditor He Liv'd to see the Glory of the Land Our Mighty KING by mighty Love Command He Liv'd to see Our Good and Gracious LORD Our Peace and Liberty by him Restor'd And then with Joy Resign'd his Vital Breath And willingly Embrac'd the arms of Death See how the Pious Marble seems to weep As being Conscious whatsoe're doth sleep The much-lov'd Ashes of a Mayor so Good Should be of Better worth than Stone or Wood And Boasting seems to say His Name will be An Everlasting Monument to me Angels now sing to thee their Cryes Divine And Joy in an applause so great as Thine Here Every Mourner cause has to be Chief And need Gradation to so great a grief Whilst thy Great memory Lives with us and shall With the World only have a Funeral What can I Further add Here in a word Lyes the Comptroller of the Gown and Sword. EPITAPH COmpel me not to speak aloud Death would then Grow too too proud At the Great Soul he has subdu'd Ask you Why so many a Tear Burst's forth I 'le tell you in your Ear 'T is the Great Chapmans Dust lies here That is the mighty cause therefore Thankless Reader never more Vrge a Why thus Tears run o're London Printed for Rand●● Taylor near Stationers-Hall 168● 9 180.