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A39191 An Elegy upon the death of Mr. Mason late minister of Water-Stratford, near Buckingham, who departed this life on Monday last, the 12th of this instant May, at his house called the New Noah's Ark, at Water-Stratford. 1694 (1694) Wing E466B; ESTC R34876 982 1

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MEMENTO MORI AN ELEGY Upon The Death of Mr. Mason LATE Minister of Water-Stratford near Buckingham Who departed this Life on Monday last the 21th of this Instant May at his House called the New Noah's Ark at Water-Stratford Licensed according to Order THE Buckingham Great Seer that Non-parel The Moses t' his new wandring Israel Fame's mournful Trump brings the said News to Town Has his Mortality in Dust laid down True Moses like indeed his Lifes last Sand Too short to reach even his own Promis'd Land Strange sighted Priest of Fate to have fore-known The Worlds approaching End but not thy own What though those loud Attendants on thy Death Wafted in Tempests thy expiring Breath Let Storms or Fiery Chariots wait thy Call Only we hope thou 'ast let no Mantle fall No double-spirited Relique left behind No in thy own great Self conclude thy Kind In thy Enthusiast mold no second cast Be an Original Prophet first and last And what though all thy Oracles mistook Have thy false Opticks read in Dooms dark Book Yet as that Heav'n has all thy Study been Thou hast truly sought though falsly hast foreseen Since only erring Zeal has made thee stray Let not that innocent Meteor lose thy way But in Reward of Piety well-meant May the bad Prophet make not the worse Saint Yes thou fond Visioner of Heav'n for all The Pious Pains thou 'ast took for Gains so small For easy 't is to Dream but hard to take A Dream so sound as never lives to wake Tho' thy great Pentecost now disappears And greater Empire of a Thousand Years Tho' thou hast look'd and gap'd and hop'd in vain A zealous Waiter for a Worldly Reign Thy Earthy Hopes all vanisht may'st thou make In Death at least this happier mistake Find thy self call'd by a more kind Remove T' attend a truer Bright Crown'd Head above Such Bliss above may thy good Life bestow But what are the sad Rites thou meet'st below Here Oh what Funeral Griefs what blubber'd Eyes Ev'n Joy it self all droops when Mason dyes The once sweet Chorus of thy Spiritual Grove All the whole Brotherhood of Song and Love Their Sanctify'd Hosannas all give o're The Timbrels sound and Minstrels play no more Though their new Guide and their new Canaan Land Both lost thy poor Disciples must disband The Voyage to their Palestine fair Coast And their Jerusalem whole Cargo lost The Rams and Bullocks once reserv'd to blaze In flaming Hecatombs turn'd out to graze Thy Water-Stratford Camp its Fame shall keep When Hounslows and Black Heath's forgotten sleep And now for Monuments we 'll build thee none Nor carve thee Epitaphs in Brass or Stone No thy far talking Name has spread so wide As is its self it s own proud Piramide Printed for A. Milbourn in the Little Old-Baily 1694. 192.