nimity and greatness of mind, that becomes both a man and a Christian. And now having beguiled my solitary hours in contemplating the miseries of life, and happiness of death, to me so much the more necessary, by how much it is nearer approaching; I will conclude with a valediction to the world, and all its vain delights, written by a very great man, and prime minister of state, in the reign of Charles the First, whilst under my unhappy circumstances, and but a little before his execution. Go empty joys, with all your noise, In sad sweet silence to bemoan Whose dangers none can see aright, Whilst too much sunshine blinds his sight: Go, and ensnare, with your false ware, Some other easy wight, And cheat him with your flattering light: Rain on his head a show'r, of honour, greatness, wealth, and pow'r, Then snatch it from him in an hour: Fill his big mind with the vain wind of flattering applause, Let him not fear all curbing laws, Nor king, nor people's frown; But dream of something like a crown, And, climbing tow'rds it, tumble down. A true Copy of the Paper delivered to the Sheriffs upon the Scaffold at By Sir SPEAKING nor writing was never my talent; I shall therefore give a short, but faithful account, first, of my religion; and next, what I suffer most innocently for, to avoid the calumnies I may reasonably expect my enemies will cast upon me, when dead, since they have most falsly and maliciously aspersed me, whilst under my misfortunes. As for my religion, I was brought up in the church of England, as it is established by law, and have ever professed it; though, I confess, I have been an unworthy member of it, in not living up to the strict and excellent rules thereof, for which I take shame to myself, and humbly ask forgiveness of God. I come now to die in that communion, trusting, as an humble and hearty penitent, to be received by the mercy of God, through the merits of Jesus Christ my saviour. My religion taught me my loyalty, which, I bless God, is untainted: And I have ever endeavoured, in the station wherein I have been placed, to the utmost of my power, to support the crown of England, in the true and lineal course of descent, without interruption. As for what I am now to die; I call God to witness, I went not to that meeting in Leadenhall-street, with any such intention, as to invite king James by force to invade this nation; nor was I, myself, provided with either horse or arms, or engaged for any number of men, or gave particular consent for any such invasion, as is most falsly sworn against me. I do also declare, in the presence of God, that I knew nothing of king James's coming to Calais, nor of any invasion intended from thence, till it was publickly known: And the only notion I had, that something might be attempted, was from the Thoulon fleet coming to Brest. I also call God to witness, that I received the knowledge of what is contained in those papers that I gave to a great man that came to me in the Tower, both from letters and messages that came from France; and he told me, when I read them to him, That the prince of Orange had been acquainted with most of those things before.' I might have expected mercy from that prince, because I was instrumental in saving his life. For when, about April 1695, an attempt formed against him came to my knowledge, I did, partly by dissuasions, and partly by delays, prevent that design; which, I suppose, was the reason that the last villainous project was concealed from me. If there be any persons whom I have injured in word or deed, I heartily pray their pardon, and beg of God to pardon those who have injured me, particularly those, who, with great zeal, have sought my life, and brought the guilt of my innocent blood upon this nation, no treason being proved upon me. I return my most hearty thanks to those noble and worthy persons who gave me their assistance, by opposing this bill of attainder, without which it had been impossible I could have fallen under the sentence of death: God bless them and their posterity, though I am fully satisfied they pleaded their own cause, while they defended mine. I pray God to bless my true and lawful sovereign king James, the queen, and the prince of Wales, and restore him and his posterity to this throne again, for the peace and prosperity of this nation, which is impossible to prosper, till the government is settled upon a right foot. And now, O God, I do, with all humble devotion, commend my soul into thy hands, the great Maker and Preserver of men, and lover of souls, beseeching thee, that it may be always dear and precious in thy sight, through the merits of my Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen. J. FENWICK. AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF TRADE. BY A RELATION OF THE DECEASED. London; printed in the Year 1698. Quarto, containing thirteen Pages. A WORTHY old dame, Mother Trade was her name, That had long lain in desperate state, Perceiving at last That all hopes were past, Contentedly bends to her fate. And, since she is gone, For the good deeds sh'has done, As 'tis common in such like cases, We can sure do no less, Than attend to her hearse, With some marks of remorse on 'our faces. There's her grand-daughter, Art, For the loss of so faithful a friend: She sits in her chair, In the depth of despair, And seems to draw near to'ards her end. Industry, her sister, When she left her, she kiss'd her, And bid her for ever adieu; I must seek out a place, Where to alter the case, Her cousin, Invention, And sits down by her, and cries, I have nought to pursue, But what is still worse, Her a coffin and shroud, Good people, i'nt this very sad? But the beadle is gone, To see what can be done : "Tis hard she should lie above ground; And yonder he comes, A biting his thumbs ; I'm afraid there's no help to be found. Then come, Master Beadle, Why, sir, the folk look, Like our constable's book, That hath been these three years in collection. I'm afraid, Master Blue-coat, That you are no true coat, For all you look so precisely; Why sure they will give, Since they wou'dn't let her live, Come, come, you must out, And, pray, put the thing to the godly. Lie unbury'd? For shame; Why, sir, if you'd hear me, As God knows my heart, I've acted my part, And was always to serve her most ready. I have been with the merchant, Who, you know, is an arch one, As also with the baker and brewer; I have been with the banker, And with him that makes th' anchor, Then pardon my passion, Let me know man by man, What betwixt you and each of them pass'd. For the merchant then, first, When I told him he curs'd, And swore he expected it long: I'll be moving, says he, No, faith, they shall see I'll ne'er stay to starve with the throng. My debts lay an embargo,, Or I'd be my own cargo, But, when a man breaks, And 'tis danger to swim in the hull. But I'll sell what I've got, land, I'll venture their itch and their lice; Master Beadle, to go, Than to stay here to be eat up with mice. And now, for to give, I have nought, as I live, I can hardly get bread For myself, my children, and wife. Next I went to the baker, But a little inclin'd to the Papist; When I told him our loss, He made on him a cross, And swore and damn'd like an Atheist. Says he, friend, be gone, For money I've none, Go, prithee don't trouble my shop; I must live by my bread, And so I was forc'd for to 'lope. When I came out o'the door, By your forestalling, regrating, and cheating, And that makes you prate, Take notice I owe you a beating. I went hence to the brewer, I should meet with a little relief; He look'd so damn'd grum, I said nothing, but stood like a thief. VOL. X. A 2 |