AN ELEGIE On the never to be forgotten Sir Thomas Armstrong Knight;

AN ELEGIE On the never to be forgotten Sir Thomas Armstrong Knight;

Executed for Conspiring the Death of His most Sacred Majesty, and Royal Brother, June 20. 1684. With some Satyrical Reflections on the whole Faction.

Huntington Library - Bridgewater, Shelfmark: HEH 134747; EBBA 32147

Stand forth ye damn'd deluding Priests of Baal,
And sound from out each Trumpet Mouth a Call
Let it be loud and shrill, that ev'ry Man
May hear the noise, from Beersheba to Dan;
To summon all the Faction, that they may
In doleful Hums and Haws, bewail this day,
And to their Just Confusion howl and roar,
For the great Bully of their Cause, is now no more.

But now methinks I hear the Faction cry,
Ohone! Where's all thy Pomp and Gallantry?
Thy Great Commands, they Interest and thy State?
The many Crouds which did upon thee wait?
When thou like Atlas on thy shoulders bore,
That mighty World which we so much adore
That Pageant Heroe, Off-spring of a Whore.

Behold ye stubborn Crew, the certain Fate
That waits upon the hardened Reprobate.
See; the effects of Treason's Terrible,
In this life Infamy, and i'th' next a Hell,
While Heav'n attends on Kings with special Care,
The Traitor to himself becomes a snare:
Drove out like Cain, to wander through the World,
By his own thoughts into Distraction hurl'd,
Despis'd by all, perplext with hourly fear,
And by his Friends push't like the hunted Deer,
Like a mad Dog, still houted as he ran,
A just Reward for th' base Rebellious man.

How often has kind Heaven preserv'd the Crown,
And tumbled the Audacious Rebel down?
How many Warnings have they had of late?
How often read their own impending Fate?
That still they dare their wicked Acts pursue,
And know what Heaven has ordain'd their due?
That man who cou'd not reas'nably desire
To raise his Fortunes, and his Glories higher,
Who did enjoy, unto a wish, such store,
That all his Ancestors scarce heard of more,
Shou'd by his own procuring fall so low,
As if he'd study'd his own overthrow,
Looks like a story yet without a Name,
And may be stil'd the first Novel in Fame?
So the fam'd Angels, Turbulent as Great,
Who always waited 'bout the Mercy-Seat,
Desiring to be something yet unknown,
Blunder'd at all, and would have graspt the Crown,
Till Heaven's Great Monarch, saw they wou'd Rebel,
Then dasht their Hopes, and damn'd them down to Hell.

And now methinks I see to th'fatal place
A Troop of Whiggs with Faction in each Face,
And Red-swoln Eyes, moving with mournful pace,
Pitying the Mighty Sampson of their Cause,
Cursed their Fates, and Railing at the Laws.
The Sitters too appear, with sniveling ryes
To celebrate their Stallions Obsequies;
From th' Play-house and from Change, how they resort,
From Country, City, nay, there's some from Court,
From the Old C---ss wither'd and decay'd,
To a Whigg Brewers Youthful Lovely Maid.
Gods! What a Troop is here? sure Hercules
Had found enough so many Whores to please.

Repent, ye Factious Rout, Repent and be
Forewarn'd by this bold Traytors Destiny.
Go home ye Factious Dogs, and mend your Lives;
Be Loyal, and make honest all your Wives.
You keep from Conventicles first, and then
Keep all your Wives from Conventicling Men.
Leave off your Railing 'gainst the King and State,
Your foolish Prating, and more foolish Hate.
Obey the Laws, and bravely act your parts,
And to the Church unite in Tongues and Hearts;
Be sudden too, before it proves too late,
Lest you partake of this bold Traytors Fate.

And if the Faction thinks it worth the Cost,
(To keep this Bully's Name from being lost)
To raise a Pillar, to perpetuate
His Wond'rous Actions, and Ignoble Fate,
Let 'em about it streight, and when 'tis done,
I'le Crown the Work with this Inscription.

Bold Fame thou Ly'st! Read here all you
That wou'd this Mighty Mortal know;
First, he was one of low degree,
But rose to an Hyperbole.
Famous t'excess in ev'ry thing,
But duty to his God, and King;
In Oaths as Great as any He,
That ever Grac'd the Tripple Tree;
So Absolute, when Drencht in Wine,
He might have been the God o' th' Vine.
His Brutal Lust was still so strong,
He never spar'd, or old, or young;
In Cards and Dice he was well known,
T'out-cheat the Cheaters of the Town.

These were his Virtues, if you'd know
His Vices too pray read below.

Not wholly Whig, nor Atheist neither,
But something form'd of both together,
Famous in horrid Blasphemies,
Practic'd in base Adulteries.
In Murders vers'd as black, and foul
As his Degenerated Soul.
In's Maxims too, as great a Beast, *His Father
As *those his honest Father drest. was a Groom.
The Factious Bully, Sisters Stallion:
Now Hang'd, and Damn'd, for his Rebellion.

hanging, drawing and quartering

treason

Tyburn

LONDON, Printed for William Bateman, in the / Old Change.