







 
   
     
       
         An elegy on the much lamented death of his pious and learned parent the Reverend Doctor Ezerell Tonge an eminent and indefatigable instrument in promoting the discovery of the horrid popish plot.
         Tonge, Simson, b. 1656 or 7.
      
       
         
           1681
        
      
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         A71122
         Wing T1883
         ESTC R26573
         09505706
         ocm 09505706
         43337
         
           
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             An elegy on the much lamented death of his pious and learned parent the Reverend Doctor Ezerell Tonge an eminent and indefatigable instrument in promoting the discovery of the horrid popish plot.
             Tonge, Simson, b. 1656 or 7.
          
           1 broadside.
           
             Printed for C.W.,
             London :
             1681.
          
           
             Attributed to Tonge by Wing.
             The initials "S.T." [i.e. Simson Tonge] appear at end of a Greek motto.
             This item appears on both reel 1318:13 and reel 1614:37.
             Wing number E426B cancelled in Wing (2nd ed.).
             Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Tonge, Ezerel, 1621-1680 -- Poetry.
           Elegiac poetry.
        
      
    
     
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               MEMENTO
               MORI
            
          
        
         
           AN
           ELEGY
           On
           the
           much
           Lamented
           Death
           of
           his
           Pious
           and
           Learned
           Parent
           the
           Reverend
           Doctor
           EZERELL
           TONGE
           An
           Eminent
           and
           Indefatigable
           Instrument
           ,
           in
           promoting
           the
           Discovery
           of
           
             The
             Horrid
             Popish
             Plot.
          
           
        
         
           
             
               
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
              
            
             
               
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
              
            
             
               
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
                 〈◊〉
              
            
          
           
             S.
             T.
             
          
        
         
           THo
           t'
           were
           Presumption
           to
           imagine
           I
           ,
        
         
           Can
           ought
           produce
           within
           this
           Elegy
           ,
        
         
           Honour
           to
           add
           ;
           my
           pensive
           Muse
           can
           raise
           ,
        
         
           To
           's
           Parents
           Ashes
           ,
           Monuments
           of
           Praise
           .
        
         
           None
           can
           do
           this
           ,
           and
           yet
           my
           course
           spun
           Verse
           ,
        
         
           Gladly
           would
           be
           a
           Mourner
           at
           his
           Hearse
           ,
        
         
           Whilst
           Floods
           of
           Tears
           with
           Ink
           do
           trickling
           fall
           ,
        
         
           As
           sable
           Attendants
           at
           his
           Funeral
           .
        
         
           Verse
           cannot
           speak
           his
           Praise
           ,
           his
           Worth
           ,
           his
           Name
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           be
           recorded
           with
           the
           Sons
           of
           Fame
           ,
        
         
           To
           after
           Ages
           chronicled
           shall
           be
           ,
        
         
           For
           his
           great
           Pains
           ,
           unheard
           of
           Industry
           ,
        
         
           By
           his
           endeavouring
           for
           to
           Countermine
           ,
        
         
           The
           Jesuits
           horrid
           Plot
           ,
           and
           curst
           Design
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           in
           his
           learned
           Works
           you
           best
           may
           fee
           ,
        
         
           His
           excellent
           Parts
           ;
           the
           best
           Effigie
           ,
        
         
           He
           could
           bequeath
           unto
           Posterity
           .
        
         
           Learning
           and
           Piety
           ,
           were
           in
           one
           mind
           ,
        
         
           Harmoniously
           conspicuous
           ;
           sweetly
           joyn'd
           ,
        
         
           To
           admiration
           ;
           for
           his
           Countries
           good
           ,
        
         
           Ready
           to
           Sacrifice
           his
           dearest
           Blood.
        
         
           Blest
           Soul
           !
           Thou
           wast
           too
           good
           with
           us
           to
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Within
           these
           brittle
           Cottages
           of
           Clay
           .
        
         
           Therefore
           whilst
           living
           ,
           alwaies
           did
           aspire
           ,
        
         
           With
           wings
           of
           Faith
           to
           be
           ascending
           Higher
           ,
        
         
           To
           those
           Celestial
           Orbs
           where
           Saints
           do
           move
           ,
        
         
           And
           know
           no
           Lesson
           but
           Seraphick
           Love.
        
         
           There
           blessed
           Angels
           his
           Associates
           be
           ,
        
         
           Where
           from
           all
           earthly
           Cares
           exempt
           and
           free
        
         
           All
           sees
           within
           that
           glorious
           Glass
           the
           Trinity
        
         
           In
           Halelujahs
           ,
           now
           he
           'l
           aways
           raise
           ,
        
         
           Immortal
           Carrots
           ,
           to
           his
           Saviours
           Praise
           .
        
         
           Let
           then
           no
           envious
           Hand
           ,
           molest
           that
           Dust
           ,
        
         
           Which
           waits
           the
           Resurrection
           of
           the
           Just
           .
        
         
           Whose
           Vertues
           and
           Perfections
           did
           present
        
         
           To
           all
           ,
           its
           best
           and
           lasting
           Monument
           .
        
         
           When
           hard
           Corinthian
           Brass
           ,
           and
           Marble
           may
           ,
        
         
           Be
           both
           destroy'd
           ,
           his
           Name
           shall
           ne'er
           decay
           ;
        
         
           Such
           noble
           Actions
           ,
           have
           no
           date
           ,
           they
           be
           ,
        
         
           As
           long
           ,
           and
           lasting
           as
           Eternity
           .
        
      
       
         
           EPITAPH
           .
        
         
           REader
           who
           ere
           thou
           art
           ,
           draw
           near
           ,
        
         
           On
           this
           cold
           Urn
           distill
           a
           Tear.
        
         
           Here
           cloist'red
           lyes
           ,
           under
           this
           Stone
           ,
        
         
           No
           common
           Dust
           ,
           't
           is
           such
           a
           one
           ;
        
         
           Whose
           Vertue
           ,
           Learning
           ,
           Piety
           ,
        
         
           And
           whose
           transcendent
           Sanctity
           ,
        
         
           Render'd
           him
           amiable
           in
           his
           Station
           ,
        
         
           And
           Famous
           in
           his
           Generation
           .
        
         
           Whom
           Fames
           immortal
           Trumpet
           shall
           ,
        
         
           Render
           celebrious
           unto
           all
           .
        
         
           By
           Providence
           seem'd
           to
           Inherit
           ,
        
         
           A
           strange
           admir'd
           Prophetick
           Spirit
           ;
        
         
           An
           eminent
           Instrument
           to
           display
           ,
        
         
           That
           Popish
           Plot
           was
           to
           betray
           ,
        
         
           As
           Victims
           unto
           Cruelty
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Lives
           to
           horrid
           Butchery
           .
        
         
           His
           Soul
           from
           Earth
           ,
           is
           mounted
           higher
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           the
           spangled
           Clorious
           Quire.
        
         
           Her
           dear
           Campanion
           here
           hath
           left
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Sence
           and
           Motion
           ,
           both
           bereft
           ,
        
         
           Until
           the
           Resurrection
           Day
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           animate
           the
           lumpish
           Clay
           ,
        
         
           It
           's
           scattered
           Atomes
           reunite
           ,
        
         
           By
           the
           Almighty
           Power
           ,
           and
           Might
        
         
           Of
           its
           Redeemer
           ,
           raise
           the
           Soul
           ,
        
         
           And
           Body
           to
           the
           Starry
           Pole.
           
        
      
       
         FINIS
         .
      
    
     
       
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           for
           
             C.
             W.
          
           1681.
           131
        
      
    
  

