%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> AN ELEGY / On the much Lamented / Sir WILLIAM WALLER, / Who Valiantly Hang'd Himself at Rotterdam. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1683-1683 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/23/2012 32108

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R28410 RIse, Grim Alecto, rise ('tis fit to chuse / For Hellish matter an Infernal Muse:) Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 79183 AN ELEGY / On the much Lamented / Sir WILLIAM WALLER, / Who Valiantly Hang'd Himself at Rotterdam. AN ELEGY On the much Lamented Sir WILLIAM WALLER, Who Valiantly Hang'd Himself at Rotterdam. AN ELEGY On the much Lamented Sir WILLIAM WALLER, Who Valiantly Hanged Himself at Rotterdam. Printer N.T. 1683-1683

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<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">AN ELEGY</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">On the much Lamented</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Sir WILLIAM WALLER,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Who Valiantly Hangd Himself at <hi rend="bold">Rotterdam.</hi></hi></seg>
RIse, Grim Alecto, rise (tis fit to chuse For Hellish matter an Infernal Muse:) Thou who at Fox Hall didst Inspire those Sots, Tongue, Oates and Kirby to Contrive their Plots; Who didst through wondrous Labarinths of Ill, Conduct Sir Godfrey safe to Primrose-Hill; And by Mysterious Ways, and Oaths most quaint, Of an Old Faggot made us a Young Saint: Plots thou canst make and marr: Thou Stygian Whore Assist me once! Ill ner invoke thee more. The Hell-born Dame Assents; Her Head she shakes, Pregnant of Plots, and Perywickd with Snakes; At her Right-Ear an Oates and Bedlow hung, And at her Left Prance Everard and Tongue: Thus Gravely she Recounts what the Cursd Elfe Sir Waller Confessd, ere he Hangd himself. Good Father Ferguson, quoth He, now I Do mean to make Confession Verily. When willing Senators wisely were afraid Of Horrid Scare-crows, they Temselves had made; When Chappel of St. Stephen, and Place of Peers, Were overflowd with sudden Floods of Fears: When Easie Mortals stopd their Ears and Eyes, With Uncouth Tales, and Incoherent Lyes; When Knaves, and Thieves, and Cheats grew Rich by Plots, I wisely Worshipd Bedlow and Great Oates; Because I scarcely then was worth Ten Groats. These my Right Worthy Patrons with great ease, Soon made my Worship Justice of the Peace. Armd with this Power (as if I had a Charter To Rob and Spoil) I gave no Mortal quarter. Even Aged Matrons, in my nightly Trade, I Gropd; Such might be Priests in Masquerade: My Skill herein was great; I got the Start Of Brother Chamberlain in his own Art. And with my Co-Adjutors at my Tail, Gill, Merry, Jones, Snow, Chetwyn, Prance, Mansel; In Obscure Holes, and Lanes I Briskly Blunderd, And every Papist, that I found, I Plundrd: Even Protestants themselves scapd not my Gynnes; Though they were Guelphs, their Goods were Gibellins. John Gadburys Maps and Globes were not Protected; Such as I likd, were Popishly Affected. Now see me on a Steed, more big by far, Then that my Rebel Sire Bestrid in War; Towards Tuthil-fields the way I do Traverse, With a Rude Rout of Miscreants at my Arse. To th Fields we come. Lo, Parson Farringdon, Like a Brave Knipperdolling, Marches on, With Hatt Erect on Cane (twas to seem Taller) He Cryes; I th Name of Gad, a Waller, a Waller. As, when to warn men to Bear-Garden Plays, Exalted Pugg froms Rosinant Surveys Attendant Crowds of Doggs, Thieves, Bums and Boyes, Expressing in his Pleasant Face his Joys: Like Pugg lookd I, when Billing and his Blades Denuded their Dull, Sullen, Loggerheads,
Throwing their Everlasting Caps to th Sky, Bawling a Waller with a Full-mouthd Cry. Environd with my Rogues I bent my Course, To Lady Dormers, where without Remorse, Spoons, Tankards, Pictures, Plates I took away, (Alas such Popish Trinkets were just Prey!) And after narrow Search, like cunning Fox, I seizd a Priest, hid in a Pepper-Box; The Priest to Newgate had his Mittimus, The Box, being Silver, did belong to Us. Then in New-Pallace-yard of Westminster, I most Couragiously did make a Fire, And, True-Dissenter like, in zealous Scorn, At Noon-day did my Saviours Picture Burn: A worthy Prank of Reformation-work, That out-does Father Jew, and Brother Turk; And tells the Christian World I durst Act, what My Grand-sire Pilate would have Blushed at. With Gun, I and my Knaves to th Savoy came; Like Skilful Thieves in Pikerings House we Roam; Closets and Trunks we break; one did unfold Full Fourscore Pieces of Egyptian Gold: Good Quids, quoth I; my Brethren, not a word; All this is Ours; were People of the Lord: This Gun, we Bought i th Minories, tmust be laid, And we must findt out in Pikerings Bed. Then Early in the Morning, lets repair To tell our Patriots at Westminster: (Not of the Fourscore Pounds we Stole in Gold) That Pikerings Gun is Found, and in Safe hold; This Gun, closd up in Feather-Bed so dark, That Dextrous Gunner usd in Jamess-Park: And, if their Honours Vote to havet laid by, Twill serve a Surer Marks-man* with one Eye. My Sancha-Pancha Prance and I, in Lent A Journey took to Newark upon Trent; To seize Old Beddingfield, who like a Fop Forsooks quiet Grave to keep a Ribbon-Shop: He was grown Young again; say what ye will, These Cunning Jesuits will be Jesuits still: The Mayor and We Robd him of all his Things, Two Spoons, one Old Plate, Horse, Ribbons, Gloves, Rings. But why should I my Mighty Deeds declare? Ill Hang myself now in this wild Despair. Why do I Live? Brave Anthony is gone, And Essex with his Razor cryes, Ah Hone! Bold Walcots Hangd, and close behind his Breech, Stands Noble Russel making a True Speech: All-killing Armstrong and Bold Gray are Fled; Prince Monmouth Sneaks, and dares not show his Head. Alls Lost; Go Ferguson, get a Rope, go, go; Heres a Convenient Beam will serve Us Two: Then at one Swing himself Sir Waller Hurld, Tos Fellow-Traytors in the other World. *Rumbold.
Printed by N.T. at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden, 1683.