The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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An Epitaph upon that profound and learned Casuist,
the late Ordinary of Newgate.
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
An Epitaph upon that profound and learned Casuist, the late Ordinary of Newgate.
Under this Stone
Lies reverend Drone,
To Tyburn well known;
Who preach'd against Sin,
With a terrible Grin,
In which some may think, that he acted but odly,
Since he liv'd by the Wicked, and not by the Godly.
In time of great need,
In case he were free'd,
He'd teach one to read
Old Pot-hooks and Scrawls,
As ancient as Pauls.
But if no Money came,
You might hang for old Sam,
And founder'd in Psalter,
Be ty'd to a Halter.
Lies reverend Drone,
To Tyburn well known;
Who preach'd against Sin,
With a terrible Grin,
In which some may think, that he acted but odly,
Since he liv'd by the Wicked, and not by the Godly.
In time of great need,
In case he were free'd,
He'd teach one to read
Old Pot-hooks and Scrawls,
As ancient as Pauls.
But if no Money came,
You might hang for old Sam,
And founder'd in Psalter,
Be ty'd to a Halter.
This Priest was well hung,
I mean with a Tongue,
And bold Sons of Vice,
Would disarm in a trice;
And draw Tears from a Flint,
Or the Devil was in't.
If a Sinner came him nigh,
With Soul black as Chimney,
And had but the Sense
To give him the pence,
With a little Church-paint
He'd make him a Saint.
He understood Physick,
And cur'd Cough and Ptifick;
And in short all the Ills
That we find in the Bills,
With a sovereign Balm,
The World calls a Psalm.
Thus his Newgate-birds once, in the space of a Moon,
Tho' they liv'd to no Purpose, they dy'd to some Tune,
In Death was his Hope,
For he liv'd by a Rope.
Yet this, by the way,
In his praise we may say,
That, like a true Friend,
He his Flock did attend,
Ev'n to the World's end,
And car'd not to start
From Sledge, or from Cart,
'Till he first saw them wear
Knots under their Ear;
And merrily swing,
In a well-twisted string.
But if any dy'd hard,
And left no Reward,
As I told you before,
He'd inhance their old score,
And kill them again
With his murdering Pen.
I mean with a Tongue,
And bold Sons of Vice,
Would disarm in a trice;
44
Or the Devil was in't.
If a Sinner came him nigh,
With Soul black as Chimney,
And had but the Sense
To give him the pence,
With a little Church-paint
He'd make him a Saint.
He understood Physick,
And cur'd Cough and Ptifick;
And in short all the Ills
That we find in the Bills,
With a sovereign Balm,
The World calls a Psalm.
Thus his Newgate-birds once, in the space of a Moon,
Tho' they liv'd to no Purpose, they dy'd to some Tune,
In Death was his Hope,
For he liv'd by a Rope.
Yet this, by the way,
In his praise we may say,
That, like a true Friend,
He his Flock did attend,
Ev'n to the World's end,
And car'd not to start
From Sledge, or from Cart,
'Till he first saw them wear
Knots under their Ear;
And merrily swing,
In a well-twisted string.
But if any dy'd hard,
And left no Reward,
As I told you before,
He'd inhance their old score,
And kill them again
With his murdering Pen.
Thus he kept Sin in awe,
And supported the Law;
But, oh! cruel Fate!
So unkind, tho' I say't,
Last week, to our Grief,
Grim Death, that old Thief,
Alas, and alack,
Had the boldness to pack
This old Priest on his Back,
And whither he's gone,
Is not certainly known.
But a Man may conclude,
Without being rude,
That Orthodox Sam
His Flock would not sham;
And to shew himself to 'em a Pastor most civil,
As he led, so he follow'd them all to the D---l.
And supported the Law;
But, oh! cruel Fate!
So unkind, tho' I say't,
45
Grim Death, that old Thief,
Alas, and alack,
Had the boldness to pack
This old Priest on his Back,
And whither he's gone,
Is not certainly known.
But a Man may conclude,
Without being rude,
That Orthodox Sam
His Flock would not sham;
And to shew himself to 'em a Pastor most civil,
As he led, so he follow'd them all to the D---l.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |