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Was Pard'ner furnish'd with such precious Geere;
For in his Male he had a Pillowbere,
Which piously was thought our Lady's Veil ;
He kept, beside, a Gobbet of the Sail
Which Peter had (and now this Pard'ner hath)
When Christ rebuk'd him for his little Faith. - ;
A Cross he show'd of Tin, set full of Stones ;
And in a Glass, a number of Pigs Bones.
With these, more Pardons daily he'd dispence,
In one poor Village would collect more Pence,
(As by Record too plainly does appear)
Than a poor Parson lab’ring all the Year.
Thus with feign’d Flatteries and Holy Tools,
He made the Parson and the People Fools.

Howe'er, to tell the Truth just as it tood; He seem'd in Church, Ecclefiaftick good.


A Lesson he could read, or tell a Story,
And roar the Psalter with no little Glory:
But best of all an Offertory fung;
So loud, fo chearful, that the Chappel fung;
This gain'd him Pence from the deluded Crowd;
Therefore he fung fo chearful, and so loud.


EPITAPH on the Monument of the

Marquis of Winchester.

• By Mr. DRIDEN.

E who in impious Times undaunted stood,

[good, And midst Rebellion durst be just and Whose Arms asserted, and whose Sufferings more Confirm’d the Cause for which he fought before, Rests here, rewarded by an Heavenly Prince, For what his Earthly could not recompence. Pray (Reader) that such Times no more appear, Or, if they happen, learn true Honour here.

Ark of thy Age's Faith and Loyalty, Which (to preserve them) Heav'n confind in thee, Few Subjects could a King like thine deserve, And fewer such a King so well cou'd serve. Blest King, blef Subje&, whose exalted State By Sufferings rose, and gave the Law to Fate.

Such Souls are rare; but mighty Patterns given To Earth, were meant for Ornaments to Heaven.

Epitaph on Mrs. Margaret Pafton

of Barningham in Norfolk.

By the same, Hand.

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O fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet;

So ripe a Judgment, and so rare a Wit,
Require at least an Age, in One to meet.
In her they met ; but long they cou'd not stay,
'Twas Gold too fine to fix Without Allay:
Heav'ns Image was in her so well exprest,
Her very Sight upbraided all the rest.
Too justly ravish'd from an Age like this ;
Now fe is gone, the World is of a Pięce.


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URE, when I roß my Maker of his Due,

And with Devotion pay the rest to you ; The World will say that I adore Thee, Fair, Abruptly leaving my unfinish’d Prayer. What shall I do? When with an eager Zeal To Heav'n I bow, and on low Earth I kneel; The dear Remembrance of my charming She Pleasingly interrupts my Piety. As if the Gods thought her the surest way To gain my Wish, and taught me where to Pray.

Up straight I rose, I'll come, said I, and bow To Thee; O Goddess, easię to my Vow.



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