An Elegy on Mountfort. To the foregoing Tune.
POOR Mountfort is gone, and the Ladies do all
Break their Hearts for this Beau, as they did for Duvall;
And they the two Brats for this Tragedy damn
At Kensington Court, and the Court of Bantam,
They all vow and Swear,
That if any Peer,
Should acquit this young Lord, he shou’d pay very dear;
Nor will they be pleased with him who on the Throne is,
If he do’s not his part to revenge their Adonis.
With the Widow their amorous Bowels do yearn,
There are divers pretend to an equal Concern;
And by her Perswasion their Hearts they reveal,
In case if not guilty, to bring an Appeal:
They all will unite,
The young Blade to indite,
And in Prosecution will joyn Day and Night;
In the mean time full many a Tear and a Groan is,
Wherever they meet, for their departed Adonis.
With the Ladies foul Murther’s a horrible Sin
Of one Handsome without, tho’ a Coxcomb within;
For not being a Beau, the sad Fate of poor Crab,
Tho’ himself hang’d for Love, was a Jest to each Drab;
Then may Jering live long,
And may Risby among
The Fair with Jack Barkley, and Culpepper throng:
May no Ruffin whose Heart as hard as a Stone is,
Kill any of those for a Brother Adonis.
No Lady henceforth can be safe with her Beau,
They think if this Slaughter unpunish’d should go;
Their Gallants, for whose Persons they most are in Pain,
Must no sooner be envy’d, but strait must be Slain:
For all B—— shape,
None car’d for the Rape,
Nor whether the Virtuous their Lust did escape;
Their Trouble of Mind, and their anguish alone is,
For the too sudden Fate of departed Adonis.
Let not every vain Spark think that he can engage,
The Heart of a Female, like one on the Stage;
His Flute, and his Voice, and his Dancing are rare,
And wherever they meet, they prevail with the Fair:
But no quality Fop,
Charms like Mr. Hop,
Adorn’d on the Stage, and in East-India Shop;
So that each from Miss Felton, to ancient Drake Joan is,
Bemoaning the Death of the Player Adonis.
Yet Adonis in spight of this new Abjuration,
Did banter the lawful King of this great Nation:
Who call’d God’s anointed a foolish old Prig,
Was both a base and unmannerly Whigg:
But since he is Dead
No more shall be said,
For he in Repentance has laid down his Head;
So I wish each Lady, who in mournful Tone is,
In Charity Grieve for the Death of Adonis.
A SONG.
Set by Mr. James Townshend, Organist
of Lyn Riges. The Words by J.R.
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