The Virginia Gazette

To the PRINTER.

SIR,

As you have immortalized Willy Waugh by the Publication of his Epitaph, written so much in his Strain, that the Author appears to have much of his Spirit; I hope you will confer the same Honour upon Walter Dymocke, Esq; who lately expired in one of your Papers, by publishing the following ELEGY upon him, written by his and

Your Friend and humble Servant,

UNKNOWN.

WALTER! Thou for great Atchievements born!
To fleer at sacred Things with pious Scorn.
To laugh at Truths, the hardiest Ghost in Hell
In their dread Energy with Trembling feel.
Gifted with pious Zeal, with Grace endow'd
To hinder a Dissenter to do
Good;
(Whose Poems could not help offending thee,
While guilty of the Crime of Piety)
Zealous that Vice should triumph in our Land
Rather than be reform'd by such a Hand.
To burlesque Scripture, with a Christian Name,
And point out Blasphemies, 'til you blaspheme;
To drag each pious Thought, that aims to rise,
Down to thy native Bathos, from the Skies.
To cavil, yet usurp a Critic's Name;
To torture harmless Words 'til they blaspheme.
With dark Dexterity t'explain away,
Or turn to Nonsense Thoughts as clear as Day:
Conscious of Guilt, to hide yourself thro' Shame,
Yet scribble on, and hope immortal Fame.
Zealous t'extinguish the detested Spark
Of New-Light, that you may enjoy the Dark
(So the dull Owl detests the Glare of Noon,
And screeching sweet, would wish to quench the Sun)
The Cause you would establish to confound,
And with unlucky Blows yourself to wound.
To publish Pindar's Strains, and thus to shew
An unintended Kindness to a Foe.
To cherish with your gentle venial Breath
Poetic Flow'rs you tried to blush to Death.
(So Vinegar is a Preservative.
And stinking Dung makes Vegetables thrive):
A Score of various Characters to act,
Yet prove yourself the same in ev'ry Shape.
Whether as Principal you take the Field:
Or your own Second, when yourself must yield.
Whether you lull your Readers to Repose,
With the dull Opiates of your heavy Prose,
Or your low Verses, as we lie asleep,
Like Chinches, Nigh and bite us, as they creep.
Whether to stupid Strains you shew your Spite
Or authorize them by the Strains you write.
Whether your Muse in sweet Bathbric Verse
Mourns at your ass's Brother Hilly's Hearse
Or in affected hudibrastic Lays,
Obliges Pindar with your kind Dirge.
(For Praise sincere bestow'd in Hallam's Rhymes,
Would nettle Pindar more ten thousand Times.)
Ah! after these Atchievements, after all
Thy huge heroic Actions, must thou fall!
Ah! must thou all inglorious from the Sky,
Into th'Abyss of Taciturnity!
Forlorn-
In, neglected, silent, there to dwell
'Til rous'd by some Dissenter's impious Zeal;
Who dare commit th' unpardonable Crime
Of labouring to reform this over-righteous Time:
Then shall thy Ghost, inspir'd with usual Rage,
Start from its Sleep, and haunt his hated Page.
Or when some Second in Religion's Cause,
Like Pindar's Friend, his impious Weapon draws;
Then shall thy Tongue the Bonds of Silence break,
And in th'old Cause prophanely pious speak.
O thou that criticiz'd so well, so long,
Must thou lie silent with the vulgar Throng!
Ah! hast thou spent at length th'exhaustless Store
Of thy stale Venom, and canst spit no more!
How Short, alas! the Victories of Wit!
How soon ev'n Critics must to Death submit!
Permit a grateful Muse that wails thy Doom,
To form a triple Garland to adorn thy Tomb.
Thus Cyrus, Alexander, Julius, all
The strutting Sovereigns that once rul'd this Ball
Who criticiz'd on human Liberty,
And murder'd Men instead of Poetry;
Thus flush'd with Success, and elate with Pride,
Walter! alas, like thee untimely dy'd.
Thus too a kind good-natured Spider spreads
His disennbowel'd Web of finest Threads.
Brush down the Web; you brush it down in vain;
Th' unwearied Creature's at his Work again.
On Sunday too the pious Worm will spin,
And fears no more than Walter lest he sin.
Again must harmless Flies become his Prey;
And only noxious Wasps get safe away.
At length th'exhaustless Fund within decays,
And Death must terminate his busy Days.
The odious Sect of Flies shall now encrease,
As fast as New-Lights since Dymocke's Decease.
So have I seen a Pole-Cat long prevail
O'er Men and Dogs with his all-conquering Tail,
Deep from within restless Juices flow,
(Fragrant as your Remarks) and suffocate the Foe.
But lo! at length his guardian Juices fail;
In vain he turns his Pose, and rings his Tail.
His sole Defence is gone (his Brains and Senses
And Paws were not intended for Defence)
His Enemies prevail, and now he stinks,
A helpless Prey, he dies, and dying stinks.
Yet his triumphant Foes (lest they be vain)
His Fragrant sweet Memorial long retain.
So I with Walter have convers'd so long,
Good Reader, stop thy Nose at my infected Song.

In Sundry of his Papers, Mr. Dymocke did little else but Favour the Public with Extracts from the Poems; and had not his general Design appeared to be malignant, his Readers would have concluded, he only intended to excite their Curiosity to purchase and peruse them.

+ The late memorable Willy Waugh.

I Viz. The three following Similes.