Page:Elegy in memory of that valiant champion, Sir Robert Grierson of Lag; who died Decem. 23d, 1733.pdf/11

 He many a saint pursu'd to death;

He feared neither hell not wrath.

His conscience was so cauteriz'd,

He refus'd nothing that I pleas’d.

For which he’s had my kindness still,

Since he his labours did fulfil.

, like a sow in the mire,

Who of his whoredom did not tire;

But wallow d in adultery,

In cu singcursing [sic] and profanity,

And did allot the sabbath day,

To spend it in his game and play:

Perjur'd himself in 's case,

To ring that rebel to disgrace.

To Popery he was a good friend,

To set it up this man was keen.

His drunkenness I need not name,

My friend of this thought never shame:

He did contrive that rare engine,

That did make dree great pine;

To rip his breast my desire,

And burnt his heart quick in the fire,

Mangled his hands, and took them off,

That they might be the people's scoff,

And afterwards struck off his pow,

Set it on the ;

And cut his body all asunder,

And plac'd it for a world's wonder,

Thus he shook off humanity,

For the respect he had to me.

At last in horror he did die,

And went to Tophet dolefully.

did me a noble turn,

When he to did come,

With armed force, with power and might,

He slew, and put the to flight.