A Grubstreet ELEGY On the supposed Death of PATRIGE THE Almanack-Maker. Anno. 1708. WELL, 'tis as Bickerstaff has guest, Tho' we all took it for a Jest: Patrige is Dead, nay more, he dy'd E'er he could prove the good Squire ly'd. Strange, and Astrologer should Die, Without one Wonder in the Sky; Not one of all his Crony Stars, To pay their Duty at his Hearse! No Meteor, no Eclipse appear'd! No Comet with a Flaming Beard! The Sun has rose, and gone to Bed, Just as if Patrige were not Dead; Nor hid himself behind the Moon, To make a dreadful Night at Noon: He at fit Periods walks through Aries, Howe'er our Earthly Motion varies, And 'twice a Year he'll cut th' Æquator, As if there had been no such Matter. SOME Wits have wondred what Analogy There is 'twixt Cobling and Astrology; How Patrige made his Opticks rise, From a Shoe Sole to reach the Skies; A List the Coblers Temples ties, To keep the Hair out of their Eyes; From whence 'tis plain the Diadem That Princes wear derives from them; And therefore Crowns are now-a-days Adorn'd with Golden Stars and Rays, which plainly shews the near Alliance 'Twixt Cobling and the Planet Science. BESIDES, that slow-pac'd Sign Bo-otes As 'tis miscall'd, we know not who 'tis; But Patrige ended all Disputes, He knew his Trade, and call'd it Boots. THE Horned Moon which heretofore Upon their Shoes the Romans wore, Whose Wideness kept their Toes from Corns, And whence we claim our shoeing horns, Shews how the Art of Cobling bears A near Resemblance to the Spheres. A Scrap of Parchment hung by Geometry, A great Refinement in Barometry, Can like the Stars foretel the Weather; And what is Parchment else but Leather? Which an Astrologer might use, Either for Almanacks or Shoes. THUS Patrige, by his Wit and Parts, At once did Practice both these Arts: And as the Boding Owl, or rather The Bat, because her Wings are Leather, Steals from her Private Cell by Night, And flies about the Candle-Light; So Learned Patrige could as well Creep in the Dark from Leathern Cell, And in his Fancy fly as far, To peep upon a twinkling Star. BESIDES, he could confound the Spheres, And set the Planets by the Ears: To shew his Skill, he Mars would join To Venus in Aspect Mali'n, Then call in Mercury for Aid, And Cure the Wounds that Venus made. GREAT Scholars have in Lucian Read, When Philip King of Greece was Dead, His Soul and Spirit did divide, And each Part took a diff'rent Side; One rose a Star, the other fell Beneath, and mended Shoes in Hell. THUS Patrige still shines in each Art, The Cobling and Star-gazing Part, And is Install'd as good a Star, As any of the Cæsars are. TRIUMPHANT Star! Some Pity show On Coblers Militant below, Whom Roguish Boys in Stormy Nights Torment, by pissing out their Lights; Or thro' a Chink convey their Smoke, Inclos'd Artificers to Choke. THOU, high-exalted in thy Sphere, May'st follow still thy Calling there. To thee the Bull will lend his Hide, By Phoebus newly Tann'd and Dry'd. For thee they Argo's Hulk will Tax, And scrape her Pitchy Sides for Wax. Then Ariadne kindly Lends Her Braided Hair to make thee Ends; The Point of Sagittarius Dart, Turns to an Awl by Heav'nly Art; And Vulcan wheedled by his Wife, Will Forge for thee a Paring-Knife, For want of Room by Virgo's Side, She'll strain a Point, and sit astride, To take thee kindly in between, And then the Signs will be Thirteen. The EPITAPH. Here Five Foot deep lyes on his Back A Cobler, Starmonger, and Quack, Who to the Stars in pure Good-will, Does to his best look upward still. Weep all you Customers that use His Pills, his Almanacks, or Shoes. And you that did your Fortunes seek, Step to this Grave but once a Week, This Earth which bears his Body's Print, You'll find has so much Virtue in't, That I durst Pawn my Ears, 'twill tell Whate'er concerns you full as well, In Physick, Stolen Goods, or Love, As he himself could, when above.