But, alas! not many days (not to say weeks) had I been there, ere we
were almost overwhelmed with sorrow for the unexpected loss of
Edward Burrough, who was justly very dear to us all.
This not only good, but great good man, by a long and close
confinement in Newgate through the cruel malice and malicious
cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by hasty death, to the
unutterable grief of very many, and unspeakable loss to the Church
of Christ in general.
The particular obligation I had to him as the immediate instrument
of my convincement, and high affection for him resulting therefrom,
did so deeply affect my mind that it was some pretty time before my
passion could prevail to express itself in words, so true I found
those of the tragedian:
Curae leves loquuntur,
Ingentes stupent.
Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent,
Great ones are through amazement closely pent.
At length, my muse, not bearing to be any longer mute, broke forth
in the following
ACROSTIC,
WHICH SHE CALLED A PATHETIC ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THAT DEAR AND
FAITHFUL SERVANT OF GOD,
EDWARD BURROUGH,
Who died the 14th of the Twelfth Month, 1662.
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