The verses bear this title, "On the unexpected death of the virtuous
Lady Mrs. Janet Dalrymple, Lady Baldoon, younger," and afford us the
precise dates of the catastrophe, which could not otherwise have been
easily ascertained. "Nupta August 12. Domum Ducta August 24. Obiit
September 12. Sepult. September 30, 1669." The form of the elegy is
a dialogue betwixt a passenger and a domestic servant. The first,
recollecting that he had passed that way lately, and seen all around
enlivened by the appearances of mirth and festivity, is desirous to know
what had changed so gay a scene into mourning. We preserve the reply of
the servant as a specimen of Mr. Symson's verses, which are not of the
first quality:

Sir, 'tis truth you've told.
We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me!
Our joyful song's turn'd to an elegie.
A virtuous lady, not long since a bride,
Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied,
And brought home hither. We did all rejoice,
Even for her sake. But presently our voice
Was turn'd to mourning for that little time
That she'd enjoy: she waned in her prime,
For Atropus, with her impartial knife,
Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life;
And for the time we may it well remember,
It being in unfortunate September; .
Where we must leave her till the resurrection.
'Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.

Mr. Symson also poured forth his elegiac strains upon the fate of