AN ELEGIE UPON D R THO. FULLER That most Incomparable Writer, Who Deceased August the 15 th. M. DC. LXI.
ROom for a
Saint, set open Heavens Gate,
Here comes the AUTHOR of the
Holy State.
See with what Train and Troops he now ascends
Of Blest acquaintance, and Coelestial Friends!
Blest Ones, he comes to make your number more,
His
Life did much, his
Death improves your store;
Such modest merit crowds not for a seat,
Bliss covets to be
FƲLLER and compleat.
A Cherubs wing hath soar'd him to this Hight,
And Heaven is now in stead of
Pisgah Sight:
His
Holy War but now is finished,
When the reward of Glory crowns his Head.
Each
Tract (like
Jacob's Ladder) still did rise,
Directed Souls, and fixt them in the Skies:
There are his Books transcribed and compriz'd
Within the
Book of
Life Epitomiz'd:
And if th'
Herculean Labours found a place
Assign'd in Heaven by the Gods, then Grace
So well employ'd and exercised here
Will shine far brighter in its Glories sphere.
The kinder
Parcae yet forbore the Thred
Of that
Invincible; till Vice was dead,
And he had quell'd the Monsters, and supprest
All growing Ills, and set the World at rest:
But this our
Hercules was snatcht from hence
I th' middle of his
An excellent Piece in folio now in the Press.
Work, while in defenceOf squalid Vertue through Injurious Age
Gainst monstrous Antiques he a
War did wage;
Broke off its
Adamantine bonds of Sleep,
The Dusty Marbles could their guests not keep:
Had rouz'd
our World again, and Truth appears
Like Stoln Goods, by jarring of the years.
Prodigious Luxury of Cruel
Death
To stifle Thousands through His loss of Breath!
Who shal redeem our
The Worthies general of England
is the Title of the said Book.
WORTHIES from the graveWhen he is gone who them alone could save?
Oft have we strain'd
Caligula's wish, to make
Death odious for some great and good mans sake
But here how truly sad it fits our Turn
Where Fate is
multiply'd in
FƲLLER's Urn.
Take then the Triumphs of his Noble Pen
To tell the World the Learned'st are but Men;
And that the
rescue of their worth from Time
Death in his Fate hath made acap'tal crime.
But know Illustrious Soul that we do see
Those higher Reasons which transported thee
From the black Art of Dark
Antiquity
To th' Speculation of
Eternity:
Let the Beatitudes there fill thy Mind
While we'r content with what thou leav'st behind;
And if forgetful be, or sparing Fame,
Thy
ART of MEMORY shall preserve thy Name.
Sic moeret JAMES HEATH.
LONDON, Printed M.DC.LXI.