AN ELEGIE UPON DR THO. FULLER That most Incomparable Writer, Who Deceased August the 15th. 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 FULLER 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 employed 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 defence
Of 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 WORTHIES from the grave
When he is gone who them alone could save?
The Wor­thies gene­ral of Eng­land is the Title of the said Book.
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 FULLER'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. D C. LXI.

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