An elegie humbly offered to the memory of that matchless wit, and unparallel'd example of sincere penitency, the right honorable John Earl of Rochester, who most piously exchanged earthly honour for never-fading glory the 26th day of July, 1680. Holland, Samuel, gent. 1680 Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2011-04 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2). B03670 Wing H2438 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.2[131] 99886922 ocm99886922 181457

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B03670) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 181457) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A1:1[132]) An elegie humbly offered to the memory of that matchless wit, and unparallel'd example of sincere penitency, the right honorable John Earl of Rochester, who most piously exchanged earthly honour for never-fading glory the 26th day of July, 1680. Holland, Samuel, gent. 1 sheet ([1] p.). [s.n.], London, : Printed for the author, MDCLXXX. [1680] Verse: "No more, wild atheists! No more deny". Within mourning borders. Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Rochester, John Wilmot, -- Earl of, 1647-1680 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. 2020-09-21 Content of 'availability' element changed when EEBO Phase 2 texts came into the public domain 2008-09 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-11 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-03 Sampled and proofread 2009-03 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
AN ELEGIE Humbly offered to the Memory of that Matchleſs WIT, and Unparallel'd Example of Sincere Penitency, THE RIGHT HONORABLE JOHN Earl of ROCHESTER, Who moſt Piouſly exchanged Earthly Honour for Never-fading Glory the 26th Day of July, 1680. NO more, wild Atheiſts! No more Deny That bleſſed Hope which makes us glad to Dye; Diſpute no more the Truth of that Great Day Shall free dead Mankind from their gloomy Clay. See here an Argument ſtops all your Lies The Mighty ROCHESTER a Convert Dies, He fell a Poet, but a Saint ſhall Riſe. Then help us all ye Powr's of Verſe, and flow Into his Praiſe all that Himſelf could do: For who can write without him? or dares try To ſpeak his Worth? Unleſs his Ghoſt were nigh; Where, when our Flames do languiſh we retire To his Great Genius, and thence take new Fire. Whoſe lofty Numbers gently ſlid away Like Chryſtal waters, ſmooth and deep as They; Though ſome low Men by others Verſe are Rais'd (Fools living that would, dead, be Prais'd:) To Celebrate his Marble he needs none, His Name out-lives both Epitaph and Stone. Exceſs of Wit alone his Fame did ſpoil, So Lamps extinguiſh't are by too much Oil; And ſince he's gone, we grov'ling Trifles Crawl About the World, which but confirms his Fall; As when retiring Sol blinds us with Night, Each petty Star peeps forth to brag ſtoln Light. Yet not his Muſe do we ſo much admire, As thoſe rare ſparks of true Coeleſtial Fire That warm'd his Breaſt when Nature's Heats decay'd, And Death-cold Horrors did each Limb Invade: Then did a ſudden Beam of Light Divine Inſpire his Soul, his Faculties Refine, And from Pernaſſus drew his fixed Eye To Pigſah-Mount, and ſaving Calvary; The Bubbling Froth that wanton Fancy rais'd (Which for Extravagance was only Prais'd) Is ſoon beat down by this more Glorious Flame, Whence ſtraight a Noble true Elixir came; This Solomon for Wit and Pleaſures too Bids Vanity of Vanities adieu. And having taſted all the ſweets are Hurl'd O're Youthful minds by a deluding World; Begins to Deſcant on Eternal Themes, And then ſaw Viſions, that before dream'd Dreams: He finds Religion is no forged Law For cunning Knaves to keep dull Fools in Awe; That Future State, and the Dread Judgment Day, And Heav'n and Hell (what e're our Drols may ſay) Are ſerious things. Nor did this Knowledge ſcare Or fright him to wild Deſarts of Deſpair; But gently wrought, to ſhew 'twas from above Th' inſtructive Breathings of the Holy Dove; Taught him with humble Faith and Hope to fly For Balm to Gilead, and on Chriſt relye. Now with redoubled Sighs and Floods of Tears, He chides the Follies of his miſpent years: Himſelf his looſer Lines to Flames bequeaths, And Hobs's Creed with Deteſtation leaves; Warns all our Touthful Nobles, lets them know True Honour can from Vertue only flow: That Piety will give a laſting Crown When their Gay Titles All muſt tumble down, And dark Oblivion worldly Grandeur Drown. To hear him thus on Solemn Death-Bed Preach, Did more than Forty languid Sermons Teach. The Angels clapt their Wings on that bleſt Day Envy'd unworthy Earth his longer ſtay. And ſo in Triumph bore his Soul away.
The EPITAPH. UNder this Tomb we do Interr The Aſhes of Great ROCHESTER; Whoſe pointed Wit (his worſt of Crimes) So Juſtly laſht our Foppiſh Times; Let none too Rigorous Cenſures fix Great Errors with great Parts will mix; How broad ſoe're his Fault be ſhown, His Penitence as large was known. Forbear then!—and let you and I By him, at leaſt, learn how to Dye. SAMUEL HOLLAND.

LONDON, Printed for the Author, MDCLXXX.