MEMENTO MORI   outline of tombstone including emblems of Death which surrounds text  
AN ELEGY On the DEATH of that late Incomparable POET ROBERT WILD D.D. Who departed this Life August the 12th 1679.  

AH! who can hold! that all men silent are,  
When our great loss in him's beyond compare:  
He was the only Modern Man that Writ  
Rhyme and good solid Sense; not flashy Wit:  
He was jocose and serious: No man could  
Write so well to please men and yet so good.  
His Aim and great Design was by his Verse  
To bring to life the unwieldy Universe,  
If possible: He coveted to win  
More Souls to God, than th' Us'rer Bags of Sin.  
His Preaching, when he first was National,  
Was sound and learned, and well pleased all;  

And since restrained he did continue still,  
Gravely advising men against all ill  
And persevering in his work, God's will   

To make known to his people, whom he deemed,  
Himself yet bound to succour, though it seemed  
To some as if he thereby disesteemed   
Humane Authority.  
But let such Dons, as thought him thus affected,  
Read all his Poems, which, though now rejected,  
Do plainly show no man more Loyal was;  
Nor more bewrayed the Cheats o' th' Good Old Cause,  
Than he, whose business was still to prevent  
Their cursed and unnatural intent  

Against their then Supreme and Natural Lord,  
In whose Blood afterwards their hands they gored:  
Ah! how much he this fatal Act deplored!   
None more rejoiced at our now Kings returning,  
Thgugh he got by't, as London did by Burning.  

He bore his Losses cheerfully, for that  
He knew his Duty to his King, and what  
He could not turn with th' change o' th' times for; Not   

That he was prejudiced 'gainst Government,  
But always was thereto obedient,  
As knowing 'twas of God for good to's scent.   
His Works do illustrate his Worth,  
And his true Genius to the World set forth;  
That him to praise, who ' th' such an Advocate  
Were to diminish, not sup'rerogate.  
I dare not speak more of him, having said  
What does but lessen him, and take from the dead,  
Which is the extremest piece of Cruelty  
That e'er was done by any man but me:  
But since this work was by none undertaken,  
That by his loss the World could better waken:  
First I herein my Zeal for him express,  
Though in a poor, sordid, and homely dress.  
The Saints cannot add to the Glory above,  
Nor set it out to th' full, yet Divine Love  
Accepts their Services, and them repays  
With an Eternal Crown of radiant Bays,  
More glorious far than the Sun's high-noon Rays.  
Then the World hereby has Intelligence  
Of is Fate, which brings them to a deeper sense  
Of Judgements that are nigh, and may them urge,  
Themselves in true Repentance to immerge,  
Whereby impendent Judgements may be stayed,  
If not removed; wherein the Lord us aid  
To do 't sincerely.  

And more I deemed it my Duty, since none  
Their Love to him in Elegy had shown,  
Myself to sit down, and to write him one.   

This charges the ungrateful men o'th' Town,  
Who to be thought Wits by his Works are grown,  
Now to lie still, and not their Debts to own.   
I'll say no more but this, now he is gone,  
I do despair of ever finding one  
So mixed with Fancy and sound Judgement, as  
He our now much lamented Poet was.    

His EPITAPH.  

HERE lies that learned, witty, grave, wise Wild,  
Who served his God, King, Country, from a Child:  

He bogled not in Times great alteration,  
But still was true, without Equivocation,  
To th' Kingly Government o'th' English Nation.   
He was a Loyal Presbyter, and this  
A Wonder almost past our credit is.   
FINIS