MEMENTO MORI   

AN ELEGY Upon the DEATH, and in COMMEMORATION OF THE Truly HONOURABLE and truly LEARNED, JOHN Lord WILMOT, EARL of ROCHESTER.  
ALas! what dark benighting Clouds or shade  
Of Gloomy Fate has this Invasion made  
On the bright Confines of far shining day,  
And there Eclipsed the light refulgent Ray  
Of Sacred Honour, and transplendent Worth,  
Which Wisdom still from thence was beaming forth?  
But can it be that he's so quickly gone,  
Rapt from the Earth so soon the Muse's Son,  
Who from the evening world such Laurels won,  
As with Eternal Green must wreathe his brow,  
Till Time shall be no more, and Fate shall bow?  
Fame cannot be unjust to him she bore,  
And with him on her Silver wings did soar  
Higher than Pegasus durst ever rise,  
His Name engraving in the starry skies.  
Great ROCHESTER, Minerva's darling-wit,  
Inspired by her, the famous Hero writ  
Such Mysteries as puzzleed dull Mankind  
The meaning of those deep Profounds to find:  
And having long paused on the Mystic Theme,  
Like the Magicians upon Pharoahs' dream,  
They did confess that they had sought in vain,  
Till the renowned Author did explain  
The weighty Syllogisms. For none could bring  
More Loyal attestations for their King.  
Truly Heroic, more than can be told;  
Endued with virtues far exceeding gold,  
Or all the precious Oriental Gems  
The bounding Ocean holds, that India hems.  
Flow, brynie Orbs; weep, Britain's Isles for him,  
Till in salt tears thou like to Delos swim.  
For can such Sapience unregarded set?  
Or can ungrateful Man his worth forget,  
Whose Candid Soul in a sublimer sphere  
Divinest Attributes deserves to share?  
Should his great Requiems now be left unsung,  
No doubt the Golden Lyres by Angels strung,  
In doleful Numbers from the high-raised Pole,  
On which the glittering Orbs of Heaven do roll,  
Would nightly from Seraphic Hierarches sound,  
To wake the drowsy world through Earth's vast round,  
The great Ideas of his far-stretched fame,  
And Sapience Angelical proclaim.  
With Conduct and with Courage was he filled,  
Those great Foundations on which Empires build.  
In War renowned, at home for Peace besought:  
For with his Pen as well as Sword he fought:  
Equally dreadful to correct the proud,  
And send Chimeras to their Mother-Cloud.  
Though great by Birth, yet condescendent still  
To all that sought him with compliant Will.  
Meek in himself, true Honours brighter eye,  
The only Badge of true Nobility.  
For Pride in Greatness gets Contempt and Scorn;  
Which dwells in Baseness raised, not Nobly born.  
Heroic Virtues shined in him so bright,  
That they oft dazed the sharpest Eagles sight  
Of prying Envy, which is only fed  
On Honour's Ruins, when 'tis Captive led.  
'Tis sure, the Fates were cruel to supplant  
The Man, whom now so much this Isle must want;  
Yet wanting him, in loss for ever lie;  
Too good for Earth, now raped above the Sky,  
Where Hallelujahs he Triumphant sings,  
Born up aloft on high Cherubean wings,  
To echo Praises to the King of Kings:  
Whilst o'er the bright Empyrean fields he strays,  
Crowned with a Wreath of never-fading Bays;  
Admired by the Angelic Orders there,  
Whose beaming Faces are Eternal fair;  
And yet from his diviner Soul did gain  
A pleasing sense of Joy which they sustain  
In endless Bliss, and coeternal Praise:  
There let him dwell time boundless without Days.   

EPITAPH.  

HEre lies the Muse's Darling, and the Son  
Of Great Apollo, who such praises won  
Upon this Mole hill Globe, that Heaven thought fit  
He raised on high, should in bright Mansions sit,  
And safely thence upon the world look down,  
Whilst ever-radiant Wreaths his Temples Crown.  
The loss is ours; from Earth Heaven won the Prize:  
His Body's here, but Soul above the Skies.    
FINIS.   

LONDON: Printed in the Year 1680.