AN ELEGY UPON D R THO. FULLER That most Incomparable Writer, Who Deceased August the 15th. M. DC. LXI.  

ROom for a Saint, set open Heaven's Gate,  
Here comes the AUTHOR of the Holy State.  
See with what Train and Troops he now ascends  
Of Blessed acquaintance, and Celestial 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 complete.  
A Cherubs wing hath soared 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 fixed them in the Skies:  
There are his Books transcribed and comprised  
Within the Book of Life Epitomised:   

And if th' Herculean Labours found a place  
Assigned in Heaven by the Gods, than Grace  
So well employed and exercised here  
Will shine far brighter in its Glories sphere.   

The kinder Parcae yet forbore the Thread  
Of that Invincible; till Vice was dead,  
And he had quelled the Monsters, and suppressed  
All growing Ills, and set the World at rest:  
But this our Hercules was snatched from hence  
I th' middle of his 
* An excellent Piece in folio now in the Press.  Work, while in defence  
Of squalid Virtue through Injurious Age  
Against monstrous Antiques he a War did wage;  
Broke off its Adamantine bonds of Sleep,  
The Dusty Marbles could their guests not keep:  
Had roused our World again, and Truth appears  
Like Stolen Goods, by jarring of the years.   

Prodigious Luxury of Cruel Death  
To stifle Thousands through His loss of Breath!  
Who shall 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 strained Caligula's wish, to make  
Death odious for some great and good man's sake  
But here how truly sad it fits our Turn  
Where Fate is multiplied 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're 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.