AN ELEGY On the death of Mr. JAMES BRISTOL, Late Fellow of All-souls,  
Immodicis brevis est aetas, & rara senectus.  Mart. 
OXFORD, Printed by W. H. for Fran. Oxlad. Jun. 1667   

TO THE MEMORY Of that most Ingenious Gentleman, Mr. JAMES BRISTOL, Late Fellow of All-souls; His most Deservedly Admired Friend.  

OH! never tell me then again,  
That Death before did ever Tyrannize,  
Though Thousands lately fell her Prize;  
You do persuade in vain;  
This year she greater Power Shows,  
Though fewer feel, more curse her Blows:  
This year fell Cow, and this year He fell,  
Who of us all that in Parnassus dwell,  
Next claimed as due Apollo's Laurel Crown,  
Always on Wit Entailed, though not o'th' Gown.  
Death when it struck those two, did more  
Than the Devouring Plague before.  
It is the Worth, not Number of the Dead,  
Which proves Fate Cruel and Unlimited.  
Thus some who all their base Captives spare,  
That are not worth a Victor's Care,  
If by their hands the Noble Leaders die,  
Think they by this outdo their Victory.  
And thus more honour gain,  
Then if the Conquered Army they had slain.   

2.  
We knew that Goodness, and we knew that Wit  
Must soon to Death's laws submit;  
But Oh! we never thought that Fate  
Should prove more hard to You,  
And show a greater hate,  
Then heretofore to Wit she used to do.  
To Cowley kinder Stars did yield,  
That he his Monument might build;  
Which he, like some who still suspicious are  
Of their Successors love and care,  
For his own self, with his Immortal hand did rear.  
But Thee death unawares surprised,  
Else she had never Exercised  
Over thy Wit her Cruelty,  
And doubly had robbed us of Thee:  
Thy Offspring might have dared her Tyranny.   

3.  
When to a Merchant, and his goods some wave,  
As greedy as himself, affords a grave;  
(His Gold as low in water being hid,  
As in its Mother Earth when buried)  
His friends may justly grieve thus doubly Crossed;  
Having both Him, and all his treasures lost.  
As justly thus grieve we,  
Thus double is our Misery,  
Not only that we have lost you,  
But your great thoughts, that Richest Treasure too.  
Ah Cruel death, that Legacy  
His Friends claimed as their due.  
Had he but lest the picture of his mind,  
We had not thought thee death unkind.  
A Cunning Coward thou wert sure,  
Thou cam'st not fairly on, nor warning gave,  
Else he had never feared the grave:  
He by his Pen had been secure.  
Mark Antony could Tully never kill,  
And Seneca lives yet, in spite of Nero's will.   

4.  
Tell me, ye Fatal Sisters, do you not  
Lament Yourselves when such must die;  
When Wit and Folly must together lie,  
And have one Common lot?  
Methinks some Palsy Head, some Piece of Man,  
Who hath outlived himself beyond his span;  
One half of whom was buried long a go,  
Whose living Part is rotten too,  
Who to some Courteous joiner Owes,  
For Arms, and Hands, and Legs, and Toes,  
Might you (dire Sisters) very well Suffice,  
There you with little Pains might Kill, & Tyrannize;  
But if your Envy fly at Wit,  
You might your Cruelty Commit  
On One who once professed it,  
But did his Vein long since outlive,  
To whom the Muses once a flame did give,  
But now the Man the Poet doth survive?  
Thus decayed Wit might please you, & you might,  
with those rich remnants, & brave Relics glut your spite.   

5.  
Tell me, you Cruel Stars, why you  
Did thus Consent unto his fall?  
He from your Phoebus owned his Call,  
And from him he had his light too.  
And how could you (bright Sun) thus Cruel be  
To your own Votary?  
But how alas I talk in Vain!  
Oh! how do I profaine!  
As if That God which once did him Inspire  
With his kind heat, should kill him with his fire.  
But if you did, great Phoebus, you did know  
So brave, So rich a Soul  
Was never sent to be on Earth confined,  
Or to be penned up here below.  
Great Souls, like the Pellaean Youth, lie here  
Panting on Earth, Imprisoned, & want Air;  
From which by death when freed, than first they rise  
From their own graves, and then begin their Lives.  
Thus have the kinder Stars him saved by Death,  
And damned us here below to draw our breath.   

6.  
Thus now at once the Heavens we know  
May Cruelty and kindness show.  
We from his Joys Our greater sorrows date,  
His Death was only unto us a Fate.  
But when all lose, why thus grieve I alone?  
Now all Parnassus should weep Elegies.  
With him lies buried a Philosopher,  
With him a Poet and an Orator;  
We have lost Three in One.  
And what in youth or Age was found,  
Was in that Narrow Compass bound.  
Few years alas! (too few) he told,  
And yet in all things, but years Old.  
His learned Muse was soft, and smooth, and high,  
Which had he published (as all now adays)  
Best Poets might resign their Bays.  
But Oh! his Modesty did this deny;  
And yet he was not less, because less known;  
As Stars which our Horizon never light,  
Their dazzling beauty is to Others shown,  
And shine as fair, though hid from our unhappy sight.   

7.  
But Since th' art gone, would I too might retire,  
Myself I strangely altered see;  
Whom once I did but silently admire  
(For more my Envy did deny)  
I now confess he will my Idol be;  
O sure I'm much too vain,  
(As Heathens Once) to worship Man again:  
But yet in this I give thee more thy due,  
Then when the Wit I saw, I never praised in you.  
Oh! then, (dear Saint) I beg it at thy Shrine,  
Forgive (for now thou art Divine)  
Forgive, I say, that once he Envied Thee,  
(And who would not thy Poetry?)  
Who now in Verse this pious Tribute pays,  
And now at last does speak thy Praise.  
But yet what do I do?  
I wronged Thee then, and now I wrong Thee too;  
As if Poor I, thy worth could e'er rehearse;  
A Theme for one who only writes like you,  
A Theme for some Immortal Verse.  
Thus some dull Lover, who long dumb hath been,  
But can not so his Mistress win,  
Ventures at length to Rhyme upon her Name,  
Thinking poor Fool he sings her fame;  
His meaning's good, yet she more angry grows,  
He his own folly thus, not her Wit shows.   

8.  
Then All you Wits that In Elysium dwell,  
All you that Tragic Stories tell;  
All you of learned Greece, and you  
Of Rome as Learned too,  
I Summon now to meet at this great Hearse,  
The Noblest Subject for your Verse.  
Let Sophocles his Buskins there put on;  
Let Seneca too thither Come;  
There with your Moving Accents sing his fame,  
And in the doleful'st Tones repeat his Name:  
You need not make new Elegies; sing o'er  
What you of Worthies sung before:  
In no new Tune you need complain,  
For they in Him do but die o'er again.  
Make us too, sensible of our great loss,  
Who are distracted with so great a Cross.  
Great blows are not soon felt, for we  
As yet weigh not our Misery.  
First make us understand his Worth that's gone,  
Then with your charming empiric teach us how to moan.  
Unhappy Chance! I thought to say no more,  
And Looks should speak, what did my Tongue before.  
But Oh! me thoughts I saw him disappear:  
His weeping Friends surprised with grief and fear;  
Thus, the poor Persians, when their Sun's to set  
In watery Tethys' lap, with Eyes as Wet,  
As is his bed, sadly resent his fall,  
Expecting now his Funeral.  
'Tis Strange! so Vnconcerned he was, so glad  
To part with breath, his friends so sad  
To part with him; so much they grieve,  
As if They were to Die, and He to Live;  
He Checks their grief, at once severe & kind,  
For Death could not debase his Generous mind.  
So dying Cato looked when He  
In Plato found his Immortality.  
Then too methoughts I heard his dying words,  
Composed of all that Eloquence affords;  
You would have thought (as Condemned Men,  
Who at their Exit beg a Plaudite)  
He made them long ago, but spoke them then,  
And yet alas! for all this He must die.   

10.  
Now thou, Unhappy College, guard his Dust,  
Happy in that thou hast that Trust.  
And when you speak of Digges, remember then  
In This great Soul, you have lost him again.  
And here I charge you all before the Nine,  
As you will answer for your Crime  
Before Apollo, that if any have  
His Verse, they would not too give That a grave.  
For happy we shall be (great Soul) when You  
Return more known, and yet less Envied too.  
Then let none dare to Rob the Public so,  
That he to all his Friends doth owe.  
Therefore who shall such Felony Commit,  
Shall be Arraigned for That, and False imprisoned Wit..   
FINIS.