MEMENTO MORI   depictions of skeleton, hourglass, and other emblems of Death  
AN ELEGY UPON Mr. Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, LATELY DECEASED.  

IS he then dead at last, whom vain report  
So often had feigned Mortal in mere sport?  
Whom we on Earth so long alive might see,  
We thought he here had Immortality.  
As he, like what he wrote, could not expire,  
Whom all that did not love, did yet admire.  
For who his Writings still accused in vain,  
Were taught by him, of whom they did complain.  
Some Authors vented have more Truth's; but so,  
If Truths they be, 'tis more than we can know.  
He with such Art deceived, that none can say,  
If his be Errors, where his Error lay.  
If he mistakes, 'tis still with so much Wit,  
He errs more pleasingly than others hit.  
For there are Counterfeits of Truth, which are  
In show more Truths than Truths themselves appear.  
As Nature in mere sport hath framed some Apes  
Nearer to Men, than some in humane shapes;  
All were by him so plausibly misled,  
They chose to lose the Way with such a Guide,  
And wander pleasantly, rather than be  
In the right Way with duller Company.  
With ill success, some fond Disputers strove,  
What Doctrines he had planted, to remove;  
And justly are they blamed: for that Disease  
Is ill removed, which more than Health does please.  
And who delightful Frenzies entertain,  
When undeceived, do of their Cure complain.  
With such sweet Force he does our Thoughts invade,  
That where he cannot Teach, he does Persuade.  
And we that read his Writings wish them true,  
If we do not believe them to be so.  
If he be in the Wrong, we hold it still,  
Because the Right appears not half so well.  
Who so would mend his Faults must make a Blot  
May be more Truth, but most will like it not.  
For though fair Virtue Plato wished to see,  
Yet Vice as fair will please no less than she.  
Why are Temptations names for what is ill?  
But that her Charms are most prevailing still.  
Or Vice called Pleasures? But to show alone,  
That Vice and Pleasure in effect are one.  
Hence came our Wit to think there was no Devil;  
Or if he Tempter was, he was not evil:  
And finding him dressed in a different fashion,  
According to the humour of each Nation,  
And that the Indians were in this so civil,  
To Whiten him we Blackened for the Devil.  
He thought that he was Black or White, and Saint or  
Devil, according as it pleased the Painter.  
And Vice and Virtue both were our Opinion,  
And varied with the Laws of each Dominion.  
To which who did conform was understood,  
As their Modes differed to be bad or good.    

EPITAPH.  

IS Atheist-Hobbes then dead! 〈…〉 y;  
For, whilst he lived, he thought 〈◊〉 ●t die,  
Or was at least most filthy loath to 〈…〉.   

Leviathan the Great is fallen! But 〈…〉  
The small Behemoths of his Progeny,  
Survive to duel all Divinity.   

Whither he's gone, becomes not us to say,  
The Narrow upper, or the Broad low way:  
For who owned neither well, may hap to stray.   

Most think old Tom, with a Recanting Verse,  
Must his odd Notions dolefully rehearse  
To new Disciples in the Devils-Ar—   

In fine, after a thousand sham's and Fobbs,  
Ninety years Eating, and immortal Jobs,  
Here MATTER lies,— and there's an End of Hobbes.    


Aliud.  
Here lies Tom Hobbes, the bugbear of the Nation.  
Whose Death hath frighted Atheism out of Fashion.   
FINIS.   

Printed in the Year 1679.