MEMENTO MORI
AN ELEGIE 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
Rhime 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 restrain'd 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 deem'd,
Himself yet bound to succour, though it seem'd
To some as if he thereby disesteem'd
Humane Authority.
But let such Dons, as thought him thus affected,
Read all his Poems, which, though now rejected,
Do plainly shew no man more Loyal was;
Nor more bewray'd 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 Nat'ral Lord,
In whose Blood afterwards their hands they gor'd:
Ah! how much he this fatal Act deplor'd!
None more rejoyc'd 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 prejudic'd 'gainst Government,
But alway was thereto obedient,
As knowing 'twas of God for good to's sent.
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're was done by any man but me:
But since this work was by none undertaken,
That by his loss the VVorld 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
VVith an Eternal Crown of radiant Bays,
More glorious far than the Suns high-noon Rayes.
Then the VVorld hereby has Intelligence
Of 's Fate, which brings them to a deeper sence
Of Judgments that are nigh, and may them urge,
Themselves in true Repentance to immerge,
VVhereby impendent Judgments may be stay'd,
If not remov'd; wherein the Lord us aid
To do 't sincerely.
And more I deem'd it my Duty, since none
Their Love to him in Elegy had shown,
My self 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 lye 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 mixt with Fansie and sound Judgment, as
He our now much lamented Poet was.
His EPITAPH.
HERE lies that learned, witty, grave, wise Wild,
Who serv'd 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