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         Heath, James, 1629-1664.
      
       
         
           1661
        
      
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         A39175
         Wing E452
         ESTC R41956
         19731091
         ocm 19731091
         109392
         
           
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         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A39175)
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             An Elegie upon Dr. Tho. Fuller that most incomparable writer, who deceased August the 15th M.DC.LXI. / sic mœret James Heath.
             Heath, James, 1629-1664.
          
           1 broadside.
           
             [s.n.],
             London printed :
             M.DC.LXI [1661]
          
           
             In verse.
             Within mourning border.
             Reproduction of original in the Bodleian Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Fuller, Thomas, 1608-1661 -- Poetry.
           Elegiac poetry, English.
        
      
    
     
        2008-05 TCP
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        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
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           AN
           ELEGIE
           UPON
           D
           R
           THO.
           FULLER
           That
           most
           Incomparable
           Writer
           ,
           Who
           Deceased
           August
           the
           15
           th
           .
           
             M.
             DC
             .
             LXI
          
           .
        
         
           
             ROom
             for
             a
             Saint
             ,
             set
             open
             Heavens
             Gate
             ,
          
           
             Here
             comes
             the
             AUTHOR
             of
             the
             
               Holy
               State.
            
          
           
             See
             with
             what
             Train
             and
             Troops
             he
             now
             ascends
          
           
             Of
             Blest
             acquaintance
             ,
             and
             Coelestial
             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
             FVLLER
             and
             compleat
             .
          
           
             A
             Cherubs
             wing
             hath
             soar'd
             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
             fixt
             them
             in
             the
             Skies
             :
          
           
             There
             are
             his
             Books
             transcribed
             and
             compriz'd
          
           
             Within
             the
             Book
             of
             Life
             Epitomiz'd
             :
          
        
         
           
             And
             if
             th'
             
               Herculean
               Labours
            
             found
             a
             place
          
           
             Assign'd
             in
             Heaven
             by
             the
             Gods
             ,
             then
             Grace
          
           
             So
             well
             employ'd
             and
             exercised
             here
          
           
             Will
             shine
             far
             brighter
             in
             its
             Glories
             sphere
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             kinder
             Parcae
             yet
             forbore
             the
             Thred
          
           
             Of
             that
             Invincible
             ;
             till
             Vice
             was
             dead
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             had
             quell'd
             the
             Monsters
             ,
             and
             supprest
          
           
             All
             growing
             Ills
             ,
             and
             set
             the
             World
             at
             rest
             :
          
           
             But
             this
             our
             Hercules
             was
             snatcht
             from
             hence
          
           
             I
             th'
             middle
             of
             his
             *
             Work
             ,
             while
             in
             defence
          
           
             Of
             squalid
             Vertue
             through
             Injurious
             Age
          
           
             Gainst
             monstrous
             Antiques
             he
             a
             War
             did
             wage
             ;
          
           
             Broke
             off
             its
             Adamantine
             bonds
             of
             Sleep
             ,
          
           
             The
             Dusty
             Marbles
             could
             their
             guests
             not
             keep
             :
          
           
             Had
             rouz'd
             our
             World
             again
             ,
             and
             Truth
             appears
          
           
             Like
             Stoln
             Goods
             ,
             by
             jarring
             of
             the
             years
             .
          
        
         
           
             Prodigious
             Luxury
             of
             Cruel
             Death
          
           
             To
             stifle
             Thousands
             through
             His
             loss
             of
             Breath
             !
          
           
             Who
             shal
             redeem
             our
             *
             WORTHIES
             from
             the
             grave
          
           
             When
             he
             is
             gone
             who
             them
             alone
             could
             save
             ?
          
           
             Oft
             have
             we
             strain'd
             Caligula's
             wish
             ,
             to
             make
          
           
             Death
             odious
             for
             some
             great
             and
             good
             mans
             sake
          
           
             But
             here
             how
             truly
             sad
             it
             fits
             our
             Turn
          
           
             Where
             Fate
             is
             multiply'd
             in
             FVLLER'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
             'r
             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.DC.LXI
           .
        
      
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A39175-e10
           
             *
             
               An
               excellent
               Piece
               in
               folio
               now
               in
               the
               Press
               .
            
          
           
             *
             The
             Worthies
             general
             of
             England
             
               is
               the
               Title
               of
               the
               said
               Book
               .
            
          
        
      
    
  

