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AN ELEGY On that Worthy and Famous ACTOR, Mr. CHARLES HART, Who departed this Life Thursday August the 18th. 1683.
31. Aug. 1683.
CAn HART be dead, and yet neglected lie,
Like vulgar Trophies of Mortality,
Nor have His Name shrin'd in an Elegy?
Hence Modern Wits, Apollo's Bastard-brood;
If not for Him, mourn your Ingratitude.
You oft have Verse on meaner Subjects made;
None shou'd give Presents, and leave Debts unpaid.
Unthankful Tribe! how can ye silent be,
And let His Fame earth with his Corps, when He
Gave both your Works and You Eternity.
Thus lighted Tapers round their Flames do cast,
And but for Others Good, Themselves they waste.
Pardon, bright Saint, if now my weaker Verse
Appear in sighing o'r Thy Glorious Herse,
To chide bold Death, and our vast Loss bewail;
Our Loss, which nought on Earth can countervail:
For where's a Name like HART, that has the Pow'r,
Can force all eyes t'a Tributary Show'r?
Whose Sins begot no Libels, whom the Poor
For Benefit, the Rich for Worth adore;
Who liv'd a Phoenix, who Himself deny'd,
And to warm Passion a cold Martyr dy'd.
Sure He's not dead? Such were His looks, when He
Wou'd counterfeit a Death in Tragedy.
But, ah! He's gone too sure; Cold is His Brow,
And th busie Pulse for ever's idle now;
His Tongue, which late such Melody did arm,
As could to Extasie the Hearers charm;
Whose Sweetness (as we thought) might Fate o'r come,
And make him change his Rigour, now is dumb.
Silent as Sleep He lies, His latest Breath
Lifes Ep••logue spoke, and all is still as Death.
Farewel! Thou Darling of Melpomene;
The Best but Imitate, None Equal Thee;
With Thee the Glory of the Stage is fled,
The Heroe, Lover, both with HART lie dead:
Of whom all speak, when of His Parts they tell,
Not as of May, out some great Miracle.
Such Pow'r He had o'r the Spectators gain'd,
As forc'd a Real Passion from a Felon'd.
For when they saw AMINTOR bleed, strait all
The House, for every Drop, a Tear let fall;
And when ARBACES wept, by sympathy,
A flowing Tide of Wo gush'd from each Eye.
Then, when he would our easie Griefs beguile,
Or CELADON or PEREZ made us smile:
Thus our Affections He or Rais'd or Lay'd,
Mirth, Grief and Love by wondrous Art He sway'd.
Let no detracting Tongue dare wound His Fame,
Nor the Precise gainst Actors more exclaim,
HART has restor'd their Credit, grac'd their Name,
His Life the Stage instructed, and now dead,
We're taught by Him the Worlds gay Stage to tread.
Oh happy me! in such a Time brought forth,
As to behold such Goodness, and such Worth.
All that was Excellent we in Him might see,
Servant to Justice, and strict Honesty:
So Pure each Scene of's Life was, scarce we can
Find Vice enough, to say He was but Man.
His unexampl••d Virtues have no end,
He was a Loyal Subject, Faithful Friend:
Mans Favourite, and th Almighties was He too,
Each hour His Alms and Pray'rs did Heav'n pursue,
Secur'd of which bright Mansion, hence he flew.
And now, shou'd I aspire each Grace to Praise,
A Work t'astonish Wonder I must raise
But oh, blest Soul! since great our Loss appears,
Permit me bath Thy Memory in Tears;
For Thy surviving Fame can never die,
Consin'd to nothing but Eternity.
While Thy blest Life & Death to th' Best give Laws,
And each this certain Truth from Envy draws,
HART ne'r made Exit yet without Applause.