The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy Prose and Verse [by Edward Ward] |
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ON THE DEATH OF Mr Clark, Organist At St Pauls. Who lately Shot himself.
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 | The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy |  |
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ON THE DEATH OF Mr Clark, Organist At St Pauls. Who lately Shot himself.
An ODE.
Mourn all ye Brethren of the String,
Prepare at once to Weep and Sing,
Tune your soft Lyres and strain your warbling Throats,
That list'ning Ears may hear the Praise
Of England's Orpheus and his Charming Lays,
Set forth in your Harmonious Notes,
The Great Amphion of the Age,
The Soul of Musick and the Life of Song;
Despising the Terrestrial Stage,
Thought he had liv'd too long;
Where none from jarring Discords can be free,
And therefore blindly sought a calm Eternity.
Prepare at once to Weep and Sing,
Tune your soft Lyres and strain your warbling Throats,
That list'ning Ears may hear the Praise
Of England's Orpheus and his Charming Lays,
Set forth in your Harmonious Notes,
The Great Amphion of the Age,
The Soul of Musick and the Life of Song;
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Thought he had liv'd too long;
Where none from jarring Discords can be free,
And therefore blindly sought a calm Eternity.
Tell how his nimble Fingers mov'd
Upon the yielding Keys,
Whilst Men and Angels equally approv'd,
His melting Strains, which could no less than please,
Those pious Souls who lov'd,
Such Musick that inspir'd the Mind with Peace,
But now no more shall we be blest,
With the soft Touches of that pow'rfull Hand,
Which senthi s Soul to rest;
Who did all Harmony Command,
That could beneath the Heavens be exprest,
To raise Devotion in his Native Land.
Yet jarring Discord made him court his Death,
And put a fatal stop to his harmonious Breath.
So the old Romans Wise and Brave,
By their Example taught,
'Twas easier to embrace the Grave,
Than bear the stabbing Force of anxious Thought.
The Disappointments of the Field,
Where Lawrels grow, with Blood manur'd.
Are worse than being kill'd,
To the undaunted Breast innur'd,
To the destructive Sword,
And the defensive Shield.
So the great Soul harmoniously compos'd,
Only made fit to entertain
Sweet Musick's Art by Heaven disclos'd,
To elevate the Thoughts of Men;
If once with Worldly Cares opprest,
It Labours to expire,
And Courts the trembling Hand to give it rest,
That when its unconfin'd
From Flesh and Blood to which 'tis join'd,
It then may mount in search of the Celestial Quire.
So fell Great Britains Orpheus in his Rage,
When Furies in his Breast began to howl,
And Cares that wait on Life's uncertain Stage,
Had quite untun'd his Soul;
Who hating Discord, could not bear
The Troubles of a tortur'd Mind,
Skill'd only in harmonious Air,
And quite avers'd to Care,
That oft afflicts the best of Humane Kind;
But when he found his strugling Breast
With insupportable Remorse opprest,
Such that could only have its Rise
From wanton Love or stubborn Vice,
He clapp'd Death's fatal Engine to his Head,
And hoping for eternal Rest.
Conquer'd those Vipers in his Conscience bred,
And with himself, shot all the stinging Fantoms dead.
Upon the yielding Keys,
Whilst Men and Angels equally approv'd,
His melting Strains, which could no less than please,
Those pious Souls who lov'd,
Such Musick that inspir'd the Mind with Peace,
But now no more shall we be blest,
With the soft Touches of that pow'rfull Hand,
Which senthi s Soul to rest;
Who did all Harmony Command,
That could beneath the Heavens be exprest,
To raise Devotion in his Native Land.
Yet jarring Discord made him court his Death,
And put a fatal stop to his harmonious Breath.
213
By their Example taught,
'Twas easier to embrace the Grave,
Than bear the stabbing Force of anxious Thought.
The Disappointments of the Field,
Where Lawrels grow, with Blood manur'd.
Are worse than being kill'd,
To the undaunted Breast innur'd,
To the destructive Sword,
And the defensive Shield.
So the great Soul harmoniously compos'd,
Only made fit to entertain
Sweet Musick's Art by Heaven disclos'd,
To elevate the Thoughts of Men;
If once with Worldly Cares opprest,
It Labours to expire,
And Courts the trembling Hand to give it rest,
That when its unconfin'd
From Flesh and Blood to which 'tis join'd,
It then may mount in search of the Celestial Quire.
214
When Furies in his Breast began to howl,
And Cares that wait on Life's uncertain Stage,
Had quite untun'd his Soul;
Who hating Discord, could not bear
The Troubles of a tortur'd Mind,
Skill'd only in harmonious Air,
And quite avers'd to Care,
That oft afflicts the best of Humane Kind;
But when he found his strugling Breast
With insupportable Remorse opprest,
Such that could only have its Rise
From wanton Love or stubborn Vice,
He clapp'd Death's fatal Engine to his Head,
And hoping for eternal Rest.
Conquer'd those Vipers in his Conscience bred,
And with himself, shot all the stinging Fantoms dead.
Mourn all ye Songsters of St Pauls,
That fill the tuneful Quire,
And with your Anthems bless the sacred Walls,
Whilst your soft Accents do inspire,
With Heavenly Thoughts our humble Souls,
Learn of the Prophet to lament,
His Namesake's rigid Fate,
Such Pow'rful Words to Musick bent,
Would make his Epicedium Great,
Tho his rash Exit no Applause can raise,
Because no Christian can his Course approve,
Yet his fam'd Skill commands our Praise,
And his Misfortune must our Pity move,
Both are but Tributes which we ought to pay,
To injur'd Merit that mistakes the way.
That fill the tuneful Quire,
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Whilst your soft Accents do inspire,
With Heavenly Thoughts our humble Souls,
Learn of the Prophet to lament,
His Namesake's rigid Fate,
Such Pow'rful Words to Musick bent,
Would make his Epicedium Great,
Tho his rash Exit no Applause can raise,
Because no Christian can his Course approve,
Yet his fam'd Skill commands our Praise,
And his Misfortune must our Pity move,
Both are but Tributes which we ought to pay,
To injur'd Merit that mistakes the way.
But who can Man's weak Reason blame,
For proving such a treacherous Guide,
Since Men of universal Fame
For Learning have upheld the same;
And aster the same manner step'd aside;
Creech oncean Honour to our English Schools,
Well skill'd in Philosophick Rules,
Who dress'd Lucretius in our Native Tongue,
Tho a Divine, he justify'd
The Freedom of self Homicide,
And as a fatal Proof himself he hung,
Numbers as wise and learn'd as he,
By sundry ways have let us see
They've thought their Lives too long;
Why therefore should our Hands and Eyes
Be lifted up aloft,
As if it fill'd us with Surprize,
That a Musician should be once so soft,
Since he that studies to exert
Himself in Musick's tuneful Art,
May easily be mis-led,
By the strange Crotchets in his Head
To act the Tragick Part
Let us not therefore wonder at his Fall,
Since 'twas not so unnatural
For him who liv'd by Canon to expire by Ball.
For proving such a treacherous Guide,
Since Men of universal Fame
For Learning have upheld the same;
And aster the same manner step'd aside;
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Well skill'd in Philosophick Rules,
Who dress'd Lucretius in our Native Tongue,
Tho a Divine, he justify'd
The Freedom of self Homicide,
And as a fatal Proof himself he hung,
Numbers as wise and learn'd as he,
By sundry ways have let us see
They've thought their Lives too long;
Why therefore should our Hands and Eyes
Be lifted up aloft,
As if it fill'd us with Surprize,
That a Musician should be once so soft,
Since he that studies to exert
Himself in Musick's tuneful Art,
May easily be mis-led,
By the strange Crotchets in his Head
To act the Tragick Part
Let us not therefore wonder at his Fall,
Since 'twas not so unnatural
For him who liv'd by Canon to expire by Ball.
| The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy | |